Author's Note: *Peaks head around corner* Oh…hello, I – er – really didn't mean to take so long to post this. Meanwhile, however, I think y'all should know that I had a sadistically grand time torturing you. *Dodges thrown chair*

Chapter Five – Skies Clear:

"…It's Hawkeye."

BJ felt his stomach clench, heard a small voice in his head begin to scream. His whole body tensed, about to clap his hand over Margaret's mouth, cover his ears, shout so he couldn't hear, he didn't want to hear –

Margaret's eyes pooled with water. Her lips pulled into a tremulous smile. "His fever's broken. Blood pressure's back up to one-ten over seventy." Tears cascaded down Margaret's flushed cheeks. She hardly seemed to notice, gasping through her clogged throat, "He – breathing easier. Pulse, sixty and – getting stronger –"

Suddenly Margaret was in BJ's arms, face pressed into his shoulder, tears soaking through his uniform, shoulder's shaking. His arms contracted around her automatically. He was hardly able to breathe.

He wanted to spring into the air, to leap for joy, to shout unto the heavens but strangely his arms and legs, the muscles in his throat, seemed to have lost all strength. He couldn't make his voice rise to his lips, couldn't leap, couldn't whoop. He couldn't – he couldn't –

"Oh, BJ –" Margaret said jerkily, sobbing now in full. "I think – I think he's going to be alright!"

The words rebounded with strange meaninglessness in his head. He reacted only to the emotion pouring out of Margaret, feeling his lips pull painfully upward, feeling hot tears of his own dribble down his cheeks.

Alright. Alright. I think he's going to be alright.

Without thinking, without feeling, without making any decisions both he and Margaret sunk down to their knees in the soft earth, still wet from the days of torrential rain. He was vaguely aware in the back of his mind that he was now sobbing, face buried into Margaret's hair, but all he could think was those glorious, trembling, miraculous words: he's alright. Alright. I think he's going to be alright.

The cold mist trickled down the color of his shirt and there was a tremendous crack of thunder as, once again, the clouds let loose a deluge of rain.

Colonel Potter had just hung up the phone when he heard a babble of voices erupt in Radar's office. Knowing full well what it was all about he shoved himself out of his chair and through the doors.

Inside the office were all the people he'd expected to see, Radar, Father Mulcahy, Major Winchester, Major Houlihan, and Captain Hunnicutt – the last two who were soaked to the skin, obviously having got caught in the renewed downpour outside.

All of them seemed to be speaking at once. BJ was smiling beneath blood-shot eyes, "Is he awake? Can I go see him? What's his temperature now?"

"As overjoyed I am to hear of Pierce's recovery," Major Winchester drawled, "I do wish you'd come to me with the news first, Major, designated physician as I am –"

"Praise be to the Lord –"

"Couldn't have put it better myself, Father."

"Jeez, I don't know about all of you guys but I was sure getting scared –"

Colonel Potter raised his palms to shoulder height, "Hold your horses now, everyone. I knew this news was going to cause a bit of excitement but we don't need a stampede."

"Colonel, is he awake? I'm going to go see him –"

"Hold it, Hunnicutt!" said Colonel Potter, trying to keep his voice gruff while at the same time trying to stifle the sense of indescribable relief he, too, felt. "First order of business, how's that little Korean girl you and Winchester had to get into the OR?"

"Recovering nicely, Colonel," said Charles hastily, voice clipped in a way that suggested he, also, was trying to repress his emotion toward Pierce's recovery.

"Alright then, now, I didn't want to spread any rumors around, that's why I called you all here –"

"Margaret said Hawkeye's fever has broken –"

"That's right, Captain, it has. But we're still far from out of the woods yet. He's still got that pneumonia to fight off with that bad lung –"

"The antibiotics seemed to have kicked in," Margaret cut in. Her eyes still gleamed with hastily shed tears of joy but she had set her face into that familiar strictly business-first expression, although her lips did quirk upward slightly at the corner as though she was telling herself firmly not to grin.

