The camp was the same. But then, it wasn't.
Everyone was dressed in their finest, dancing gracefully in the middle of the compound, just like a grand ball back home. Charles looked down at his own formal attire, glad to be wearing anything but the dreadful fatigues.
The couples seemed happy and carefree as the quartet played, seemingly out-of-place with the griminess of their surroundings. He saw familiar faces, smiling as they danced by him, laughing and talking, not a care in the world. Content to watch, he tapped his foot along to the rhythm of the small orchestra.
As he watched, the crowd parted.
Jessamyn walked towards him, wearing a simple red gown, the train thrown over her arm. Her hair was free. He touched it, ran his fingers through it, reveling in her beauty. She smiled, a playful look in her eyes she never used towards him.
He took her in his arms, and they danced around the compound, almost floating on air. The rest of the camp disappeared, a thick fog rolling about them, but they still danced to the music in their minds, their eyes never leaving each other.
The fog thickened. She was gone! Panicked, he searched, his hands waving in front of him, calling her name.
He found the OR. Everyone was scrubbing up frantically. He asked if they had seen her, pleaded with them to tell her where she was, but everyone shook their heads and pointed. Towards the operating room.
He rushed through the double doors. Only one table was occupied. Father Mulcahey was covering the deceased with a sheet, finished with the last rights.
A long red train fell in folds from underneath it.
He stopped Charles before he could pull it away. Charles shrugged him off, frantically pulling back the blood-soaked sheet.
There was no one underneath.
He heard a scream.
Panicked, he ran into the compound, wincing as bullets whizzed past his ear. He kept thinking he saw her, running from patient to patient, still holding her train over her arm. Each time he caught up to her, she was gone, disappearing into the blackness that swallowed everything in its path.
Incoherent yelling pierced through the darkness of the Swamp.
Hawkeye sat bolt upright in bed, fumbling for the lamp above his bed. "Wha . . ."
Sidney was already up, trying his best to calm Charles, as B.J. looked on.
"Where is she, damn it? She's gone, isn't she?" Charles repeated in a shaky voice.
"Who, Winchester? Who's gone?" Sidney said calmly, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He touched Charles on the arm, but the surgeon jumped back, not wanting to be comforted.
"Jessamyn! She's dead, isn't she? I saw her . . ."
Sidney looked up at his bunkmates, a worried look on his face. "She's just fine. She was asleep when Hawkeye and B.J. last saw her." The pair nodded their heads in unison, not accustomed to their normally stoic bunkmate in such a chaotic state.
Charles shook his head violently. "No, you don't understand!"
'Go get her,' Sidney mouthed towards B.J.
B.J. trotted to Jessie's tent and threw open the door. She was still asleep in the same position as when they left. He shook her arm. "Jess! Wake up!"
She struggled to sit up, rubbing her eyes. "Wounded? I didn't hear the PA."
"It's Charles."
Jessie paled.
"He's OK, but he's talking out of his head. Sidney said to come get you."
"I'm right behind you."
She followed him to the Swamp. She could hear Charles arguing with Sidney before they arrived.
"Look, I'm not crazy! I saw her! There was blood . . ."
Charles turned towards the creaking noise of the opening door. The wild look on his face startled her, and she halted in the doorway behind B.J.
He took a deep breath, finally seeming to see things around him coherently. He put his head in his hands, breathing erratically. "God, I am crazy. It was so . . . real . . ."
Jessie looked at the other three men quizzically. Hawkeye leaned over. "You're supposed to be dead," he whispered.
Sidney nodded in agreement. "We couldn't convince him otherwise."
She went to him, settling across from him in his desk chair, the smell of terror heavy about them. He didn't acknowledge her presence as he tried to compose himself.
Hesitantly, she reached out and touched his knee, willing him to look at her.
Charles wanted to pull her to him and breathe in the scent of her to convince himself she was truly still among the living. Mentally, he chided himself for being so preposterous. He did manage to intertwine his fingers with hers tightly, continuing to stare at the floor.
No one spoke as they watched.
Finally, he mustered enough courage to look up, knowing he'd need every ounce of strength to not touch her when he laid eyes on her. As expected, her beautiful green eyes were full of compassion and concern. She gave him a hesitant smile, and he longed to kiss her again, wanting her to chase away his demons.
Sidney motioned towards the door, and Hawkeye and B.J. nodded, understanding.
Charles finally broke the silence. "That's not necessary, gentlemen," he said in a shaky voice. "I need to . . . to get some fresh air."
