The day before Charles was shot, Margaret had been sent away on leave without incident.
"Doesn't it seem odd that this is going so smoothly?" Margaret asked Hawkeye as she got into the jeep, Klinger behind the wheel. The black-haired surgeon stood beside the vehicle, holding her final suitcase up so that she could stow it safely in the back of the jeep. "And why weren't you three able to go?"
"The more we all thought about it, the more we realized how much we'd miss the food here," Hawkeye remarked with a shrug, having kept mum for the last hour the preparations were finalized.
"Right," she muttered. "What's really going on? Are you expecting casualties? Is the ceasefire over?"
Hawkeye shook his head with self-disappointment.
"Just go, Margaret. We'll still be here when you get back."
Klinger started the jeep and Margaret tucked the suitcase behind her seat.
"See you in three days!" she said, smiling giddily.
The vehicle pulled away from Hawkeye to begin its short drive to the helipad, a faster way of leaving the compound. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers and frowned.
"Yeah, if Frank doesn't court-martial me first," he muttered to himself.
Within an hour of Margaret's departure from the 4077th, Hawkeye and B.J. awoke from a booze-induced stupor to find Major Winchester combing what was left of his hair.
"Charles, what are you doing?" Hawkeye asked, his voice gravelly, as he pulled his trousers on over his shorts.
"Is it not obvious?" Winchester replied, staring down at them haughtily. Hawkeye gave him a look of mock understanding.
"Aww, are you reminiscing about the days when the comb was useful?"
"Ha ha," Charles deadpanned. "I am merely attempting to make a good first impression on Colonel Burns."
"The only good impression Frank needs is the impression of a fist in his face," Hawkeye said yawningly, beginning to get dressed.
"I am well-aware that you both did not get on well with Colonel Burns, but is that enough to warrant—"
"His execution—yes, it is," Hawkeye cut in. "He's an ignorant, incompetent hypocrite and an all-around lousy person."
"But besides that, he's perfectly tolerable," B.J. added with a teasing shrug. Hawkeye spoke up again.
"Anyway, Winchester, could ya stop calling him Colonel? He's only a Lieutenant Colonel and completely inferior to Colonel Potter."
"…as well as anything with higher brain function," B.J. remarked.
Charles looked amused at the barrage of insults directed at someone other than him, for a change. He watched as Hawkeye pulled on his maroon bathrobe.
"My, you two don't pull your punches, do you?"
"Never," Hawkeye said gloatingly. "However, if it was up to us, we'd pull his medical license."
"Didn't you mention that he'd been taken out of Korea in a straitjacket?" Charles commented. "Perhaps your so-called jokey remarks were contributory in the formation of his 'lousy' persona."
"Nah," Hawkeye replied. "He was a paranoid bigot when he got here."
"I wouldn't be so certain of that, Pierce," Charles replied matter-of-factly. "For instance, if it weren't for my sizable sense of self-worth and my lofty status in society, several of the remarks you've made in the past might have actually hurt me. I cannot imagine this 'Burns' possessing my line of defense against your barrage of thinly-veiled insults."
"His chief line of defense is his thick skull," Hawkeye responded with a shrug. "That and the fact that half the stuff we tell him he doesn't understand. Believe me, once you meet Frank Burns you'll see what we mean."
"He makes a valid point, though, Hawk," B.J. interjected. "I don't think anyone's been very nice to him, except for Margaret, for a time. I kind of don't blame him for being paranoid about the intentions of others."
"Hey, his rottenness has nothing to do with me," Hawkeye insisted.
"Just keep telling yourself that," Charles responded in a sing-song voice.
Now Charles's eyes were shut tightly, and he could tell that his left lung was in danger of collapse. Pierce had since received the dressings from Klinger and had applied them on top of the existing blood-soaked dressings.
"Captain, I heard there was an emergency," Margaret's voice rang out as she entered the post-op ward. She saw the blood on the floor, an unconscious Frank Burns draped over a wounded North Korean patient, and an alarmingly pale Charles being attended to by Pierce with blood-soaked gauze. Her hand went to her mouth, her eyes wide with dread as she spoke. "Oh my God."
