Thanks for all your lov-er-ly reviews! Oh, and don't hate me if this doesn't turn out like you want. I guess you'll find out in . . . let me see . . . 15 more chapters!
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Even in surgery, news traveled fast. Jessie found herself answering all sorts of questions about her hometown, everyone suddenly desperate for a little taste of home.
"Oh, and the horses! Early in the morning, they run across the field together, the sun catching their manes. I used to sneak outside and sit on the fence, watching them, wishing I could run with them." Jessie obediently handed Charles a scalpel. Even working at his table didn't dampen her spirits.
Kelleye sighed from the table next to her. "Oh, that sounds lovely. I always wanted a horse, but we never had room for one."
"Horses are a dime-a-dozen in Texas," Bigelow called from across the room.
"We had this horse one time . . ."
"Lieutenant, the army owns you for another 36 hours. I suggest you start nursing or find something more constructive to do. Sponge." Charles said in a monotone voice.
Jessie narrowed her eyes at him. "Yes, sir, Major."
"Yes, Lieutenant, keep your stories to yourself," Margaret ordered from across the room. "All of you, keep quiet!"
"Oh, c'mon Major, lighten up. It's not everyday one of us gets to go home in one piece, you know." Hawkeye stitched as he talked.
"No one asked you, Pierce," Margaret said.
"Meds, Lieutenant."
Jessie could barely control her anger towards Charles, the banter floating around the room not registering. She slapped the scissors in his hand so hard, he flinched.
"OK, Lieutenant, you're done here." Charles flexed his hand. "Major Houlihan, send a nurse over that is not capable of procuring bodily harm."
"Callahan, take over for me." Margaret began changing gloves as Jessie seethed.
"Major, I . . ."
"No arguing, Lieutenant. Go help Captain Hunnicutt. I'll take over here."
With one last glare at Charles, who appeared to be ignoring her, Jessie stomped over to B.J.'s table. She was so angry, her jaw hurt from clenching her teeth.
B.J. leaned over. "I think he deserved it."
"He deserves to be kicked all the way to North Korea!" she hissed.
B.J. chuckled. "Now, now, Lieutenant. Don't want your father to think we haven't taught you any manners."
Jessie rolled her eyes, handing B.J. sponges. "I never lived up to my father's expectations. And, apparently, I haven't lived up to Charles's, as well." Jessie focused on not taking her anger out on B.J. as she gently handed him his surgical equipment.
"I imagine Charles hasn't even lived up to his own expectations of himself."
As soon as the O.R. session was over, the nurses carted Jessie to the O club for one last celebration. Not even Margaret's brief dressing down about her behavior could dampen their spirits.
Who cared? She was oughtta here in less than eight hours!
They danced and sang deep into the night, almost drinking the bar dry. Jessie put the whole party on her tab, which increased everyone's drinking threefold. The more they drank, the more fun everyone had.
As the evening wore on and the party got louder, Jessie snuck out for some fresh air. She leaned against the door, thankful for the cool breeze after being in the stuffy bar for so long. She put some distance between the building and herself to get away from the noise. The further away she went from the club, the louder it got.
Chopin. Coming from the Swamp.
The dirty rotten fink was too stuck up to even come to her farewell party!
Jessie remembered her embarrassment in OR, and her blood boiled. She found herself stomping across the compound, fists clenched in barely-contained rage.
She snatched the door open to the Swamp. "Let me tell you something, you good-for-nothing. . ."
Charles was sitting with his back to the door, an almost-empty bottle of cognac on the table. He raised a hand to her in warning, demanding silence.
Jessie marched to the record player, snatched the record off the turnstile with a screech, and flung it across the room. It shattered as it hit the stove.
"For God sakes, for once face your problems instead of hiding behind this music!"
He rose and stared at her in shock, the color rising in his face. "How dare you insinuate that I'm a coward!"
Jessie crossed her arms and stuck out her chin. "You are a coward! I believe you only listen to this stuff because it can't talk back! So, you avoid what's really going on here."
"Oh, since you seem to have elevated yourself from nurse to psychiatrist, what might that be?"
Jessie wanted to strangle him. "For starters, your total lack of . . . of tact! You had no right to call me out in OR like that!"
Charles flexed his hand. "Well, let me tell you something Miss Callahan, my fingers are still sore from your inept and tactless method of handing me my surgical equipment."
Jessie pulled up her sleeve. "Well, what about these? These are from your inept methods of dealing with silly little nightmares!" The purple marks had faded to a dull green and yellow.
A dark expression passed over Charles's face.