Despite warnings to himself, he put his hands on either side of her head and pulled her to him, pressing his lips to her forehead, not caring that everyone saw.
His touch was so gentle, it brought tears to Jessie's eyes. She squeezed them shut to keep them at bay.
He let her go. They all watched him walk into the darkness, his shoulders sagging.
"What happened out there?" Sidney asked.
Jessie rubbed her fingers on both temples, a dull ache forming behind her eyes. "Ask Hawkeye and B.J. I've got to get some sleep." She stood up, swaying for a moment with fatigue.
"They've already told me, Lieutenant."
"I'm a bit exhausted, so you're going to have to spell out for me what you want."
Sidney thought a moment, forming his words carefully. "Well, if I remember correctly, Winchester hated Korea and everyone in it. And you're in love with O'Reilly."
Jessie felt her heart lurch in her chest. Funny. I haven't thought about him at all in - what? - a few hours? "Until . . ."
"Until he married someone else. I know that, too."
"Boy, nothing gets by you, does it?"
Sidney rocked back on his heels, not deterred by her caustic remarks. "This place intrigues me. Not only do all of you function under tremendous pressure, you seem to flourish, the best and worst parts of your personality merging to form a working team."
"Even Charles?" Hawkeye asked.
Sidney nodded. "Even him. I've seen a more human side to him tonight than I'd ever seen in him during his time here. It seems to be brought on by . . . by you, Lieutenant."
Jessie's eyes widened. "Look, Dr. Freeman, I don't know what you were talking about. There was nothing . . . nothing happened!"
And, he kissed me. She cleared her throat, trying to banish the memory. "Let me know if you need anything else."
Jessie welcomed the cool night air on her face as she retreated to her tent.
Sidney looked at B.J. and Hawkeye. "Did any of you see this coming?"
"I don't even think they've seen it coming," B.J. answered with a shrug.
***********************************
Margaret gave her double-duty for a week as punishment for running off to the aid station without permission. While she wasn't working, she managed to crawl back to her bunk and pass out from pure exhaustion, only to be awakened by Klinger a few hours later, ready to stumble back to work.
But, she didn't complain. The work kept her mind off Radar. She would grit her teeth in frustration, especially when Hawkeye got a light-hearted letter in the mail with a picture of the baby. He kept it away from her, but she heard just the same.
Most importantly, it kept her away from Charles. He was recuperating nicely, or so she had heard, and was on light duty for the time being. Except in passing, they hadn't seen each other at all since the night they were found. For that, she was grateful. Eventually, she would have to face the fact that she had come to care for Charles, perhaps more than she realized.
But, not right now. Her raw nerves just couldn't take it.
It didn't help that she couldn't get a peaceful night's sleep, either. Vivid nightmares, brought on by their encounter with the enemy, interrupted her slumber, and she would wake in a panic, hoping the screaming she was doing in her dreams was not what she was doing out loud.
One night, dragging back from the showers after another grueling day, Jessie trudged in her bathrobe and boots to her tent. That's when she heard it. The familiar sound of someone fighting terror in their sleep. She would know. She did it every night now. She paused, trying to figure out where it was coming from.
And bit her bottom lip in frustration. The Swamp. B.J. was on-duty in post-op when she left, and Hawkeye was romancing a new nurse down at the motor pool, despite warnings to the girl from the rest of the nurses.
So, it had to be Charles.
The thought of the terror-induced dreams she had been having made her shudder. She couldn't leave him alone, no matter how worried she was about facing him again.
The tossing and moaning started to turn to full-fledged panic by the time Jessie made up her mind.
She barged through the door and turned the lamp on over his bunk. The entire side of the tent was thrown in disarray as he fought an imaginary foe. Jessie knelt on the floor, avoiding books and clothes tossed about, helplessly wondering what to do.
"Charles, wake up," she said evenly, hoping she didn't draw any more attention than he already had. Avoiding his flailing arms, she finally grasped him firmly by a wrist. "Charles!" she said a little louder.
He wrenched his hand free and grabbed her upper arms, still fighting. "Hey!" Jessie said as he squeezed tighter, his fingers digging into her flesh. She struggled, but couldn't free herself.
His eyes snapped opened, terror-filled, and focused on her. At the obvious pain on her face, he immediately released her. She rubbed her sore flesh, backing up a bit.
He tried to control his ragged breathing. "Did I hurt you, baby? I'm sorry, I didn't mean . . ." With obvious effort, he struggled to sit up, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Oh, God, it was awful. . ."
