A/N: Wow, this chapter did not want to be written! I am so very sorry for how long it's taken. But here we are, lovelies, on chapter ten. The wait is over (for now, mwahaha).
Thank you to all who have read, favorited, and followed, and especially to ShigureAyameHatoriFanClub, Kuramasgirl19769, demonbarber14, and the two Guest reviewers for their reviews on the last chapter. All of your appreciation and support are the reason this story is still going.
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Anything thing you recognize from M*A*S*H or any other source is the property of its rightful owner. I lay no claim on the characters, settings, plotlines, etc. found in M*A*S*H, although I am honored to have to opportunity to work with them throughout this fanfiction (emphasis on the "fan" part). All I own is my OCs and whatever original plotwork is related to them and their stories.
When Sam woke, she decided it was just her fate in life to be confronted by the sight of strange men upon regaining consciousness. This time, it was a small, wiry man with mild features and wire-rimmed glasses, who appeared to be occupying himself with a knitting project of some sort.
Eyeing the length of fabric carefully, Sam croaked, "You dropped a stitch."
The man jumped, eyes darting up to hers. "Oh, you're awake," he gasped, fumbling with his knitting.
"About five rows down," Sam continued, attention narrowed in on the cloth. "Right there," she stretched over and jabbed her pointer finger at the gap in the fabric.
"Oh," the man said, looking at where she was pointing. "Oh, dear me, you're right. Thank you for pointing that out."
"May I?" she asked, gesturing towards the yarn.
"Of course, of course," the man said, handing his project over to her. He watched in interest as she began unravelling the last few rows, going back to correct his mistake. "I've been trying to teach myself, but it's been a rather difficult process, as you can see. I've always wanted to learn how to knit, and with the amounts of free time I sometimes get around here, I decided that this would be a perfect opportunity to learn." He observed her nod of acknowledgement, as well as her nearly exclusive attention to the knitting. She had reached the error, and was proceeding to re-stitch the rows. "How are you feeling?" he asked suddenly.
Sam jerked, and her fingers paused on the string. "Um, alright," she said, looking back at him. Looking closer, she could see the cross pinned on his lapel. "You're the priest, right? Father . . . um, sorry, I seem to have forgotten . . ."
"Mulcahy," he replied. "And that's quite alright. There's quite a few of us here to remember, and you've had a bit of a difficult time lately. Between you and me," he said, leaning closer and dropping his voice to a whisper, "I didn't learn the Colonel's name until about two months after I got here. I tried, of course, but I just couldn't get it to stick in my head."
Sam smiled a bit. "What did you do?"
"Won his dog tags off him in a poker game," the Father told her. "Got a good look at them, then gave them back to him the next morning, saying that I couldn't in good conscience keep them."
Sam giggled. "How very clever of you, Father."
"Yes, I quite thought so myself," he replied, smiling back. "But enough about me. I've heard that you had quite a nightmare earlier."
Sam stilled, the smile fading from her face.
"Would you like to talk about it?" Father Mulcahy asked gently.
Sam took a shaky breath, before shaking her head. "Sorry, Father, I'd really rather not," she replied.
The Father kept his even gaze directed at her for another few moments, before nodding in response. "Oh, that's quite alright, take your time. But I'm always here if you want to talk about anything," he told her. "Now, how exactly did you manage to fix that terrible mess I made?"
Sam smiled again, grateful for the change in subject. "Well, you see, the secret is to always keep track of the number of stitches you have on the needle. You want to make sure that you have each stitch accounted for in every row, and make sure you haven't actually dropped any . . ."
"Heya, Radar!" Klinger said, dropping his tray unceremoniously onto the mess hall table across from the clerk. 'How's it going?"
"Not too badly," Radar replied. "How 'bout you?"
"I'm great, I'm fantastic, I'm on top of the world!" Klinger exclaimed. "I figured out a great new dodge. This one'll really do the trick, you just wait and see." He dug into his food excitedly; apparently, he had forgotten where he was, as his face quickly morphed from one of eagerness to one of surprised disgust. His subsequent bites were much less cheerful.
"That's great Klinger," Radar replied. "Just, be a pal and don't do anything too big while Sam's here, alright? Don't want to attract the higher-ups's attention to her situation or nothin'."
Klinger nodded. "I'll do my best kid. How's she doing by the way? Heard she had a pretty rough night."