Jessie swallowed, remembering what else had happened that night. She shook her finger at him. "Let me set something straight with you, Winchester. I may have fallen in love in a warzone, and he may have hurt me worse than I've ever been hurt before. But, I will come out of here with one thing."
"Oh, and what might that be?" he sneered.
Jessie put her hands on her hips. "I would have given up anything to be with him! More than he would have, apparently! And I refuse to let my family live my life for me. And yet, you turned Martene away because she wasn't good enough!"
Charles opened his mouth to retort.
"Shut up and listen to me! Do you ever make a decision for yourself? Not something your family or your accountant or your lawyer wants you to do? Think on that while you're sitting alone in your big mansion with all your money and prestigious doctorates and no one to share it with because you chased everyone away who ever cared about you . . ."
Including me!
Jessie choked on the last words before they tumbled out.
Before he could reply, she stormed outside, the party forgotten. She slammed into her tent and kicked a table, knocking books onto the floor. She kicked one for good measure, sending it skittering across the room. "That selfish, boorish, unsophisticated excuse for . . ." She ran out of adjectives, so kicked another book.
She wasn't being entirely fair. She had pushed him away as much as he had done with her. What did it matter, anyway? He was still a poor excuse for a human being!
Crossing her arms across her chest, she tapped her foot in annoyance. That man can get to me more than anyone I've ever seen!
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Charles watched her retreating figure, her fists clenched at her sides, until she disappeared around the corner. He found himself pacing back and forth in his tent like a caged animal, kicking at pieces of broken record along the way.
That woman! That exasperating . . . woman!
He had never in his life come in contact with anyone who could infuriate him so, then fill him so full of desire that he would do anything to have her.
She never treated him like she treated Radar. They were so . . . so sweet! And it was nauseating.
And he was jealous.
Ha! He admitted it!
It wasn't the only thing he admitted. The night in his tent haunted him, would rouse him from lustful dreams filled with visions of her. When he awoke, he swore he could smell her perfume.
Charles threw himself against the door to the Swamp, almost breaking it off its hinges in his frustration.
The clear night air didn't help. In his desperate retreat from the confines of the Swamp, he had only thought to clear his mind, her words ringing in his ears. He couldn't shake the feeling she was right. Again.
How on earth did she do it?
How did she manage to immediately get to the root of the problem, exposing his faults and insecurities, holding them up for him to see? What he saw wasn't very pleasant, either.
She had no right to place judgment!
And why did it not repulse him as when most people managed to show him that he felt any sort of emotion other than indifference? Now that he had come so close to having her, knew what she felt like and how she responded to him, he felt like a man with an addiction, wanting her repeatedly, even if it killed him. No matter what she said.
He hadn't meant to trudge to her tent. Or maybe he had. He couldn't tell anymore why he did anything. He stood just outside the glow of the light from her window, the war raging in his mind and his heart making him question everything he had ever believed about himself.
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Jessie began to calm, her heart rate slowing. She flopped on her rumpled cot, trying to make sense of her thoughts.
Nothing was the same with Charles as it was with Mark or Radar or anyone. Granted, she was only 20, so what did she know about love? Really, was it even love? Or maybe lust? Or something in between?
And, how did she know? She hadn't managed to hold onto anyone for any length of time, anyway.
She shivered involuntarily, thinking of Charles's fingers running across her bare skin. Frustrated, she turned and punched her pillow. This place is making me crazy!
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Charles was sick. Sick and tired of it all. Why did any of it matter? They were all stuck in this place that was closer to hell than any of them would ever get, and he longed to have someone like her. Someone to help him forget about it.
He didn't even realize what he was doing until he barreled through her tent door.
Charles scaring her so badly she opened her mouth to scream. Catching herself, she jumped to her feet, hands on hips. He stalked towards her until they were standing toe-to-toe, kicking books out of the way as he went.
Trembling, she drew herself to full height. He still towered over her. "Leave! Now!" She hoped he couldn't hear the quaver in her voice.
He reached for her, every fiber of his being full of desire. Pulling her to him, he kissed her, parting her lips with his tongue and desperately exploring the taste of her.
She didn't fight him. Hell, she didn't want to! Instead, she returned his embrace, grabbing handfuls of his shirt, trying to control the emotions churning in the pit of her stomach. The liquor on his breath mixed with the taste of him she remembered from their earlier encounters, and she pressed against him, feeling him respond.
He backed her against the tent, his hands exploring. Surprising herself, Jessie found herself giving into his caresses, a low ache beginning in her stomach.