B.J. arrived immediately after Margaret, jogging towards Charles's bed with two units of blood and a chest tube looped over his arm. Charles turned his head to look over at Burns's still figure, the traces of a shiner probably beginning to appear on his cheekbone. He recalled the absurdly awkward meeting with the paranoid former Swampman only yesterday.
It was during Winchester's preparations that Klinger entered the Swamp, the growl of a jeep engine growing increasingly louder as the door of the Swamp remained open behind him.
"Colonel Burns has arrived, Sirs."
"Great," B.J. muttered.
"Ugh, and here, I thought the Geneva Convention prohibited torture of medical personnel," Hawkeye told Klinger.
"Would you two give it a rest?" Charles commented, looking irritable. "Perhaps the man has changed for the better."
"That's true," Hawkeye replied thoughtfully. "He couldn't get any worse…."
The four men stepped outside the Swamp to greet Burns. Frank was standing at attention besides his jeep, fully bedecked in his Lieutenant Colonel's silver oak leaf and impeccably clean uniform. Noticeably missing were his gold caduceus lapel pins. He was, however, wearing a sidearm. Hawkeye felt the urge to roll his eyes at the holster.
"Hey Frank," Hawkeye said tiredly, dragging his feet as he stepped out of the Swamp, clad in his bathrobe and tennis shoes and possessing a 5 o' clock shadow.
"Hi there, Frank," B.J. called, attempting to sound chipper. Klinger didn't even bother to acknowledge Frank; he just kept walking back towards the O.R. building, with Frank's eyes locked on him the entire time.
"Corporal Klinger!" Frank yelled, stopping the Lebanese man in mid-stride. "How dare you avoid addressing or saluting me and then, on top of that, you leave my bags in the dirt! Where is Corporal O'Reilly?"
"Well, when he heard you were coming, he went AWOL," Hawkeye jeered. Frank could only glare at him, not completely certain he was joking. "Still the same old Frank," Hawkeye murmured to B.J. as he shrugged.
"If he's going to be addressed, I wish he'd address himself back to the States," B.J. replied. They both smiled knowingly at each other, watching Klinger stride back over to the jeep. Klinger smiled up at the lieutenant colonel.
"It's Sergeant now, Sir, and may I say how well you look?"
"Oh, blow it out your ears," Frank muttered, staring Klinger down as he gathered up his bags. He arranged his posture and spoke once again to the company clerk. "I see that you're finally dressing like a man."
"Very observant, Sir," Klinger replied, a sickeningly sweet smile on his face.
"Thank you, Klinger," Frank said with a lipless grin. Hawkeye and B.J. exchanged looks of amusement. Klinger was clearly patronizing Frank and the idiot didn't even know it.
Once the four surgeons were alone in the center of the compound, Frank sneered as his eyes scanned Hawkeye and then B.J. from top to bottom. Hawkeye was wearing his ratty maroon robe with his dust-covered combat boots and B.J. was wearing a straw hat and coral-colored t-shirt.
"I see neither of you have changed. Still a disgrace to the U.S. Army," Frank grumbled.
"It's good to see you too, Frank," B.J. replied. Frank's face turned red and he responded in a highly exaggerated fashion.
"I've heard that before!" He gawked at B.J. "And what's that on your face, Captain?"
Hunnicutt looked confused and then shrugged good-naturedly.
"That—hair above your nose," Frank said with a sneer as he pointed at the offending object, saying the word hair in a disgusted tone of voice.
"It's called a moustache," Hawkeye replied. "Don't worry; after you've hit puberty yours will come in."
"I know what it's called!" Frank hissed. "What I'm saying is how can that be sterile for surgery?"
"Well, I'm not kissing the patients, Frank," B.J. replied matter-of-factly. "It hasn't been an issue yet."
"What do you know about being sterile, anyway?" Hawkeye shot. "I mean, besides the fact that your father should have been sterile."
"That smarted," Charles muttered with a wince, as Frank glared at the dark-haired doctor. Even so, it appeared as if Frank stood expectantly. A silence fell over the group.