"They do indeed," said Colonel Potter, keeping his hand raised in a bid for silence even though it didn't seem to be doing much good. Everyone was just fit to the bursting with enthusiasm and relief and Colonel Potter could hardly blame them. Heck if Colonel Potter was perfectly honest with himself he'd like to abandon all caution to the wind and give over to that roaring sense of victory he, himself, felt bubbling to life in his stomach.

"But Hawkeye's still a far cry from being back to his usual self. Right now he's sleeping, and a good long, healing sleep can sometimes do wonders that medicine can't so I intend to let him take as long as he needs, that means no bedside visits –"

"Colonel –" said BJ, making a face.

Colonel Potter pointed his finger at the Captain's chest, "Especially you, Hunnicutt – you're stewing, fretting, and fussing is libel to worry anyone into a nervous breakdown and that's something Hawkeye just doesn't need right now."

Before BJ could object, Charles cut in snidely, "Surely you do not mean to bar me from my own patient, Colonel?"

"Medical interests, only, Winchester!"

"Why, of course, Colonel, what other possible interest could I have in Pierce besides medical?" said Charles with merely a passable imitation of his usual aloof self. Colonel Potter could tell along with everyone else in the room that Major Winchester was, perhaps, rivaled in his relief over Pierce's recovery only by BJ.

"Mind you all," Colonel Potter continued, "I just got off the phone with Dan Pierce, and I cautioned watchfulness instead of celebration. That's the same advice I'm going to give all of you. We'll keep our fingers crossed, keep a wary eye on Pierce's improvement, any changes will be reported to me so I can make the best possible decisions about his strength concerning any visitors, and – when the time comes – I'll see that arrangements are made so he can be moved to Seoul and, God willing, transported back home."

His words left a ringing silence in the office. Colonel Potter could tell that this was the first time the others had allowed themselves to think that someday in the future Pierce might be going home. It was inevitable with an injury as severe as Pierce's had been, but – truth was – it had been too touchy for a time that even thinking of returning Pierce home had seemed like false hope. Now, however, it was looking like a definite possibility, perhaps even a distasteful one.

Colonel Potter knew this kind of double-edged blade well, Pierce was a good man, and good surgeon, and – despite his protestations – a good soldier. Colonel Potter would be sorry to see him go. Then again, there was no denying the boy had been through enough to earn his way across that ocean twenty times by now. Colonel Potter couldn't deny Pierce a nice, safe, comfortable existence back in America with, when he fully recovered his strength, ordinary, everyday patients to look after, with ordinary, everyday ailments like sprained ankles and appendicitis.

"My point is," Colonel Potter finished, "that as optimistic as things might look now, I don't want to raise any false hope, so let's keep this between just us six for now."

Everyone nodded, Radar, the Padre, Majors Winchester and Houlihan, and BJ – and just then the door to the office rattled open, letting in a stream of cold wind and rain and baby blue gingham skirt.

"I just heard about Captain Pierce, Colonel!" Corporal Klinger was beaming beneath his large, hooked nose, eyes aglow with delight, "He's gonna be alright! It's spreading like wildfire all over the camp!"

Hawkeye woke to light, gentle chatter, and a pleasant, heavy, drowsiness that drifted through his head dizzyingly and made him want to fall asleep again. The world above him blurred and whirled, slurring into a combination of colors and indistinguishable shapes, like a mist shrouded dream. In fact, the whole thing had a surreal, otherworldly feel to it, like the void somewhere in between waking up after only a couple hours of sleep and a couple gallons of gin.

Just when he'd made up his mind to shut his eyes again and roll over on his cot to wait for BJ to shuffle through his own alcohol induced stupor to tell him right-face and snap off a salute to the new sparkling day, there above his bleary eyes loomed a face.

"Ah, Pierce, decided to grace us with your presence after all, have you?"

Disgrace us with your presence, you mean, Hawkeye had meant to say but somehow his tongue had turned to sandpaper and lips refused to form themselves around the words. It struck him suddenly that his head and limbs felt oddly heavy. In fact, upon further examination, he couldn't seem to move at all.