They were both breathless and half undressed when he pulled away.
He spotted the piece of jewelry around her neck. Gingerly, he reached for it and pulled it slightly, the clasp breaking loose. His fingers lightly brushed the scar on her chest, his face softening.
"For tonight, there's not going to be anyone but us. No Radar. No Martene. Nothing but you and me." He tossed the necklace onto the table as they came together.
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The sun shining through a crack in the homemade curtains hit Jessie in the face. She groaned and buried her face in the pillow. The sound of the camp bustling outside was anything but peaceful, and she couldn't fall asleep again. Besides, she was going home this afternoon, and she needed to pack and call her family . . .
Wait.
She sat up. Charles wasn't anywhere to be found. She knew he spent most of the night there because they woke each other up often enough to . . .
She blushed, glad no one was in the room to see it.
They did not talk or discuss anything like rational adults. In fact, all rational thinking flew out of Jessie's head from the moment he touched her, all nagging doubts disappeared with their rising yearning to love and be loved. Each time she climaxed, Jessie would have to bury her face in his shoulder, trying not to cry out his name. Panting, they would fall back onto the cot, falling asleep tangled among the sweat-soaked blanket, only to awaken later, so full of desire that they started again.
Except for the last time. It was different, more poignant perhaps, because it was the final time.
Restlessly, he watched her still form, her back turned away from him.
As much as he tried, he couldn't leave.
Instead of hastily pulling on his clothes carelessly tossed about, he sat in his boxers in her lone chair watching her sleep. He glanced at his watch, knowing he should leave before too much daylight enlightened everyone to their nighttime tryst. Plus, he was exhausted. Not only had he never had a night like that before, but he was not accustomed to such emotional lovemaking.
Watching the sheet rise and fall with her breathing, it was hard to tear himself away. Instead, he leaned back in the chair, resigning himself to the cold, hard truth.
Jessie opened her eyes. Although he was no longer in her bed, she knew he was still there. Sensing his presence, she rolled over and propped herself up on one arm. He watched her, his fingers steepled in front of his chest, as she struggled to make out his shape in the dark tent.
"It's almost dawn." His voice sounded low, almost strangled. "I should go."
"So?"
"People will see. They'll talk. It's not . . ." What? Proper? Right? Good manners? None of the words seemed appropriate.
"I wish you wouldn't think so much."
"Actually, I'm not thinking as much as I'm worrying." It just slipped out. All his thoughts and worries and dreams.
"About what?"
Once again, he struggled for words. Not only had he had an amazing night with a beautiful woman, but he wished it could go on and on. And that's where the worry begins. She was going home. He was staying. Once they returned to their lives, complete with their own separate hopes, dreams and desires, who knew what would happen?
Jessie dreaded this moment, knowing exactly what was wrong as she watched him. She would be lying if she said she didn't have the same thoughts.
Unfortunately, rationality always returned with the sun.
Prolonging the inevitable, she wrapped the sheet around herself. His eyes never left hers as she closed the gap between them.
Hungrily, their lips met.
"Stop worrying. Come back to bed," she whispered.
Rejuvenated, as he picked her up and laid her on her bunk, he tried to remember what he was supposed to by worrying about.
A loud knock interrupted her thoughts. Actually, it sounded like someone was beating down her door.
"Klinger! Tell Hotlips to stuff it!"
The door opened, and Jessie pulled the blankets tighter around herself. The sun blinded her momentarily, and she couldn't tell who it was.
The door slammed shut, and she was greeted with a grinning Hawkeye and B.J.
Jessie rolled her eyes, wrapping up in the blanket. "I cannot believe you both are up this early! I distinctly remember a bucket on someone's head while dancing on the bar!"
B.J. raised his hand and wiggled his fingers. "That would be me."
"Yeah, you should go home more often. We could use the excuse to party."
"Thanks, but I'm staying home next time."
Hawkeye reached down to pick up a book. "Love what you've done to the place. Don't you think you should be packing instead of lounging in bed?"
"Yeah. Actually, I'm leaving most of this stuff. It can rot for all I care."
Hawkeye nodded his approval.
B.J. nudged Hawkeye in the back. He turned to face his friend. "Yeah, yeah, I know." He turned towards Jessie. "You haven't happened to see ol' Chuckles have you? He didn't come home last night."
Jessie wished the floor would open up and swallow her. "Uh, why do you think he was here?"
"Well, when we stumbled into our humble abode at dawn, his bunk hadn't been slept in. And there were pieces of Chopin all over the floor. The way the two of you had been on the warpath lately, we put two and two together."
