All right, kiddies, listen up. You remember that mysterious "idea" I mentioned back in Chapter 24? Well, forget it. Or at least forget most of it. Or listen to me ramble about it so that you have some understanding of why you should just forget it.

The idea was to take on the MASH-slash yahoo group-thing's ABC challenge, in which you have to write something for each letter of the alphabet. I had decided that I wanted to do this and, as such, made an outline for what each letter would be; the story would've continued on as it had been, the only difference being that the chapter titles would begin with the next letter of the alphabet, and that each of the aforementioned chapters would be its own self-contained little "episode." However, upon looking over the outline, I realized that most of the chapters would have been superfluous (I love that word). Add to that my tendency to be easily distracted, and I determined that writing another 26 chapters (over half of which would have been rather unnecessary) was not a good idea (and that I wouldn't be able to hold my own attention long enough to write them all anyway). So, what I'm going to give you is a sort of abridged version, if you will—the chapters I deemed vital to the continuation of the plot (or just too fun not to write). Thus, there will be about 10-13 more chapters of "In Love and War" (counting the one you're about to read, unless this little author's note has made any interest you might have had in continuing to read this fic evaporate).

I apologize for any confusion caused by my rambling. Comfort yourself by thinking of how I must feel—all you have to listen to is the semi-coherent stuff that comes out of my brain; I have to listen to it all.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Edith Wharton's The Age of Innocence, I'm just borrowing some of the pretty words.

- In Love And War -
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Age of Innocence

The next morning, the war was kind enough to let us eat breakfast before sending the wounded pouring in. BJ, who I'd insisted travel via wheelchair pushed either by myself or a willing Sidney, tagged along; I tried to tell him to go back to the Swamp and rest, and he pointed out that he'd done plenty of resting yesterday. Since I couldn't very well argue with that, and since I had other concerns like sucking chest wounds, I stopped badgering him.

Sidney rolled BJ into OR and up to my table. "Mind if I observe?" BJ asked, stretching his neck to get a better view.

"Sure, just watch my elbows. You've already got enough bruises without me adding more."

Potter swore softly. "Anyone got a free hand?"

"Gimme a minute," Trapper called.

"This kid doesn't have a minute!"

"I've got a hand," BJ offered.

A brief hesitation, and then Potter barked, "Get over here, Hunnicutt."

"Be careful," I cautioned as Sidney rolled BJ over to Potter's table.

"Yes, Mother. I know my own limitations. I'm a doctor, too, remember?"

I mumbled an offensive reply that, luckily, no one but Nurse Donnovan heard, and managed not to mother hen until he'd been in there for a few hours and I ordered him to go take his pills and go to sleep. He didn't argue, and I noticed that his face was starting to look almost as pale as his mask; but I had to trust that Sidney would take care of him, since I had to give all my attention to the bowel resection I was working on.

Not long after, Klinger finally announced the end of our stock of wounded, and I'd started to drag myself off to the dressing room when Potter called to me, "You got a minute, Pierce? I'd like to talk to you in my office."

"I didn't do it, Principal Colonel, I swear," I mumbled, but I shifted course to follow him into his chilly office.

"Radar—" he called as he sat down behind his desk, and Radar squeezed in through the door before it had swung shut behind me.

"I'll put some more wood in the stove, sir."

"—throw some more wood in that stove, would you? Thank you."

I dropped into one of the chairs, leaning my head back and propping my aching feet up on his desk with a big sigh.

He folded his hands and looked at me over the tops of his glasses, his eyes concerned. "How you feeling, son?"

"Everyone keeps asking me that," I complained mildly. "I'm starting to think I should just write 'I'm fine' in big black letters on my forehead."

"We're worried about you, Hawkeye. That's all." He sounded slightly hurt, and I berated myself silently. Potter was similar to my dad in many ways, and I, like almost everyone else in camp, looked up to him as a father figure. He cared about all of us, saw us as a second family; the very least I could do was show him some respect and consideration.

"I'm sorry, Colonel. I'm just tired, and lack of sleep combined with slicing open kids that are young enough to be my kids makes me…brusque. I'm doing fine, and I'm feeling much better—and if you want a second opinion, I'm sure Sidney would be glad to give it. I was just feeling a little over-stressed, and I think my head might've come a little loose; but Sidney got it screwed back on right, and I'm feeling perfectly chipper."

He smiled faintly. "War gets to everyone, eventually. If you need some time off, take it. I don't want you doing anything else stupid—my wife still wants to meet you after the war's over, remember."