"Charles…" what happened? His voice leaked unevenly through his lips, like a badly tuned radio.

"Nothing to worry about, Pierce," came Charles unmistakable clipped Boston accent, drifting torpidly somewhere above Hawkeye's face and sounding curiously disembodied, even though Hawkeye could see the major's lips move as he spoke. It took a moment for his words to drift through Hawkeye's ears and into his brain, longer still before he sorted through them well enough to discern any kind of meaning. "Although, with all honesty, you did give us all quite a scare. I don't suppose I should be surprised, however; it is just like you to travel all the way to the brink of death and back just to pull off a practical joke."

Practical jokes, now there was something Hawkeye understood but… "Brink of…" death? "What are…" you talking about?

"Nothing to worry about, Pierce," Charles only said again, with a maddening patronizing tone to his voice as he patted Hawkeye's arm before grabbing his wrist to check for a pulse. All of this Hawkeye watched with a sort of detached interest, and then he realized that he could not, in fact, actually feel Charles' fingers on his arm.

"Charles…what?" He tried to pull his arm away from Charles. He saw his fingers twitch but couldn't feel it.

Charles pulled his hand away, eyes catching hold of Hawkeye's. His expression held more kindness than Hawkeye had ever seen on his face before, at least when addressing Hawkeye, terror of Uijeongbu and all that was civilized in the – the…. Hawkeye's head was fuzzy, his thoughts a confused, muddled mess.

"Easy, Pierce," said Charles. "Just relax, now. You're going to be alright."

"Charles I…I can't," Hawkeye tried to get his voice to come out of his lips stronger. It sounded weak and raspy in his ears, oddly disfigured. "Can't move…Charles."

"It's alright, Pierce. You're on a rather heavy dose of painkillers currently to help keep your blood pressure down to avoid any risk of re-dissection, and any lack of sensation you feel is inevitably due to that. Admittedly, for a few moments it was a bit touchy seeing as we were more concerned in getting your blood pressure back up – as Hunnicutt was very fond of reminding me – but we seem to have it in hand now. You should be able to be weaned off the morphine slowly over the course of the next few days, and surely when we're able to arrange your transport to Seoul…."

Charles was rambling, something Hawkeye had noticed he did when he was nervous. Hawkeye's mind was sluggishly trying to keep up. The world around him was blurry. His eyelids slipped shut, Charles' voice becoming a comforting drone in the back of his mind.

"Pierce? Wake up, Pierce. I know you're certainly very tired but be a good man and give me your attention for only a few moments longer."

Hawkeye's eyelids snapped back open. The world was losing its blurred-around-the-edges appearance now. Hawkeye recognized the rafters in the ceiling as belonging to post-op, and then he remembered waking up like this once before, with something sitting on his chest, and everyone gathered around his bed. By default he remembered the Aid Station, and remembered Private McKinnon's missing leg and the wet earth soaked with rain and Hawkeye's own blood beneath his fingers, and he remembered the dizzying, rattling bus ride in a patch-work of unconsciousness and blurry pain.

"Charles…what…happened?" Each word peeled away from his throat with effort and Hawkeye didn't need to know the answer now, but some specifics would have been nice.

Charles frowned, "You're lung collapsed again, which triggered a dissection of your aortic artery. It was…tricky…however, superior surgeon as I am, I managed, of course, to pull you through without too much trouble."

Hawkeye thought Charles' effort at pomposity was rather transparent and he smiled, lips feeling oddly stiff and weak. "Thank you…for that."

"It was my pleasure, Pierce."

To disperse the oddly somber mood that had suddenly descended, Hawkeye attempted to joke – it fell flat when he could barely get a word out without taking a breath – after all timing was everything: "Where…is…everyone? I'm…rather hurt at…their lack of…concern."

Charles' stiff upper lip actually managed to crick into half a smile, "Colonel Potter's orders, Pierce. You are to rest."

"You know I…don't give a…damn about orders, Charles."