"Plus, you're the only one who could break one of his records and live to tell about it," B.J. added.
Hawkeye stepped closer. "You also have the look of a woman who's . . . um . . . satisfied."
Jessie's eyes widened. "That's one thing I won't miss around here! All of you being so damn nosy!" She got up from the bed, struggling to keep the blanket around her.
Hawkeye and B.J. watched her rant, clearly amused. B.J. reached down and picked up something from the floor, shaking it free of Jessie's discarded clothing from the night before. It was Charles's jacket.
Jessie stomped over to B.J. and snatched it out of his hand, trying to gather up her clothes from the floor. "OK, he was here! So what?"
Hawkeye laughed aloud, holding onto his sides. "I can't believe it! The two of you were at each other's throats!" He eyed Jessie. "You're looking mighty lovely wearing nothing but that blanket. Want to get into a fight, so we can make up?"
Jessie pointed to the door. "Out! Both of you!"
The laughing pair exited her tent in a rain of clothing.
As the day wore on, Jessie went through all her belongings. Her pile to keep was much smaller than her pile of stuff to give away. Aside from a few mementos and pictures, everything else was doled out to those who could use it. All the nurses stopped by and said their tearful good-byes, Jessie sending them out with armfuls of stuff. Before she knew it, there was nothing left but dust and dirt.
And still, no sign of Charles.
She wasn't going to deny that she thoroughly took pleasure in the night before. And he certainly seemed, too, as well. But, what would happen now? They still hadn't said a word about the reasons they were so angry at each other to begin with. Honestly, she had a hard time remembering them herself.
Maybe he regretted last night. That's it, he probably regretted it.
Fine, I can regret it, too.
She sighed, wiping sweat from her forehead. Instead of feeling relieved, she felt a little sad.
She straightened her Army dress jacket, glad she wouldn't have to wear her class-A uniform much longer. Picking up her half-empty duffle, she threw it over her shoulder. With one final look around the room, she walked outside into the bright afternoon. Klinger rushed over with a clipboard.
"Jeep's on its way from Seoul." He paused when he saw her. "That's all you're taking?"
Jessie shrugged. "No one has as much clothing as you."
Klinger laughed. "That's true!" He reached out and hugged her tightly. "I'm gonna miss you, kid."
She found herself tearing up. "I'm gonna miss you, too, Max."
He let her go. "Now, don't go crying on me. I can't handle a crying woman."
Jessie smiled, wiping her eyes. "You know, I never cried or drank or anything like that before I came here."
Klinger patted her shoulder. "Me neither, kiddo. Mainly the crying part."
Jessie cleared her throat. "Have you seen Charles today?"
Klinger must not have heard the gossip because his expression didn't change. "Nope, sure haven't. B.J. and Hawkeye had been looking for him all day, though. Something about wanting details."
Jessie's eyes narrowed.
"Lieutenant!"
Jessie immediately jumped at Margaret's tone of voice. "Yes, ma'am?" Oh great, I forgot to sign something or file something or . . ."
Jessie was surprised when Margaret hugged her quickly. "You've been a real asset to this outfit. Good luck."
"Why . . . thank you, Major," Jessie said, surprised.
Margaret leaned in closer, a kind expression on her face. "And go easy on him. He's not as strong as he thinks he is."
Confused, Jessie stared at Margaret for a moment before she realized who she was talking about.
"Hey, where's my hug?"
Jessie turned towards Col. Potter, her eyes once again filling with tears, glad she didn't have to reply to Margaret.
She reached for the older man, and he hugged her. She sniffed loudly. "You're the best, you know that Colonel?"
Col. Potter chuckled, wiping his nose with a handkerchief. "You're not so bad yourself, Jess. Are you going to keep up with the nursing back in the states?"
Jessie shook her head. "I've had about as much blood as I can take."
He patted her on the shoulder. "It's the medical industry's loss, that's for sure."
Hawkeye and B.J. sauntered over. "She'll be too busy with her Texas high-society."
Jessie found herself smiling at the pair. She hugged B.J. tightly. "You know, after being in this hell-hole for a year, I'll do more appreciating of home and less complaining about it." Too bad it's taken me through all that's happened to realize it.
B.J. held her at arm's distance. "Sorry about Radar, Jess. I really thought . . ."
Jessie felt her smile falter. "I thought so, too. But I guess it wasn't meant to be."
She caught movement in the corner of her eye. Oh, so now he shows up . . . Determined to ignore him until the last possible minute, she turned towards Hawkeye. "OK, you dirty doctor, you! No kissing!"
