After Frank's arrival to the 4077th, the four surgeons had headed over to the mess tent under the influence of Charles's opinion and they'd noticed the lack of a caduceus on Frank. Even so, they approached his table, maintaining a guise of friendliness.
"Where's Margaret?" Frank asked, as soon as Charles, Hawkeye and B.J. arrived at the table. At the moment, Frank looked rather pitiful, his eyebrows angled in such a way that he looked like a frightened puppy. "I know she's no longer with Colonel Penobscott."
"She's on leave," Hawkeye murmured. "Nurses' convention."
"Where?"
Hawkeye took in a breath and held it.
"Dunno; she wouldn't tell me." He shrugged. "I mean, you'd think she'd tell her own husband where she was going, but no…"
Frank blanched and his expression changed to that of utter horror.
"What? You're not married! She's only been divorced for a year!" he yelled. "And you're not even wearing a ring!" he added, pointing at Hawkeye's fingers and gesticulating wildly.
"What about you, Frank?" Hunnicutt remarked. "You never wore a ring even though you were married." He held up his left hand. "None of us surgeons wear rings; you know that—we need the full use of our hands for surgery. The fact that Hawk doesn't wear a ring means nothing."
"You should see the ring I got Margaret, though," Hawkeye said with a wink. "She doesn't take it off. Everything else, though, she does."
"You're disgusting!" Frank said, standing up abruptly. "I'm leaving!"
"Best thing you've said all day," Hawkeye muttered under his breath, looking down at his food as Frank left the mess tent without having eaten a single morsel of food. Charles let out a long-held sigh as soon as it was apparent that Frank was long-gone from earshot.
"Not to play devil's advocate," he murmured, "but I can't believe you two derive enjoyment from insulting a man who lacks the mental capacity to respond properly."
"Are you kidding?" Hawkeye said, noticeably brightening. "That's what we like most about it!"
"You're fighting a battle of wits with an unarmed man," Charles responded. "Has he done anything else to merit the kind of treatment you are doling out to him?"
"More than enough," Hawkeye replied. "When Colonel Blake, rest in peace, was the c.o. here, Frank constantly tried to get him fired. He and Margaret always went over Henry's head to get me and Trapper in trouble with the MPs. I can't count how many times I was almost court-martialed or even hanged on account of that man's yapping lipless maw. He'll backstab anybody with a back."
"Is he always so despondent?" Charles asked, stirring his slightly greenish creamed corn in its tray compartment. "He may very well be the most miserable person I've ever met."
Hawkeye replied.
"No—because for a long time, he had Margaret to relieve all that pent up emotion with."
"What did Margaret see in him, anyway?" B.J. questioned, with Charles listening intently as he ate. "I still can't figure it out."
"Maybe it was the fact that Frank was permanently attached to her earlobes and her feet."
Charles looked mildly disgusted and put down his spoon.
"Are you saying the man's a fetishist?"
"Yup," Hawkeye said, nodding his head exaggeratedly. "A finking, ferret-faced fetishist, at that."
"If only I knew how two you really felt about him," Charles remarked, sarcasm dripping from his words. He stood up, having finished up the last of his creamed corn and cabbage. He bowed his head slightly to excuse himself. "Gentlemen."
Upon entering the Swamp, Charles was startled by the presence of Frank Burns sitting on Hawkeye's bed and digging through Hawkeye's footlocker. His surprised intake of breath was heard by Frank, whose head turned quickly to identify the intruder.
"What are you doing here?" he growled, his piercing eyes locked on Charles.
"I live here," Winchester said, grimacing, "as distasteful as it sounds. My bunk is over there." He pointed in the direction of his bed. Frank didn't budge from his place on Hawkeye's bed.
"That's where I used to sleep," Frank muttered. He exhaled rather forcefully, staring over at the cot. Charles hid his automatic face of distaste.
"Are you… looking for something?" Charles asked.
"I don't know," Frank replied hopelessly. "Pierce and Hunnicutt stole so much of my stuff that I don't remember what all they took." Just then he lifted up a pocket watch and grinned. "Here's something. This is my pocket watch. My mother gave it to me. Those lousy, no-good thieves."
"Oh, did she," Charles said, wincing at the cheap timepiece, its cover made out of some kind of steel. The initials on the back of the pocket watch shone BFP. Surely this was not Frank's watch.
"B, F, P," Charles muttered. "Are you certain that that pocket watch is yours?"
"Damn straight it is," Frank replied confidently. "It stands for Burns, Frank P."
"Oh, is that right? What's your middle name?"
Frank hesitated for a moment, looking self-conscious.
"Marion."
Charles couldn't believe that Frank slipped the object into his jacket pocket as nonchalantly as if it were his. The silence that had fallen between them was tangible.
"Is Major Houlihan really married to Pierce?" Frank suddenly blurted.
"Ah. So is that your original intention for encroaching upon Pierce's footlocker—looking for a wedding ring?" Charles watched Frank's face fall. "Well, you won't find one."
"Why not?"
Charles froze for a moment. He'd given up his dream of Tokyo to save Margaret's skin and now he was left with a dilemma—should he release Colonel Burns's leash and allow him to pursue the woman, or continue the façade of Major Houlihan's marriage to Pierce?
"Well," Charles began, "As you probably already realize, Pierce is not one for such… restrictive garments."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Frank replied, frowning. "Are they married or not? Tell me the truth. That's an order, Major."
"I don't involve myself in the affairs of others," Charles said as nonchalantly as possible. "Especially not Pierce's."