Jessie still rubbed her bruised arms. Not big on pet names, she found herself liking the one he had chosen for her. Watch it, Callahan . . .
She settled next to him, one leg tucked underneath herself. "It's just a dream. You'll be fine."
"Will I? Will I ever be normal again? Will anyone at home understand what I went through over here? Will I be able to go back to the way things were? Or will I be haunted by this retched place for the rest of my life?" Apprehension made him babble thoughts he normally kept to himself, fears that plagued him constantly.
Jessie didn't reply, knowing that anything she said wouldn't help.
He had missed her during the past week, but didn't dare cross Margaret and get her into more trouble. Col. Potter had gone easier on him, more than likely because he was injured. Charles figured he was the lucky one. The wrath of the head nurse was legendary.
Now that she was next to him, holding his hand, he noticed her scent envelope him. He absently rubbed his thumb along the top of her hand.
"What is that you wear?" he said, trying to chase the last of his fear away with conversation.
Jessie looked down at her robe. "You mean, the robe?" She tried not to notice his fingers lightly brushing hers.
"No, the soap."
Jessie blushed slightly. "It's lavender. I don't have very much of it, but I save it for when I'm feeling down. It makes me feel better."
"Me, too."
"Huh?"
"It makes me feel better, too."
"Why?" Careful . . .
Her hair, damp from her shower, curled slightly on the ends. He reached out and wrapped one strand that fell over her shoulder around his finger, enjoying the softness. He studied her, the last of his fear falling away.
She watched him carefully, her green eyes a little wary.
"You ask too many questions," he finally said brusquely. Before she could protest, he gently pulled her into his lap. Startled, she didn't think to fight him, especially when his lips met hers.
After a stunned moment, she wrapped her arms around his neck, astonished by her body's reaction to his touch. Slowly, their kiss growing in passion, his hand carefully made its way into the front of robe, and Jessie gasped, arching against his hand.
Charles groaned against her lips. Her skin was smooth, delicate against his fingers, making him wonder what the rest of her felt like. All of her. She shifted against him, and he was overcome with such a blatant need that he could have taken her right then. Trying to control himself, he pulled back, tenderly brushing his lips along her neck.
Jessie tried to catch her breath. She could feel him move her necklace away to get to the softest points.
The necklace.
And what about. . .?
Charles sensed a change and pulled back, his eyes filled with longing, searching hers.
Jessie extracted herself from his embrace, awkwardly standing. "What about Martene? I know you two weren't just playing tiddlywinks in the VIP tent only a week and a half ago. And you moped about here for days afterwards."
Trying to compose himself, Charles almost didn't know who she was talking about. It seemed like such a long time ago. "What does that have to do with . . . with our present situation?"
Jessie took a deep breath. Her skin still burned with his touch, and she tightened her robe to make it stop. "Everything! That has to be the only reason you've . . . we've . . you know! I know you miss her. And, I'm not her."
Charles stood up so quickly that she jumped back. "Don't presume to know what I feel! Especially on something you know nothing about!"
"Well, let me tell you something, buddy! I know more about it than you think. Hell, the whole camp knew about it!"
"You know what I think?"
"No, and I don't really care!" She tried to edge towards the door and safety.
"I think you're still pining over O'Reilly. He's gone. Married and a father and just plain not here anymore!"
Jessie paled, her eyes wide. "Oh, so I'm just supposed to fall into your bed, since you're here and he's not? Is that it?" She didn't wait for a reply. "For your information, Winchester, I don't need you! You think all of us will fall all over ourselves because you're so rich and powerful." She stuck her finger in his chest for emphasis. "No one here cares about you, but you! Next time, deal with your nightmares yourself!" Anger heaving in her chest, she slammed out the door.
She held her head high as she walked through the small crowd drawn by the commotion. She didn't even cringe when she heard a glass shatter on the door behind her. Very mature, Charles, very mature.
Jessie was proud of herself. She didn't burst into tears until she slammed the door of her tent behind her.
***********************************
They eyed each other suspiciously from across post-op. So far, they had managed to work an entire shift without formally recognizing the other was there, just him giving orders and her obediently following them.
It was Charles's first day at full duty since his arm was injured. It had been easy for them to avoid each other while he was recuperating. Anticipating his return, Jessie had traded shifts to work with B.J., figuring she and Charles couldn't work together without fighting. Unfortunately, B.J. had come down with a virus, so Charles and Hawkeye took over his shifts.
So much for anticipating.