"I will, Colonel," I promised, giving him a tired smile as I walked towards the doors. "Thanks."

My fellow Swamprats were in various states of reclination, Trapper and Frank both sprawled on their bunks, Sidney (who'd declined the bed in the VIP tent for reasons unbeknownst) propped up on his pillows and flipping through one of my nudist magazines, and BJ still sitting in his wheelchair. "Did you take your pills?" I demanded.

He rolled his eyes. "Yes."

"Then you should be sleeping."

"I'm hungry, and I'd hate to impose on anyone else."

"But you don't mind imposing on me, is that it?"

"Exactly. Come on, McDuff—to the mess tent."

I pressed my palms together in front of my chest and bowed, and then rolled him back outside. I started pushing him towards the mess tent, but he abruptly grabbed the wheels of the wheelchair, halting his forward motion and propelling my chest into the back of his head. "What—?!"

"I don't want to go to the mess tent anymore," he announced calmly, apparently not too uncomfortable with being bent in half while I tried to get my balance back.

"Then why—?"

"There's something I want to talk to you about—the sort of something I don't necessarily want anyone else overhearing. Not that kind of something," he added when I started to protest. "Talking. I want to talk. About things."

"Oh. Well, unless I'm mistaken, Trapper has a date in the supply tent, which leaves us with a very short list of places to seek privacy."

"What about the VIP tent?" he asked calmly.

"Well, considering the VIP tent makes up the entirety of the list, I'd say that's our best bet. There is, however, the little matter of the local rumormill, and much as I love to be talked about, I don't think people seeing us disappear into a tent together for an unspecified amount of time will generate the sort of talk we want."

"Already covered. I mentioned to the colonel that I was having a little trouble sleeping comfortably, what with my leg, and army cots being like they are—and he told me I was welcome to the VIP tent any time I needed to get a good night's or afternoon's sleep. And of course you, as my doctor, need to make sure I'm comfortable."

"That's calculating and manipulative." I grinned. "I like it. Let's go."

I got him settled comfortably on the bed, and then stood there, a little awkward and uncertain—could we lay together in a bed without doing anything more than cuddling?—until he reached a hand out to me, smiling that little smile that was mine and mine alone; I put my hand in his and let him pull me down next to him, one arm wrapping around my shoulders and pulling me comfortably against him, while he held our clasped hands between our bodies. I rested my head on his shoulder, took a deep breath of that unique smell of his—a heady mix of soap and aftershave and gin and the faint coppery trace of blood, and something else I couldn't identify, something undeniably him that didn't need any other description than that.

"So," I murmured, feeling quite relaxed and contented, "what's this something you wanted to talk about?"

"Have you read The Age of Innocence?"

"Of course. We gonna start quoting that?"

"If you want."

"Well, why not? I'll start. 'Each time you happen to me all over again.' I always loved that line." Not to mention its bearing on the present situation.

"Me too," he murmured, pressing his face against my hair.

"I assume you had a specific quote in mind when you brought up the subject?"

"Mmm. Two, actually, but I have to save one for later, once we get there. Though the other one fits now, I think… 'I want somehow to get away with you into a world where words like that—categories like that—won't exist. Where we shall be simply two human beings who love each other, who are the whole of life to each other; and nothing else on earth will matter.'"

"You memorized that whole thing?" I asked, surprised, lifting my head to look down at him.

He shrugged, smiling faintly. "It was the least I could do. And I think the least you could do is say something about the fittingness of that particular quote."

Grinning, I put my head back on his shoulder. "It's sweet. But…do you really think it's possible?"

"I think we have to give it a try. I'm willing to, if you are."

Good thing I wasn't standing, because my legs went to jelly. "Of course I am." Now that that was done, here came the hard part. "But what about…Erin and Peg?"

"I'm glad you brought that up, because that leads nicely into the other quote: 'You gave me my first glimpse of a real life, and at the same moment you asked me to go on with a sham one. It's beyond human enduring—that's all.'" His hand gently stroked my hair, lips pressing against my forehead; and that quote touched me as the first one hadn't. "I love Peg, but I'm not in love with her. There's a big difference. If I have to choose between her and you, I choose you."

I didn't answer him right away, letting the words sink in and stewing over them a bit before finally asking, "So you're saying you'll divorce Peg? Leave her, and leave Erin, and…come with me?"

"That's certainly what it sounds like, isn't it?"