"Aren't you going to salute your superior?"
"Right," Hawkeye muttered. He and B.J. turned to Charles and saluted him crisply. Winchester looked taken aback. Now Frank's beady eyes were locked on him for a moment. Within a second or two, Frank's gaze had shifted back to the two captains.
"Not him, you nincompoops—me!" Frank replied in a whiny tone, as his former bunkmates turned to face him again.
"Well, Frank, gold is superior to silver. Charles here has a gold oak leaf and yours is only silver."
"That means nothing!" Frank fumed. B.J. shrugged and added his own thoughts.
"It is a good point, Frank. Would you rather win gold or silver in the Olympics?"
Frank sneered at the two captains, pointing towards Winchester.
"That has nothing to do with it. I am a Lieutenant Colonel of the United States Army and my silver pin is better than his gold."
"Nah," Hawkeye replied. "—and I'll bet yours tarnishes like crazy."
Frank tilted his head as he considered, his anger dissipating as he spoke.
"That's true—I have to polish it once a week." He paused for a moment, considering. "It doesn't make any sense, really, for me to wear a silver pin and for a mere major to wear a gold pin."
"Actually," Charles said, stepping forward and ignoring the jab at his rank, "my gold oak leaf is in fact made of brass, whereas yours is bona fide silver. So it is correct to say that a lieutenant colonel's oak leaf outranks that of a major's both traditionally and in terms of raw materials."
"I knew that," Frank hissed, glaring down this unknown man who had spoken out of line. "I just wanted to see if Pierce and Hunnicutt here were aware of that." He wagged his head at them. "Guess not. So who are you, Bub?"
Pierce and Hunnicutt could only glance at each other and then at Frank, who was desperately trying to save face in front of Major Winchester. Winchester wrinkled his nose distastefully at being called 'bub'.
"Allow me to introduce myself," Charles said with overstated joviality, holding his hand out to shake Frank's hand. "I am Major Charles Emerson Winchester III—Harvard Medical School '43."
Frank looked intrigued and yet affronted all the same. He did not extend his hand for a handshake, instead staring warily at the taller man.
"So you're the man they sent to replace me," he mumbled, looking up at Major Winchester.
"Actually, that's not true," Hawkeye cut in, before Winchester could reply. "Charles here is a surgeon."
Frank looked confused. He put his hands on his hips. Charles slowly lowered his hand, squinting irritably at this man who'd neglected to greet him properly.
"I'm a surgeon."
"Let's just say you're closer to being a sturgeon than you are a surgeon," Pierce quipped. "You have the lips for it."
Frank sighed and his shoulders dropped ever so slightly. He could sense that he was very quickly losing whatever bit of respect he had upon arriving at the 4077th.
"Aw, cut it out, Pierce."
Hawkeye grinned at him.
"I'm just glad you knew to pass the job on to me. After all, cutting it out is something only a surgeon does."
Frank glared at the tall dark-haired surgeon.
"Now, that's just uncalled for!"
"What are you talking about, Frank?" B.J. added. "You just told Hawk to cut it out. You yourself called for it."
Charles was beginning to be more than slightly uncomfortable with the two-against-one insult fest. He looked towards his two bunkmates and then at their new arrival.
"I'm sure Colonel Burns has better things to do than play verbal chess with you two all day. Isn't that right, Colonel?"
Frank huffed indignantly at Winchester.
"I don't play chess! And I'd appreciate it if you'd mind your own beeswax!"
Charles blinked several times in confusion. How positively odd this man was. And where were his caduceus pins, if indeed he was a surgeon at the 4077th? B.J. spoke up.
"I have to admit it, Frank, your new title is way better than the last one."
Frank could only stare at Hunnicutt, clearly baffled. Was he being paid a compliment or an insult? He couldn't tell. Most of the time, Hunnicutt acted as a kind of buffer between him and Hawkeye, whose animosity towards the higher-ranked officer was as plain as the nose on his face. It didn't help that Frank had attempted to get Pierce hanged for a supposed mutiny, in addition to the countless times he'd reported Pierce for simply teasing him. B.J. continued explaining.