"Even so, Pierce, visitors have been forthwith banned from any bedside cosseting until our commanding officer does so deem you fit – not that that has stopped our commanding officer, mind you, from disobeying his own orders."

Hawkeye smiled. "How's everyone been…holding up? BJ and…Radar…Margaret?"

"Perfectly fine now that you're speaking while conscious instead of from within the clutches of delirium."

The world was getting hazy again, and Hawkeye's thoughts more scattered as he fought sleep. "Charles, really…how bad was I? I'm…a big boy…can take it."

"I believe your lowest point was when you're blood pressure dipped to seventy-seven over forty. You're fever was reading almost 105, which is, of course, a high point."

Hawkeye tried to wrap his mind around it, tried to make himself realize that he had been so near death, so close to…to whatever it was there was left when there was no longer life and – and it was much too profound for his tired brain to think about and, besides, he didn't want to think about it.

"How long have I been unconscious?"

"Approximately two and half days. Six hours ago your fever broke and since then you have merely been sleeping."

Hawkeye fought to keep his eyes open. Charles' face blurred, "And…Charles?"

"Yes, Pierce?"

"Am I going to – I mean – I can take it…you'd let me know if…" He let the question hang. He didn't know how to finish it.

"You have my word, Pierce," said Charles, warm palm falling on Hawkeye's arm. "Other than the pneumonia, which the antibiotics seem to be making short work of, and as long as we can keep you stable, I see absolutely no cause for concern. After a few short days of rest here, you shall be moved to Seoul for a full recovery and all I shall say to that is that thank goodness I shall finally have you out of my hair."

Hawkeye smiled, and barely moving his lips, murmured before his eyelids completely shut, "What hair?"

Charles warm chuckle was the last thing he heard before slipping, once again, into blissful slumber.

"We're sure gonna miss you around here, Hawkeye." Radar was sitting on the chair by Hawkeye's bed, clipboard clutched in his hand, serious eyes peeking out from his boyish face. "I mean, just everyone. Me and BJ, Klinger and Colonel Potter, even Majors Houlihan and Winchester. Korea just won't seem the same without you."

Hawkeye's head was propped up slightly on pillows. His color was good, no smidge of a temperature, and he was slowly being weaned off the dozen different medications dripping into his right arm through the IV.

"I'm going to miss me around here, too, Radar. In a way I don't think I'll be the same without Korea."

"But at least you're going home, sir," Radar beamed, he fiddled with the pen in his hand, doodling random, swirling lines on the clipboard absentmindedly. "I guess that kind of makes up for everything else."

"You cut out all that "sir" stuff, Radar. I'm a bona fide civilian from here on out and you'd better remember it – and that's an order."

Radar grinned, snapping his fingers at his hairline in a salute, "Yes, sir, Hawkeye, sir."

Hawkeye chuckled weakly. "Don't make me laugh. I'll tear my stitches. And I don't want anything else to delay me now that I've finally got a one-way ticket out of this place."

Radar's smile slipped away, "You – you're sure you're gonna be alright, Hawkeye?"

"Sure I'm sure, Radar."

"I'll tell you the truth, Hawkeye," said Radar, eyes bright and flighty, cheeks flushing almost as if he was ashamed to admit it, "but there were some times there that I was afraid that maybe you weren't – well, you know – maybe you weren't going to make it."

Hawkeye smiled, "Don't you worry about me, Radar. I intend to live forever, or die trying."

The door at the end of post-op swung open and Colonel Potter marched in, heels clicking on the wooden floor, "Ambulance should be pulling in any minute. I trust Hunnicutt's got all your stuff packed and ready to go, Pierce?"

"All set, sir," Radar answered.

"I told him to make sure to get all the socks under the bed," said Hawkeye. "The still he gets to keep as an act of good will. Anything he happens to miss you can send up to Seoul – except anything in khaki you can burn."

Colonel Potter smiled and, army career aside, said obligingly, "Will do, Pierce." He stuck his hand out for Hawkeye to shake, "It's been an honor serving with you, son. We're sure gonna miss you around here."