I squeezed his hand tightly, shifted so that I could see his face, look into his eyes. Knowing I sounded like a little kid, and not caring, I demanded, "You promise?"

He squeezed my hand back. "I promise."

I'm a homewrecker, I realized as I settled back against him. I've just destroyed a marriage. I should feel guilty…but I don't. That surprised me, a little. I'd always made it a policy not to sleep with married women (or men, for that matter) because of my express desire not to break up any marriages…and yet, here I am. Laying in bed with a married person (strike one)—a married man (strike two)—having just received the promise of throwing three happy years of marriage down the toilet (strike three, you're out!)—and not feeling a drop of guilt (there goes the game, pack it in, boys). I had what I wanted, and I was happy—so what if my happiness destroyed the lives of two other people? They were two people I didn't know, people I'd only seen in photographs, only heard about from the man who was now nibbling on my ear—two people who would prevent me from being happy unless I did the same thing before they could. Opportunistic, yes, and an insidious little voice whispered at the back of my head, Do the ends really justify the means? Yes. As far as I was concerned, as far as I wanted to think—yes.

"The only thing is," he murmured, "I want to be able to explain all this to her in person…after the war. I think it's the least I can do…"

"Yeah, okay. I can understand that." Understood, yes. Liked, no. The sooner he told her, the sooner I'd have him all to myself—and who knew how long the war would drag on? But he was right—he was leaving her for another man, she deserved a face-to-face explanation. But I was a little worried that if he saw her again before he told her, he'd realize just what he was doing—realize that I probably couldn't even come close to comparing to Peg, and that there was a very slim chance of my bearing him a replacement daughter—realize he'd be abandoning his daughter, his beloved Erin, to a fatherless life—

Stop, I commanded myself. He's a big boy, capable of making his own choices. He sounds like he's thought this trough, and he won't go back on his word.

Except for the fact that he'd be breaking his marriage vows, that greatest of promises—to have and to hold from this day forward for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish as long as we both shall live—

"Penny for your thoughts?" he murmured.

"I love you."

He tilted my head up to bring our mouths together, and I let him take advantage of me until his hands started roaming a little too freely. "Beej," I murmured against his lips. "You remember what I said about there only being a certain number of things we can do, and there being mostly things we can't do?"

"Mmm-hmm," he mumbled, mouth moving lower than my face, hands moving lower than my chest.

"I'm guessing you've got one of those things we can't do in mind."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Which means I should stop you before we start something we can't finish."

"Mm-mm. 'm fine." He pulled away from his intense exploration of my neck long enough to say, "Haven't you ever heard of sealing a promise with a kiss?"

"We already did that," I pointed out.

"It was a big promise. It deserves something bigger than a kiss."

"I don't usually have to say this on the first date, but could you stop sucking on my collarbone?"

"You taste good."

"You need to sleep. I need to sleep."

"We'll get there. Eventually. Stop squirming."

I managed to slide out of his arms and climb off the bed, glaring at him from a safe distance. "You're an invalid—"

"But my love isn't."

"—and as your doctor, I'm ordering you to cool your libido and get some rest."

"I don't want to sleep here. I'll get lonely."

I threw my hands into the air. "Then we'll go back to the Swamp!"

"Well, what are we waiting for?"

I raised my eyebrows at him, and gestured wordlessly towards his…waist. Even with the layers of winter clothing, his little (or admittedly not-so-little) problem was quite apparent to anyone who happened to have enough of an interest in that part of the human anatomy to glance there every once in a while. His face reddened, and he tried to shift his jacket to cover said problem, though to no avail. "I could go get a little snow," I offered innocently, and he glared at me.

It was a few more minutes before I got him back into the wheelchair, and then into the Swamp; Sidney looked up when we came in and said, "I thought you were going to be sleeping in the VIP tent."

Raising his voice to a falsetto, BJ explained, "The first bed was too hard. We couldn't find the second bed."

"The third bed was MacArthur's, but his mommy wouldn't let us sleep over," I added.

"That's filthy," Frank complained.

"So's the war, Frank," Trapper mumbled. "Now could you all shut up and let a guy sleep?"

"My thoughts exactly," I said, and pointed BJ to his bunk, going to my own once he was settled. Sidney was watching me with a small, amused smile, and I made a face at him. His smile widened slightly before he returned to reading his book.

At that, as if it had been the signal he waited for, Hawkeye Pierce lay down slowly and walked alone into the world of dreams. (A/N: Which, if you're interested, is similar to the last line of The Age of Innocence.)