CHAPTER 12 - Civility

Margaret frowned at seeing no sign of Frank Burns in the hospital building. She stood in O.R. with her nurses, giving tasks to particular nurses in terms of clean-up, sterilization, and post-op duties, now that the shift was over. The absence of Frank Burns clearly bothered her, and she fell silent several times in mid-sentence, her eyes focused off in the distance.

Usually he'd linger around post-op or perhaps even berate Radar in the company clerk's office while she finished up in the O.R. with her nurses. Anything to throw people off in thinking that he was waiting for her. Just earlier he had essentially proposed to her, and now he had disappeared. She hadn't even given him an answer. Had Frank finally given up on winning her back?

Meanwhile, the surgeons made their way to the mess tent for a late breakfast. Frank shoved his hands in his pockets and walked alone, not even bothering to wait for Margaret, who was assisting her nurses in cleaning up the operating room. Pierce and Hunnicutt walked together about twenty steps ahead of him. Frank kept his head down, considering his next move. The air was still cool and thick with mist from the morning, and the M.A.S.H. was eerily quiet.

Frank's arrival at the 4077th was an attempt to regain the life he had lost. Now it was extremely clear that things would never be the way they were ever again. Margaret had lost all interest, Radar was gone, the very competent and now badly wounded Major Winchester had taken Frank's place, Colonel Potter was probably moments from arresting him, and Pierce…

Pierce had sworn off joking about him. It was quite possibly the only good change that was made. Even so, Frank wouldn't believe it until he experienced a conversation with Pierce that didn't involve some form of jeering. The last major conversation he'd had with Pierce in which Pierce had taken his side was when Margaret first announced her engagement.

They had been sitting at the mess tent table and Frank had invited Hawkeye to Rosie's to hang out with some nurses. Frank had cracked a joke at Margaret's expense, a joke about her age. To see his fellow surgeons laughing along with him was a feeling that Frank had held onto for years.

But Pierce hadn't done this out of kindness or better yet, respect towards him. He'd done it because he was afraid, right?

"Klinger, get HQ on the horn," Potter instructed Klinger, upon entering the company clerk's office. "We need an ambulance sent for Colonel Burns, before he does somethin' else. Did you see him leave the O.R.?"

"Well, Major Houlihan's still in there, so he could be hanging around, waiting for her," Klinger admitted. "I could check the mess tent—they've cooked up a late breakfast for everyone today."

"I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing that breakfast was made," Colonel Potter said with a chuckle. "Before you head over to breakfast to sample the fare, make sure we got someone comin' for Frank."

"Sure thing, Sir. It'll probably take 'em a couple of hours to get here; is that alright?"

"I think so," Potter replied. "If nothing else, it'll give him some time to tie up all his loose ends."

"Pierce."

Frank took a seat with his filled tray, directly opposite Hawkeye and B.J. However, his gaze was locked on the dark-haired man. Pierce wisely kept his casted hand under the table. No use reminding Frank of what Pierce had attempted to do to him.

"Burns."

Hawkeye met his eye with an equally intense stare. B.J. could only scratch his head in confusion. Was this supposed to be funny or was this the beginning of another suicidal rage?

Several seconds passed as Frank looked more and more self-conscious and impatient. Finally, the man could take it no more.

"Did you mean it when you said you'd stop picking on me?" Frank blurted.

"I did, Frank," Hawkeye said with a slight bowing of his head.

Frank's head tilted with catlike interest.

"Why?"

Hawkeye looked surprised for a moment. He hadn't expected Frank to delve into the precise reason. Usually when something good happened to Frank, he didn't question it and instead assumed away what it meant.

"It's because you're scared of me now—is that right?" Frank asked.

"No," Hawkeye replied. "It's not because of that."

Frank paused for a moment, confused by the response. He blinked several times, remembering how the surgeons had first reacted when they saw him with the pistol in the post-op ward.

"You're not scared of me?"

"Why would I be?" Hawkeye said. "We've all felt close to the end of our ropes, we've all held guns and misfired guns. We've all gone through the crap you went through today, Frank. In most cases, though, Charles wasn't in the way."

B.J. couldn't help but nod in agreement.

"Though when you look at Charles's bulk, it's a miracle that he wasn't in the way then too," B.J. added with a shrug.

Frank was clearly taken aback by Pierce's confession.

"Are you saying that you've felt like just… ending it all?" he asked the two of them.

"Sure—for starters, it's a lot better than beginning it again," Pierce replied, grimacing.

"I still find myself amazed that I made it through my first week in Korea," B.J. admitted. "I'd never been more depressed in my life. Leaving my family to fix people that shouldn't be broken in the first place…. Everything was pointless."