"There's a lot of that going around," said Hawkeye, taking the colonel's hand. "I've been honored to call you my commanding officer, Colonel, and now I'm honored to call you anything but my commanding officer – I'll miss you, Sherman."

"Take care of yourself, son. Remember, Mildred still wants to meet you."

"Will do, Colonel. You give the army a good name, Colonel, and both of us know how highly I don't think of the army."

Colonel Potter chuckled, "Don't I know it, Pierce. I know you won't listen to me, but try to behave yourself while in Seoul. You've almost made it, don't screw it up by getting a court martial a week before you're supposed to go home."

"I'll try my best, Colonel," Hawkeye smiled. There was the sound of tires spinning in the compound and the slamming of a door.

"That'll be the ambulance now," said Colonel Potter.

"I'd better go make sure they've got all the right forms signed and sealed and stuff," Radar mumbled before shuffling hastily down the hall. He ducked his head against his shoulder as though trying to covertly wipe away tears.

"I'd better head out, too, Pierce," said Colonel Potter, stepping away from Hawkeye's bedside.

"Hey, Colonel –" Colonel Potter turned back around and Hawkeye raised his hand to his forehead to snap off a quick, albeit sloppy salute. "It's been a privilege."

Colonel Potter smiled but his eyes were somber. "Likewise, Pierce." He answered his salute. "Likewise."

Colonel Potter disappeared through the door and out into the compound, leaving Hawkeye alone in the silent ward. The door at the other end swung open once again and Hawkeye, expecting corpsmen with a stretcher to bring him out to the ambulance, was surprised to see Charles push through the doors.

"Ah-ha, Pierce," said Charles, although startled to see Hawkeye still there.

Hawkeye felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips. "Doctor Winchester, I presume?"

"I just came in to give my patient one last cursory exam before he went on his way," said Charles stuffily.

"Of course you did, Charles," said Hawkeye.

"How's the arm?" said Charles, something like real concern actually passing over his face.

Hawkeye wiggled the fingers of his left hand experimentally, still lying uselessly at his side but at least responding. "Coming along nicely, Charles. That was some nice work you did."

"Of course it was," said Charles.

Hawkeye laughed. "So, I guess this is so long Chuckles-old-pall. I'd like to say it's been real and it's been fun but I'm pretty sure both of those would be lies."

"It certainly ain't been real fun, Pierce." The words dropped stiffly from his mouth, almost as if the contraction almost physically hurt coming off Charles' lips.

Hawkeye smiled and reached out his hand for Charles to shake. "Personally I hope I don't see you a moment sooner before we meet again."

"My sentiments exactly." Charles took Hawkeye's hand in his own.

"After the war you'll have to look me up. We can grab a beer, talk about all the grand, old times we had in the army."

"Neither grand nor old, I'm sure, by then," said Charles, even though he knew the only thing that would compel him to voluntarily seek out Pierce after the war would have to be bordering on the pending annihilation of the world and certainly not for something as trivial as "grabbing a beer", perish the thought.

"Hopefully old, at least," said Hawkeye, mouth falling into an uncharacteristically somber line.

Charles smiled tightly and tried to find something to say. He had always prided himself on his ability to turn a phrase, but now he found any fitting words curiously mislaid.

"Take care of yourself, Pierce."

"You too, Charles. Go find yourself a girl, bring a Charles Emerson the Fourth into the world and name him after me."

"However admirable of a person our country's forefather Benjamin Franklin was, I truly do not see how I will ever be able to hear the name again without thinking of you."

"With warm thoughts, I hope."

"What do you think, Pierce?"

Hawkeye stopped smiling but a grin shimmered in his blue irises. "You'll probably find this nearly as distasteful to hear as it is for me to say, but…I think you're a pretty swell guy, Charles. And thank you. For everything."

"However distasteful that may be to hear, Pierce," said Charles, barely containing both the roll of his eyes and quirk of his upper lip, "I think you should know that feelings are perfectly mutual. Thank you, Pierce."

"For what?" said Hawkeye. "BJ tells me I owe you my life."