Jessie tried to stay busy since the night in the Swamp, which was fairly easy to do considering the work load Margaret heaped upon her. The mindless labor kept her from thinking about him. And how he had made her feel when he touched her. She tried to convince herself that she was right to push him away. The last thing she needed in this hell-on-earth was another relationship. Hadn't she learned her lesson the first damn time?
But, it still didn't make it any easier.
She sighed, resuming her paperwork.
A shadow fell across the desk, and her back stiffened. Charles reached over her shoulder and plopped a stack of paperwork on the table in front of her. "The rest of the charts, Lieutenant. See they are properly filed."
Determined, she didn't look at him, just gritted her teeth in frustration as her pencil bit into the paper. "Yes, sir."
"Oh, and Lieutenant? You failed to take note of Private Henderson's blood work. Please see that you note the results correctly next time."
Seething, Jessie grabbed the clipboard with the private's records out of his hands and flipped several sheets down. She thrust it back in his face. "If you remember, Major, the Colonel requested that all test results go on the blood work result chart in the back. New procedure." Margaret grilled them on it for a week, so she should know.
Charles snatched the clipboard back, his jaw stubbornly set. "I see, Lieutenant. Thank you for clearing that up for me."
Jessie didn't reply, only gave him a dirty look before returning to her papers.
He retreated to the other side of the room. Settling in a chair, he pretended not to watch her as she worked. Twin spots of color that had appeared high on her cheeks from their discussion faded as she focused on the task at hand, her hair falling out of a hastily arranged pony tail. Chewing on the inside of her lip, she stopped writing and studied her paperwork, thumping the pencil on the desk in thought.
When one of the wounded called out, Charles hastily looked away when she glanced up. Quickly, she went to the boy's side, talking to him in a soothing voice until he calmed. Her fingers brushed his hair from his forehead. He said something, and she smiled at him, coaxing him back to sleep.
Charles envied the man, wounds and all. He craved her touch, yet didn't know how to tell her. She had angered him by insinuating he was mistaking her for another woman. As usual, he had said things he regretted. He knew exactly what he was doing and to whom! It was she who had a problem, missing a former lover she could no longer have. O'Reilly probably didn't come close to satisfying her . . .
"Boy, you must have it bad."
Charles jumped, startled by the soldier in the bed closest to him. "Excuse me?"
The soldier listlessly scratched underneath a bandage on his arm. "You've watched her all day. Go for it, man! She's one hot broad! Bet she's feisty, too."
Thankfully, Hawkeye sauntered into post-op to take over for the next shift, so he didn't have to reply.
Charles spoke with Hawkeye momentarily and walked outside. Wearily, he leaned against the side of the building, shutting his eyes.
How has it come to this?
Back home, courtship consisted of heavily-chaperoned public events, perhaps a tepid kiss or two stolen on a balcony or darkened room. Even his most lustful moments were controlled, tempered by the fact he truly believed not one of those women were good enough for him, a flaw in his character, surely, but it was there nonetheless.
Nothing like this. This he could not relate to. This passion and longing and unabashed delight he felt when he was with her was so . . . so visceral, so primitive. He needed her emotionally as well, almost desperately, missing her laugh and her voice.
And he never needed anyone!
He jumped when the door to post-op flew open. Jessie hurried out, not even acknowledging his presence.
Automatically, he followed her into the mess tent, falling in line behind her. It was packed with the dinner crowd, and several nurses called out, motioning for her to sit with them. She waved in their direction half-heartedly as Igor plopped food unappealingly on her tray.
Still, she made no move to recognize him as she propped her tray on her hip, grabbing a coffee mug.
Swallowing his pride - no easy feat - Charles cleared his throat. "Jessamyn?"
She placed the mug underneath the spigot, balancing her tray. "What is it, Major? Something you feel the need to throw in my face?"
This is going to be more difficult than I thought. "I know you're angry with me -"
"Angry? Angry doesn't even begin to describe it!" She snatched her mug, almost sloshing coffee on herself. Several people sitting nearby turned around to see what the fuss was about.
Charles ran his hand over his head, biting back angry words. "I wanted to apologize . . . for my accusatory actions during our shift." And for what I said last night.
Jessie slammed her tray down on a nearby table with a bang. She put her hands on her hips. "It's a little late for apologies. Don't you think?" Without another glance, she whirled around and exited the mess tent, all thoughts of dinner forgotten.
"I guess it is," he whispered to no one in particular.
Finally noticing that most everyone in the tent was watching, he glared at them all and stormed out the way he had entered.