"Was? I would argue that everything still is pointless," Pierce replied. "Kids sent over here that will never be the same. Parts that took nine months to form blown away in the blink of an eye. Kids saying goodbye to their parents, only they don't know the bye is for good."

"You're right, Hawk," B.J. admitted, sighing with sadness. "Everything is still pointless."

A minute passed as Frank absorbed the words of his fellow surgeons.

"Well, why are you both still here then? If everything is, as you say, pointless."

"The only reason I'm still here is because I think of what I left behind," B.J. explained. "Peg. Erin. Just picturing them waiting at home for me gives me the strength I need to get through those times."

"What about you?" Frank blurted, turning to Pierce. "You have no family waiting for you."

"Humor is the only thing getting me through Korea," he explained. "That's it. If I took everything seriously I'd already be buried back in Crabapple Cove, delivered to my dad in a flag-draped coffin years ago."

"You mean, if you took anything seriously," Frank huffed.

"Touché," Pierce admitted. "But that's it. That's what gets me by. I try to find humor wherever I look. Now, you Frank, you took everything seriously. I need a higher dose of humor around you because you never joke about anything—it's like you suck the fun right out of the air. My picking on you gives me my extra dose of humor."

"Well, what about me? How do you think that made me feel?" Frank said poutily. "Why didn't you let me in on your M.O. before you started on your little tirades?"

"You wouldn't have stood for it," Hawkeye explained. "Anyway, you don't tell someone about the banana peel before you throw it out in front of them." He shrugged. "Takes all the humor out of it."

"There you are, Burns," Potter announced, striding into the mess tent with Klinger and Margaret. "Been lookin' everywhere for you."

"No need," Frank replied with a sigh. "I can't really go anywhere from here anyway."

"I dunno," Klinger commented, "Other than the minefield, this place is surrounded by places to go."

Frank huffed.

"If that's true, why didn't you go AWOL? Was that whole section 8 nonsense merely an excuse for you to wear dresses?"

"I wanted to preserve my life. In case you didn't notice, a lotta guys around here don't like us and would shoot us on sight," Klinger admitted. "I didn't want to risk it." Frank raised his eyebrow. Pierce and now Klinger was admitting wrong? What was this world coming to?

"Burns," Colonel Potter said with a gesture, "I need to speak with you in my office."

Frank Burns stood up quickly, so quickly that Hawkeye, B.J. and Colonel Potter all flinched.

"You can just tell me here, Sir," Frank replied, standing straight as a board. "I doubt I'll be surprised by the news."

"If that's what you prefer."

"It is, Sir."

"I've called the MPs here to come pick you up. I did tell them of your stepping up in the end to help the wounded boys, and I would imagine that'll help your case."

Frank Burns did not so much as blink.

"I was only doing my job—well, what was my job, Colonel," he simply stated. "How long do you think it'll be 'til they get here?"

Hawkeye and B.J. looked at each other with incredulity. Why hadn't this set Frank off?

"Couple of hours, I'd imagine," Potter replied. "It's up to you to decide what you'll be doing in those hours. If you're thinking of trying anything, you'll spend your time in that straitjacket; otherwise, you can walk around and say your proper goodbyes."

"Well, you certainly don't have to worry about any shooting going on," Frank explained. "I don't even know where my gun is."

Potter looked stern and pointed at Frank.

"And it's gonna stay that way, understand?"

"Of course."

"Just because you will be free to walk around doesn't mean we won't be watchin' you," Potter further warned. "You're not gonna be putting anyone else in the O.R., including yourself."

After being explicitly told of his impending arrest, Frank yawned, turned around and sat back down across from Hawkeye and B.J.

"So, is the fare faring any better?" he asked them, his face devoid of all emotion.

"Uh, no, it isn't," Hawkeye stammered. Was Frank being… matter-of-fact?

Margaret approached the table.

"Frank, I can talk with you now," she said. He didn't bother turning around to address her. Instead, he raised a finger.

"Just a minute."

Pierce's eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

"Hawk," Frank said languidly, "what do you plan on doing when this police action is finally over?"

"Uh, which one?" Pierce asked honestly, sputtering from the friendly use of his name. Korea was a 'police action' but then so was Frank's impending arrest. Was this really how Frank acted normally, so civil and calm?

"The Korean War. I didn't mean this whole rigmarole," Frank clarified with a dismissive hand gesture. "Do you think you'll ever settle down?"

"You mean, with a woman?" Hawkeye asked, still in a daze of warped reality. How had this conversation remained so damn civil for so long? This had to be a record.

"Yes," Frank replied. "What else could I have meant?"

"Uh, well, I dunno."

"When I arrived here, you claimed to be married to Margaret. So… why not?" Frank finished his sentence with a sly little smile.