Charles cleared his throat, realized he was still holding Hawkeye's hand in his own and gave his fingers a final, firm squeeze. "For…everything."

Hawkeye smiled until his blue eyes were almost overtaken by folds of skin. "See you around, Charles, you big lug."

Charles pulled his hand away and stepped back. "And you…Hawkeye."

Klinger took the head of Hawkeye's stretcher and marched him through the doors of post-op and into the compound, approaching the waiting ambulance. Hawkeye stared upward at the blueish gray sky and Klinger's large, hooked nose that loomed directly over him.

"You're hairy all over, Klinger, not just your legs."

Klinger flashed Hawkeye a toothy grin, "I'd be careful what I'd say if I were you, Captain. I am one of the only things stopping you from being dropped on your head at the moment."

Hawkeye laughed, "I'm going to miss you, Klinger, your hairy legs and high-heeled shoes, the handbags hanging off the tip of your rifle, not to mention your floor-length evening gowns at nine o'clock in the morning."

Klinger sighed, "Some people just don't understand that sometimes it's just nice for a guy to dress up, no matter what the time of day."

"I don't think anyone will believe me back home when I try to explain you," said Hawkeye.

Klinger grinned again, "Speaking of home – you don't think there's any chance of pulling a switch-a-roo when the driver's not looking, huh? I could slip into the ambulance and you could stay behind. I'd be half-way to Kimpo before they noticed I was missing."

"Not a chance, Klinger," said Hawkeye. "I earned this ride home by getting more than blisters on my toes from high-heels."

Klinger mumbled something about being underappreciated and a voice rang out overhead, "Not trying to slip away without saying good-bye, were you, Hawkeye?"

Hawkeye turned his head to see that what looked like the entirety of the MASH personnel had come out to see him off, the nurses, most of the corpsmen and, of course, his fellow officers.

Hawkeye almost wished they hadn't. He wasn't sure how he felt about large, showy good-byes. But, after all, it was liable to be the last time he'd see most of the people and he had spent the better part of two year – and suddenly his throat felt oddly tight and he wondered if the pain medication was making him unusually emotional.

Kellye stepped forward to peck him on the cheek, "Take care of yourself, Hawkeye." Her sentiments were echoed by the rest of the nurses, each stepping forward in turn to squeeze his hand or kiss his cheek.

"How come you're all so eager to give me what I've been asking for since I got here when it's just in time for me to leave?" pouted Hawkeye,

"There is something rather dashing about a brave and wounded soldier."

"There's room on the stretcher if any one of you want to keep me some company on the way up to Seoul," said Hawkeye.

To Hawkeye's surprise it was Margaret who answered, smile in her voice, "Sorry, Pierce, but you're to keep away from any overexertion for the next few weeks, doctor's orders."

"Want to come along to make sure I behave, Margaret?" Hawkeye wiggled his eyebrows, and Margaret, rather than her usual disapproval at his antics, merely laughed.

She moved forward to grasp his hand in her own. "Be a good boy, now, Pierce."

"Or what?" said Hawkeye, "you'll have to come down to Seoul to order me around?"

She smiled, but only slightly, and moved her head so that her face blocked the cloudy sky, until all he could see was her big blue eyes and feel her hot breath on his face. "I'm going to miss you, Pierce." Her voice was tight, her eyes glimmering. "You were – I know I could be a real –"

"–Pain in the butt, yeah," said Pierce and Margaret smiled, "but you turned out okay, kid."

For a moment her mouth moved soundlessly but she seemed to have resigned herself to saying what she'd come to say because she didn't step away. When she finally spoke her voice was soft and brittle, "You – you mean a lot to me, Hawkeye. I just wanted you to know that. And I'm going to miss you a lot, even for all your impish, immature, irritating –"

Hawkeye's laugh cut her off. "I'm going to miss you, too, for all you're severity, and strictness, and sternness."

She laughed that clear, genuine laugh of hers but it disappeared into the wetness in her eyes.