"'Major Burns' can kill you but 'Colonel Burns' just means the popcorn is overdone."
Hunnicutt followed his little joke with a shrug. At that, Frank's mouth dropped open and he had no verbal retort. It was more of an awful pun than it was a nasty remark. Frank was not safe for long, however. Hawkeye took the opportunity for a quip of his own.
"Actually, Beej, I bet Ferret-face could still kill you—that is, if you're a patient of his."
Charles glanced down at his watch. Lunchtime was nigh. He looked at the group.
"It is now lunchtime, gentlemen, and I recommend we take this most delightful exchange over to the mess tent."
Hawkeye and B.J. nodded and began walking in the direction of the mess tent. Frank, however, didn't move a muscle.
"You're just like them, aren't you?" Frank said with a sneer. Winchester's eyes narrowed.
"Pardon?"
"You're enjoying this, watching them insult me! Not only that, but they saluted you and haven't insulted you one time!"
"In fact, Colonel, I was being sarcastic in my statement," Charles corrected. "Believe me, when I first arrived here, I was not immune to the insults, practical jokes, and clever little stunts your former bunkmates so enjoy."
B.J. shrugged.
"He did end up getting a shot for it though, so he no longer reacts to it."
"The swelling still hasn't gone down though," Pierce added. "You'll soon be able to tell that it's still very much present in his head, especially."
Frank ignored the snarky comments and continued to gape at Winchester. "You've been here for what, a year and a half? They haven't even tried to embarrass you!"
"Just wait another minute or two," Hawkeye said with a snicker.
"Believe me, this is the exception and not the rule," Charles explained with wide eyes, his words tinged with nervous laughter. "They are usually far worse. The other day, for example, they took one of my Mozart records and—"
"Must not be busy enough around here, keeping records on art," Frank disdainfully remarked with a sharp outtake of air. "Especially art of moats. The castles are far more interesting-looking, anyway."
Charles could only gape at Frank. Perhaps Pierce and Hunnicutt were on to something.
Once inside the mess tent, Hawkeye and B.J. hung back in the buffet line and let Frank go ahead and pick up what they could stomach. Charles kept his ears open for whatever they were to discuss, but said nothing.
"Did you notice he's not wearing his medical corps pins?" Hunnicutt whispered to Hawkeye. Hawkeye nodded.
"I did notice that. I wonder what happened…"
"It'll probably come out sooner or later," Hunnicutt remarked. "At the very least, it looks like he won't be helping us with any surgeries when the ceasefire ends."
"That's great news," Hawkeye replied. "And it's even better news for the patients."
Charles's eyes snapped back into the tension-filled atmosphere of the post-op ward at the sharp prick of the large-gauge needle into the crook of his elbow, a lifeline to a new blood supply that had already been hung up on the IV hook. Colonel Potter had since arrived and was operating the Ambu-bag and Charles noticed with bleary eyes that the chest tube had already been inserted into the wound. Drifting away for those moments had temporarily relieved the pain until that sharp jab into his arm. Winchester stared up at the people gathered around him and could thankfully make out the faces: Captains Pierce and Hunnicutt, Colonel Potter, Margaret, and even Klinger. He was relieved that Father Mulcahy was nowhere to be seen. That could only be interpreted as a good sign.
"Thank God, Charles; we thought we were losing you there for a minute," Hawkeye said with a sigh of relief. "Keep your eyes open and blinking so we know we're on the right track."
Now that Charles was no longer struggling for breath, he attempted to speak, though his words were muffled inside the Ambu-bag.
"I'm just recalling how it came to this," he said while exhaling. At that, he glanced over towards Frank, who was no longer lying over the North Korean patient but was seated on the floor, propped up against the bed in a straitjacket but still unconscious. In spite of himself, Charles found it to be one of the most pitiful sights he'd ever seen.
A/N: This the first time I've tried to write Frank Burns, and I'd be ever so happy if you'd keep me informed as to how the characterizations are going! Please consider leaving me some feedback! :)