Hawkeye spit out his drink. B.J. blinked rapidly several times and pinched his arm to reassure himself that this wasn't some kind of conjured reality.

"I'm standing right here, Frank," Margaret seethed, her arms crossed in a threatening position as she stood behind him. "You can't just pass off a human being like a possession. Besides, I never belonged to you in the first place."

"Yes you did," Frank murmured, his voice trailing off. He sounded strangely far away. "For a couple of months, you belonged to me."

Margaret's face turned beet red.

"How dare you?" she spat. "How—"

"And I belonged to you, Margaret," he interrupted, turning midway to look up at her. "I would have died for you. I still would. I'm always yours."

"I'm going to my tent," Margaret fumed. "This doesn't need to be made public. You'd be smart to discuss this with me there."

"I have a few loose ends to tie up first," Frank replied, turning back around. "I'll be over after that."

Margaret stomped away as Frank's face revealed for an instant to Pierce and Hunnicutt all the agony he was in over his situation. Immediately the look disappeared and Frank slumped over, beginning to spoon dry eggs into his mouth.

"Tough break with the MPs, Frank," B.J. muttered. "But look at the bright side—if Charles pulls through, you'll be back out in no time."

"My goose is cooked," Frank replied. "I hope they send me to jail. That mental hospital I was sent to after Margaret's wedding was the worst. All they do day and night is try to get into your head."

"By jail, do you mean Leavenworth?" Hawkeye replied, almost choking on the excuse for bacon. "I can't imagine that that would be a walk in the park."

"Eh, I can take care of myself," Frank snorted. "I've never had it very easy, so I'm more than used to it. Maybe I can get a job at the prison infirmary."

"What about Louise and your girls?" B.J. asked. "You'll be in Kansas."

"I've more of a chance of Auntie Em stopping by," Frank murmured emotionlessly. "Hell, I'd be surprised if they even cared to find out what happened to me."

"I have a question to ask you, Frank," Hawkeye ventured carefully. His eyes were searching and still in disbelief. He lowered his voice as Colonel Potter proceeded to the buffet line. "Are you really gonna let them take you? Or are you gonna do something else?"

"That was two questions," Frank replied. "To answer the first one, I don't really have a choice. To answer the second one, no."

"I'm amazed at how you're taking this," Hawkeye blurted. "I didn't know you had it in you. You're just so… I dunno, calm."

"Yeah, Frank," B.J. chimed in. "I'm actually impressed. I just hope you don't have something up your sleeve."

"Nothing up my sleeve but lint," Frank muttered.

Frank gingerly stepped into the post-op ward. This was his first errand, to speak with his unintended victim. Thankfully Winchester was close to the door and far from the wounded Korean man he had shanghaied into pulling the trigger of his pistol.

"Major Winchester," he murmured, hands clasped behind his back. B.J. slowly took a seat across the post-op ward to keep an eye on Frank from a distance. There were things that Frank needed to say to the Boston-born surgeon but Potter had wisely insisted that he had to be watched.

"You look pretty flushed," Frank noted, putting the back of his hand on Charles's forehead. "That's probably a good sign… I think. Ah, and you're warm too. I hope it's not fever."

He stared at Charles for several minutes but didn't know what to say. It was now or never. Soon the MPs would be arriving with shackles and all sorts of restraints, to toss him into either a mental hospital or prison.

"Should be waking up soon, I imagine," Frank muttered, glancing at his wristwatch. Certainly the anesthetic would be wearing off minute by minute. Charles's eyes stayed shut. "Ugh, why do I have to do all the talking?" Frank grumbled. He glanced across the room to see that B.J. was trying his best not to stare blatantly in his direction. Already he'd lost his freedom.

Charles had gotten the bullet he was meant to get, the bullet that was meant to prove a point to everyone. That fact both ashamed and infuriated him.

"Why did you feel the need to stop me from ending it all?" Frank griped in a loud voice. He sat down on the edge of the bed near Charles's midsection. "You know nothing of my pain."

Suddenly a strained grunting sound emerged from Charles's lips as his shoulder squirmed. Frank almost jumped a foot in the air.

"In fact—" Charles started, "I'll bet I'm in… more pain than you'll ever… be in." His voice was low and slightly slurred, the anesthetic still in the process of wearing off completely. "No thanks to you." As he spoke he strained to breathe, eyes squinted in pain.

B.J. saw what had happened and ran over to the scene. Charles was now awake and there was no morphine IV in sight. By the sight of Charles's gritted teeth, squinted eyes and grunts of pain, it was obvious that he needed morphine.