"I wouldn't know," Radar sighed, turning a spoonful of peas over and over. "I haven't been to see her since she woke up."
"Now why'd you do that?" Klinger asked. "Out of everyone here, I'm sure that you're the one she's looking forward to meeting the most!"
"I don't know, Klinger," Radar replied. "What if she doesn't like me?"
"Hey, don't be silly, kid," Klinger told him. "Why wouldn't she like you?"
"We've never actually met in person, you know," Radar said. "And she's probably got this whole image of me built up inside her head, and there's no way I'm gonna be able to live up to that!"
"C'mon kid, she's crazy about you!" Klinger answered. "She wouldn't have kept writing to you if she wasn't. And from what I've seen of her in person, she's just as good a person as she sounds in her letters."
"Well, I guess," Radar replied, absentmindedly shifting some gray peas around his tray with his fork. "I don't know. I just don't want her to be disappointed with me in person, you know?"
"Yeah, I know the feeling," Klinger assured him. "But she's stuck in bed, probably bored out of her skull with nothing to do. I'm sure she'd love some company, especially if it's the friend she's been writing to all this time."
"I heard she had a nightmare," Radar said.
"Yeah, a pretty nasty one, too." Both Radar and Klinger jumped as Trapper spoke. He and Hawkeye sat down next to the pair.
"I had to sedate her to keep her from injuring herself any farther," Hawkeye added. He wrinkled his nose as he looked at his food. "What is this supposed to be, cardboard mush and mud?"
"Meatloaf," Radar replied. "You really had to knock her out?"
"Yeah, she was thrashing all around," Hawkeye said. "You should go visit her today, see if you can give her something to be happy about."
Klinger nodded. "That's what I was just telling him! But the kid thinks that sweet Sammie wouldn't like him if she met him in real life."
"Klinger!" Radar blushed and hunched over, trying to shrink himself down in his seat.
Hawkeye and Trapper laughed. "Radar, that's ridiculous!" Hawkeye said. "She already likes you, her letters are proof enough of that."
"She was even worried about you when she came in," Trapper added. "Asked about you and everything, right while I was in the middle of stitching her back up. Wanted to know you were alright."
"But I can't just . . . go in and sit by her bed, can I?" Radar asked. "I mean, don't I need someone to introduce me or somethin'?"
"Radar, this isn't a Jane Austen novel," Klinger told him. "You can introduce yourself. And the two of you already know each other, remember?"
"Oh yeah," Radar said. He suddenly stood up and grabbed his tray.
"Hey, where're you going? Had enough of the cardboard?" Hawkeye asked.
"It's meatloaf, and I'm going to visit Sam," Radar replied.
"What, now?" Trapper said.
"Yeah, now!" Radar said. "Before I can chicken out again about it!" And he marched out of the dining hall like a man on a mission (the drama of which was slightly ruined by someone walking in at the same moment he was walking out, sending the door careening into his tray and the tray's contents down his shirt front).
The three watched him leave the mess tent. Klinger whistled. "Poor kid. He has a hell of a thing for timing."
"That he does," Trapper agreed, taking a bite of meatloaf before he could talk himself out of it.
"She's going to need him when she finds out what happened to her friends," Hawkeye muttered, turning a piece of mush over and over with his fork.
"Not doing well, huh?" Klinger asked.
"Not at all," Hawkeye said.
"Damn," Trapper muttered. "She was so worried, too. You know, I heard she helped carry them out. Even smothered the flames on that one, what was his name? That Trevor kid."
Hawkeye nodded. "Trevor Ryans."
"He that bad burn case?" Klinger asked quietly. "The one that went out on the truck last night?"
The three men all stilled. "Yeah, that was him," Hawkeye replied.
Trapper swallowed hard, the meatloaf sticking like glue in his throat. "I was planning on telling her this afternoon," he said. "I may postpone it 'til tonight, though, now that Radar's gone to sit with her. Give her a few more hours before she finds out."
"Sounds like a good idea," Klinger replied.
Hawkeye suddenly held up his plastic cup. "To Trevor Ryans," he said, holding it out towards the others.
Trapper and Klinger raised their cups as well. "Poor kid," Klinger remarked, as Trapper said, "God rest his soul." The three tapped their cups together, and silently returned to eating.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and I'll see you all next time!