MASH isn't mine.
The pain in his side had gone down to a dull throb, brought afresh with every beat of BJ's heart. It redoubled whenever he moved. Yet he never took his eyes off of Rice. He still thought that there might be a chance that he could still stop what Rice was going to do.
"You know, right before I came here my wife had a baby." He tried to keep his voice light and even, though between the pain and his anxiety he didn't succeed well. "A little girl. She's just a year old now."
The younger man turned to face him, staring at him with flat black eyes. "So?" The word with spoken with so much venom that BJ physically flinched back.
"Her name is Erin." BJ kept talking, thinking that this could turn out one of two ways. Either Rice would put the gun down and start thinking logically or BJ would get another bullet ― this time through the head. "My wife's name is Peg. We were thinking about buying a house. A beautiful little place in―" the gun swung at his head, knocking him off the table and making a large gash on his head.
BJ tried to stand up before falling back again, gasping at the pain that was now coming both from his side and his head. He couldn't believe the pain. Looking up at Rice, he saw the cold, flat eyes looking back at him with neither malice nor compassion. They looked dead.
"No talking." His voice held no emotion and BJ wondered if he might have altered the boy's way of thinking a little.
"I don't want anything to drink Father."
Hawkeye pushed away the millionth cup of coffee, not looking at the man's pained face. He hadn't looked directly at anyone for over an hour. He was saving his gaze for the doors of the Operating Room, willing them to open so his friend could emerge.
Margaret sighed, wishing that Hawkeye would say something ― anything ― to her. She regretted now all the times she had told him to stop talking. If this was the alternative, she would have rathered Hawkeye talk all the time.
"You're not helping him, Hawkeye. Look, drink some coffee. It'll help." Margaret herself had a cup nesting between her fingers, untouched.
Father Mulcahy looked upset at Hawkeye's detachment. He looked the man over carefully, taking in the drawn face and deep circles that had been there countless nights before. Tonight they somehow seemed much more haunting tonight.
A light rain started to fall moistening the parched soil. Hawkeye's hand tightened to a fist clenched upon the table. His eyes looked through the droplets to the doors to the OR. Rain meant that the choppers wouldn't be able to fly. Not for a case like this. Not for BJ.
The doors remained resolutely shut.
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