"Just a minute, Charles!" he exclaimed. "I'll get you some morphine." With that, Hunnicutt dashed out of the post-op onto the compound, leaving Frank alone with Winchester. Charles's eyes went wide for a moment. At last he remembered, Frank was still very much suicidal. How could Hunnicutt make such a dire error in judgment? This man before him was not trustworthy by any accounts. Why was Burns not restrained in a corner of the supply room, awaiting the MPs? Instead he was here unguarded with Charles, the collateral damage in a thwarted suicide attempt.

"So now that you're awake, I need you to answer my question," Frank told Charles as the latter man lay in his bed. "Why did you try to take my gun from me?"

"Is it not obvious?" Charles groaned. "You were… hardly in the state… of mind to brandish it." With that, Winchester shut his eyes tightly. "I'm through talking. Too much pain."

"Now, you listen here, Major, soon you're gonna get that morphine and you'll be out. By the time you wake up again, I'm going to be on my way to Leavenworth or some loony bin. I just need to know one more thing."

Charles said nothing, keeping his eyes shut. His breaths were shallow and strained, but Frank didn't seem to notice this.

"Why did you try to be nice to me?" Frank asked. There was a pause in which Charles drew up the wind to speak.

"I didn't try," Charles began haltingly. "I was nice to you. You… on the other hand…."

"Let's not argue semantics, Major," Frank growled. "Why did you do it?"

"Ugh… Now you're adding insult… to injury," Charles said in a strained voice. "I'm in pain, you fool. It isn't easy… for me to talk."

"Then answer me."

"Human decency!" Charles practically roared. "Which you do not possess! In spite… of all that I had heard… about you from Pierce… and Hunnicutt, I had no prejudices against… you. A serious error in… judgment on my part."

"But if you hadn't tried to befriend me, you would never have gotten close enough to—"

"To be shot," Charles interrupted. "I am aware."

"No—to save my life," Frank blurted. Suddenly he realized the weight of his statement. He was crediting Charles for saving him. He hadn't meant to do that. "Not that it should have been saved," he quickly added, his eyes darting around the room self-consciously.

"Are you seeking… some sort of… approval from me?" Charles groaned, attempting to move his damaged shoulder. "I swear to heaven above, if I lose the use of my… arm, I will find you and put an end to your miserable little life myself."

"Okay!" Frank said, putting his hands up in mock surrender. "I just wanted to know that. You were nice to me because of human decency. And not having prejudice against me."

"I shall never make that mistake again," Charles grunted through his teeth. "Now let me rest, for the love of all that is holy!"

"Where is B.J. with the morphine?" Frank muttered to himself as he stood at the door to the post-op ward. "He should have been back by now."

When Frank opened the door which led onto the open compound, what he saw shocked him. Several nurses hid behind tents. A couple of enlisted men raced at full speed across the compound, but in general, the compound was empty. Suddenly a sniper bullet whizzed through the Swamp, followed by the sound of bullets ricocheting off the corrugated metal of the hospital building. Immediately Frank shut the door and moved back into the post-op ward.

"Snipers on the compound. All buildings on lockdown. Head for cover," the P.A. announced.

He could hear Winchester sigh heavily from his bed at the announcement.

"It figures," Frank huffed. "Snipers on the compound, and me with no gun to return fire." Charles could only make a scoffing sound. Frank turned to Charles fully, his face full of strange innocence. "Should I try to find B.J.?" he asked.

"Are you mad?" Charles said with a grimace. "Did you not hear the… message? It's meant to be followed."

Frank fidgeted as he stood by the closed door. Several times bullets struck the metal directly outside where Frank stood, but he could only shift from foot to foot, apparently deep in thought.

"You know what?" Frank stated, looking resolute. "I'm going to get you that morphine. Besides, I'm the one who put you in this position in the first place."

There was a moment of startled silence.

"No! That's suicide!" Charles bellowed. Immediately he whimpered. He'd spoken too loudly. Pain shot through his chest, radiating into his arm.

"Suicide with a purple heart to show for it," Frank reassured him, nodding as he remained eerily calm. "A purple heart I've earned."

"That's only if you're wounded!" Charles spat. "Not killed! Have you learned nothing from your time here!"

"Wasn't it you who said you'd kill me yourself?" Frank pointed out with a shrug. "Hmph… seems like you just said that, actually."

"A figure of speech!" Charles responded. "Now, stop this inane talk!"

"No," Frank replied, absolutely resolute. "You can't get in the way this time. Thanks for being nice to me. If I die, just make sure to tell them how."

"Stupidly!" Charles spat viciously. "You will get no praise from me for dying of stupidity!"

"I suppose it's only fitting," Frank murmured, clearly disappointed. "At least I'll avoid Leavenworth. Goodbye, Major."

With that, Frank Burns stepped out the door of the post-op into the open compound.