He laughed. "You know me so well!" Instead, he wrapped her in a bear hug.
The arrival of a jeep in the compound put an abrupt end to their good-byes. Turning away from Hawkeye, she found herself face-to-face with Charles's blue eyes.
Feeling like she had been kicked in the stomach, words of anger mixed with tenderness threatened to spill out of her mouth. Her gaze faltered. It's not supposed to be like this . . .
"I-I put your jacket in the Swamp." A mundane, yet safe comment.
"Thanks." The range of emotions fleetingly running across her face mirrored his own, he knew. He had spent all morning thinking about what he was going to do when the time came. As much as she despised her lifestyle, so similar to his own, he could see her by his side back in the states.
But, that's not what she wants. And she deserves to be happy.
Reluctantly, he had made his decision.
But now that he was face-to-face with her, he could feel his resolve faltering. Keenly aware of everyone watching them as they stared at each other, but not caring one whit, he hesitantly reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her skin.
'Wait for me' and 'I think I love you' were on the tip of his tongue, but he just couldn't manage to break down what remained of his protective wall and tell her.
Oh, hell. Jessie's eyes welled at his touch, and she sat her duffle down, launching herself into his arms. He caught her and held her tightly, her feet just off the ground.
"Good-bye, Charles," she whispered in his ear, having so much more to say, but hesitant to bare her soul to a man who wouldn't let her even come close to his own. She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that threatened.
Charles didn't trust himself to speak. After too brief a moment, he sat her down, his resolve returning, and reluctantly did what he promised himself.
He let her go.
She straightened her jacket as she composed herself. Determined not to cry until she was safely away, she climbed into the waiting jeep. With a final wave, she was gone.
When Hawkeye and B.J. turned around after her jeep had puttered around the bend, Charles had disappeared as well.
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Charles rubbed his face wearily, sitting on his cot in the Swamp. After Jessie was whisked away, his shift started, then wounded arrived, continuing hour upon hour of living hell. He flexed his fingers, every one of his joints stiff from exertion. He reached over and opened his foot locker, muttering an oath when he saw the almost empty cognac bottle. Instead of tossing it aside, he poured the last sip in a glass and gulped it down, grateful for the sensation down his throat.
It had been one day since Jessamyn left. More than twenty four hours since he'd seen her last.
Today was one of those shifts that disregarded their high survival rate; all of them had lost at least one on their tables. He could have used her presence today. She always seemed to sense when he needed encouragement or when he wanted to be left alone. Sometimes, to lighten the mood, she would softly quote Shakespeare or Keats or hum Tchaikovsky where only the two of them could hear. It was comforting, one of the few bits of comfort he had.
But, not anymore. Not ever again.
Exhausted, he flopped back onto his cot. He wanted to sleep, to get away from his loneliness. But, when he closed his eyes, he could see her from the night before. He could still feel her mouth hot on his neck as she whispered his name, her breath coming in small gasps, sending him over the edge each time.
Sure, he had loved his share of women, but none of them did he want to please like her. She had made him feel so alive, made him forget that daily, they were elbow-deep in guts and blood, willing each soldier that came across their tables to live.
He had told himself when he arrived in Korea that he would get involved with no one. Why? No one in this modern-day purgatory could possibly measure up to his standards. But truthfully, the thought of opening up to anyone in this horrendous world of gore when he was at his most vulnerable scared the hell out of him.
So, Jessie was right. He did hide. He was a coward.
He turned his head, glancing towards his nightstand, a glimmer catching his eye. It sparkled lightly as headlights from the compound fell across it.
Gingerly, he picked it up, fingering the chain, his exhausted mind trying to reason why it was there.
The door to the Swamp opened. Charles didn't even look up, placing the necklace in his front pocket discreetly.
"Go away."
Col. Potter cleared his throat. "My bird doesn't take highly to taking orders, Major."
"It wasn't an order. It was a request. A polite request." He eyed B.J. and Hawkeye slouching behind the Colonel. "Actually, it was more directed towards these two degenerates than you."
"Aw, c'mon Charles. We brought something to cheer you up." Hawkeye held up the bottle in Col. Potter's hand. "See? Fifteen-year old brandy."
"Where on earth did you cretins get it? Sorry, Colonel."
"It actually belongs to the Colonel, but we all thought you could use it. After everything that went on lately."
Charles held out his glass as they poured, hoping he could lie convincingly. "I have no clue what you're referencing, Hunnicutt, but I'll take brandy any day and for any reason."