"Huh!" Frank scoffed, his face troubled. "He better not be married to her, or I swear I'll.…"
As Frank's voice trailed off, Charles moved to sit down on his own cot. So far, Frank had not managed to say anything nasty or insulting. Could it be that Pierce and Hunnicutt were the cause of his miserable attitude?
"So Pierce and Hunnicutt give you a hard time?" Frank blurted.
"Constantly," Charles replied. "You are certainly not the only person to be a target of their senseless jokes."
"I can't even talk about what all they did to me. Ugh, they're probably going to be coming back soon."
"Most assuredly," Winchester said. "The reason I'm not remaining in this tent much longer."
"Where are you going?"
"The Officers Club," Winchester replied. "Care to join me?"
"And drink? At this hour of the day?" Frank said, his top lip trembling. He stared off into space for a moment, his face unreadable. "Oh, why not…"
"Where do you suppose Charles went?" Hawkeye said, after finding the Swamp empty and Winchester's phonograph still present. He'd certainly not wandered up in the hills as was customary these past few days.
"Probably scrambled off to the latrines in a mad rush," Hunnicutt replied. "He actually tried to eat lunch today. Poor guy…."
"Well, there goes his day," Pierce murmured, shaking his head.
"Do you think Frank is really going to leave?"
"He hasn't seen Margaret yet. I bet he's gonna wait around just to ask her if she and I are married."
B.J. looked concerned.
"You should tell him, Hawk. He's already overstayed his welcome."
Hawkeye only shrugged as he replied.
"What welcome?"
"What will you be having?"
Charles looked over at Frank Burns, who had sat down glumly in the Officers Club staring up at the prices behind the bar. Frank didn't reply or even so much as acknowledge his question. Here he was, being unbiased and uncharacteristically kind to the much-reviled Frank Burns, and yet, Frank wasn't giving him the satisfaction of succeeding in his unselfish venture.
"Bartender," Charles called out, "a cognac, please."
Suddenly Frank snapped back to attention.
"A cognac?" he said, scrunching up his face in distaste. "Is that… alcohol?"
Charles immediately wiped the incredulous look off his face.
"It is indeed. The finest kind this army scrip can buy—"
"No wonder Pierce and Hunnicutt like you. You're a lush just like them, aren't you?"
Charles turned to Burns, clearly insulted. Frank was even less tactless than Pierce and Hunnicutt combined. In fact, he found it difficult to be civil, but civility nevertheless prevailed.
"Colonel," he stated, his chin in the air, "though you may outrank me, I do not appreciate the continuous attacks on my character. I have graciously extended an olive branch to you and you have thrown it on the ground and spat on it."
Colonel Burns glared over at him without a word, pondering his next comment.
"They've done this to me, the lot of them: Pierce, McIntyre, Hunnicutt…" He took a breath, clenching his teeth. "All I want to know is—where the hell is Major Houlihan?"
"As Pierce already dictated, she's not here," Winchester replied, taking a sip of his drink. Frank looked at him earnestly.
"When will she be back?"
"I am not certain," Winchester lied. Frank Burns and Major Houlihan together made no sense. Surely it was better to keep him away from her. His opinion of this man was steadily dropping.
"You're not certain of anything, are you? And they call me indecisive."
"Heh," Charles muttered under his breath, "that's not the worst I've heard."
Frank didn't seem to catch the little jab and looked up towards Igor, who was standing behind the bar.
"Bartender," Frank called out, "I'll have a Shirley Temple."
"A Shirley Temple?" Charles commented, almost spitting out his cognac in laughter. "Surely you jest."
Frank gave him a thoughtful look.
"I've never heard of that drink," he admitted. "Is it anything like a Shirley Temple?"
"Fancy meeting you here, Frank," Hawkeye called out, as he entered the Officer's Club. Frank was sitting beside Major Winchester nursing his second Shirley Temple, staring at his drink and speaking to no one. The lieutenant colonel didn't so much as look up at the comment.
"And Charles! So sorry to spoil your fun," B.J. added, swooping between the pair and putting his hands on the two men's shoulders.
"Quite the contrary, I assure you," Charles muttered irritably, finishing off the last of his third snifter of cognac. Only a state of total inebriation would cause him to even dare speak a word to Colonel Clueless again.
"I'll bet you miss the patients, don't you?" Hawkeye asked Major Winchester. He saw as Charles turned towards him ever so slightly, rolling his eyes.
"And what, pray tell, do you mean by that?" Charles replied, frowning.
"I mean, let's face it; they're far more entertaining than Frank here," Hawkeye answered, slapping Frank on the back. "And they can carry on a conversation better too, even when they're unconscious."
"Shut up, snots!" Frank growled, turning to face his bullies. "I didn't come here for you, so leave me alone! Once I see Margaret, then I'll go!"
"Promise?" Hawkeye jeered. Frank's face reddened with rage.
"Where is she, Pierce?"
"She's in my footlocker," Pierce replied matter-of-factly. "Didn't you find her in there when you were nibbing around? She's under the second issue of my Nude Volleyball magazine."
"Hardy har har, very funny," Frank deadpanned, clearly not amused. "Now, where is she?"
Hawkeye grinned at the frowning lieutenant colonel.
"Believe me, Frank, if she were here, we wouldn't have to hide her from you."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"She's developed a liking for lips and chins," B.J. explained. "In short, you're 0 for 2."
A/N: If you have any thoughts as to the structure, characterizations, etc. of this story I encourage you to review!