"How 'bout it, Margaret?" Hawkeye didn't know why he whispered. Suddenly Margaret's face was very close to his, leaning over the side of his stretcher. "One for the road?"

She kissed him then, a light, feathery thing that felt slightly restrained and he knew she was thinking of everyone watching them but also of that one terrifying, desperate night in a broken down hut, pattering heart-beats, and falling debris.

Hawkeye was just beginning to relish the taste of her lips on his when she pulled away all too soon. "Good-bye, Pierce," she said, and tugged her fingers away from his with noticeable reluctance.

"Good-bye, Margaret." The knob in his throat had formed into a definite shape now, and it was all sharp angles and sides that bit into his flesh and made it hard to breathe.

Margaret's head was replaced by Colonel Potter's who stuck out his hand one last time, and then by Rizzo's and Igor's, and then Father Mulcahy who, clutching his crucifix in one fist and Hawkeye's hand in his other, said with tears brimming in his eyes, "Bless you, Hawkeye. May you live a long life filled with joy and peace."

"Thank you, Father."

Charles didn't come forward again. In fact, Hawkeye couldn't see him anywhere in the compound. He figured everything that had to be said had already been said in post-op, besides, Charles obviously hadn't wanted an audience.

Finally BJ came loping forward, eyes bright but grinning that grin that Hawkeye had grown so accustomed to over that past year, teeth white and even, smiling over martini glasses and the tops of cards and letters from Peg and across the Swamp and forkfuls of indistinguishable, colorless globs in the mess tent.

He took Hawkeye's hand in his own, eyes strangely piercing for all their brightness in the gloomy, gray-shrouded compound. "Hey, Hawk."

"No good-byes yet, Beej," Hawkeye interrupted quickly. "I've got Colonel Potter's word he'll send you up to Seoul right before I've got the all clear."

BJ just nodded. He swallowed. Hawkeye wondered if he could speak at all. He, himself, certainly couldn't. BJ stepped aside and Radar replaced him.

Radar's eyes were big and tear-filled behind his glasses and Hawkeye felt the nob in his throat grow and twist and fill his chest until the pain was almost unbearable.

"Listen, Radar," he cleared his throat. "Don't let any of the big kids push you around – you're bigger than them in heart if not in size, and you just remember that. Take care of yourself, alright?"

Radar's chin wobbled. "You take care of yourself, too, Hawkeye. And – listen – as soon as this is all over I'm having everyone up to Iowa for a big party, and you're invited so you'd better be there."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Hawkeye squeezed Radar's hand before his stretcher scraped the rest of the way into the back of the ambulance.

All their faces: Colonel Potter, Margaret, Father Mulcahy, BJ, Klinger, Bigelow, Kelley – Charles' face looming like a reflection behind the screen in a door – and Radar's at the front, all of them smiling and blinking back tears and waving and shouting last minute good-bye, the words of which were lost in the jumble of their voices, all of it was the last glimpse Hawkeye had of MASH 4077 before the double doors of the ambulance shut, and the past two, eternal years were closed with the sound of metal on metal and the click of the latch.

And then the engine of the ambulance puttered to life beneath the floor and Hawkeye was going home.

I lied. Not over yet. Very brief epilogue to come. (Update: epilogue *possibly* to come; most likely someday, if not sometime in the near future. It won't be very relevant to the plot, though, just a opportunity for Beej and Hawk to say a proper good-bye.)

I really, really wanted to give you the story where the little Korean girl comes in with much more serious injuries and she and Hawkeye would sort of hang together in a limbo between life and death – creating this cool analogy for BJ with Sook-ja representing everything at home – little girl like Erin as she was – and Hawkeye, of course, representing what BJ has in Korea.

Eventually that story would have ended with the little girl living and Hawkeye dying and poor Beej probably ending up in a psyche ward, but – intriguing as all that may have been – the fact that Hawkeye, dead as he would have been, just wouldn't have been around anymore to crack jokes and point his finger with those sanctimonious how-dare-yous would have been a real bummer, so I guess I could learn to like this ending and hope you can too.