Author's Note: writing an angry Hawkeye is turning out to be much more fun (not to mention easier) then writing a humorous one (of which will be sadly lacking in this next chapter).
January
Pierce frowned. Johnson smiled.
Over the perpetual scratching of pencils, and the occasional clearing of a throat, Johnson surveyed his class as they quietly and calmly worked their ways through their midterm. Johnson had been well-known back at his previous position as a teacher who gave tedious, meticulous, hard tests, and he had no intention of yielding that standard any time soon.
It was two weeks back from Christmas break and by the many frowns sprinkled across the classroom Johnson could tell that some of the students were still a bit sluggish from their Christmas cheer. Johnson had always been a firm believer that a teacher was to give their students no quarter. That way one could weed out the students that were simply hanging around for the ride.
Johnson's eyes flickered back to Pierce's bowed head, saw the boy suck on the end of his pencil in obvious confusion, and felt his lips pull tightly into another smile. He couldn't pretend that it did give him a certain level of satisfaction to see the boy finally struggling. And finally silent.
The bell rang, signifying the end of class. Mr. Johnson asked the tests to be collected at the front, and then dismissed them. He watched as Pierce filed out of the classroom with the rest of the students. He was still frowning.
Johnson heard a tap on his office door and murmured, "Come in," without looking up from the papers he was grading. He heard the door open and close and waited for his visitor to announce themselves. When whoever it was didn't, Johnson put aside his pen and looked up.
"Ah, Mr. Pierce," he said, "and what brings you here?"
Pierce was staring around Johnson's office, hands stuffed in his pockets. Johnson noted with triumph that Pierce appeared to be a bit out of his element among Johnson's shelves of nonfiction biographies and painted landscapes across the walls.
"Homey, sir," said Pierce, peering at a painting of a lake and mountains.
"What did you expect," said Johnson, "a cave?"
"A laboratory," said Pierce. "My dad's office is floor to ceiling covered with bookshelves filled with science journals. He's got medical diagrams tacked across the shelves."
"Yes, well" said Johnson, compulsively straightening his pen so that it was parallel with the edge of his desk, "I think we have established by now that your father and I are very different men, Mr. Pierce."
Pierce did not deign to comment, but Johnson saw a gleam of something in the boy's eye that might have been a stifled jab.
"So," said Johnson again, "what can I help you with?"
"My midterm, sir," Pierce began.
"Ah, yes," said Johnson. "Well, I am afraid you will have to wait for next Tuesdays for your grades, just like all the rest of your classmates."
"I'm not here for my grades, sir," said Pierce, perhaps a trifle testily.
"Well then," said Johnson, "what are you here for?"
"Justice, sir."
"Why, whatever do you mean, Mr. Pierce?"
"You know what I mean." Pierce seemed to be trying to fight back his rising anger. "You gave me a different test then all the other students."
Johnson's eyebrows rose. "Is that so, Mr. Pierce?"
"Yes, that's so, Mr. Johnson," Pierce spat. "I've been asking around. No one else in that class had questions as hard as mine –"
"Difficulty of a test, Mr. Pierce, like beauty, may be in the eyes of the beholder –"
"We hadn't covered half of that material!" Pierce plowed ahead. "I asked my dad about some of the questions and he said that stuff wasn't covered until college –"
"Are you complaining about the level of complexity in my class, Mr. Pierce? Or your lack of an ability to grasp it?" Johnson knew that he had perhaps gone too far. He saw as Pierce ceased to fight back his anger and gave it full rein.
"You know you swapped out my questions to make them harder," he said in a low and deadly level voice. "You wanted me to fail and decided that you couldn't go on simply ignoring the fact that I was getting one-hundreds on all your other tests. You don't like me and never have and it irks your pride to think I might be able to pass your class with flying colors –"
"Yes, it's true. Plenty about you irks me, Mr. Pierce, but my pride is the least of these."
"You changed my test so that you could have the satisfaction of giving me a grade that actually fits my work." Pierce laughed. "You had to raise your standard for me and that hurts your pride so now you're refusing to acknowledge that you did it. In fact, maybe you've actually convinced yourself that you didn't change my test, just so that you could sit here in your comfortable office thinking that you beat me – well, you haven't beat me, sir. I refuse to bow to this. Go ahead and give me your harder tests. I'll be ready. I'll probably get an A on this one and then we'll see how you like it –"
"Actually, Mr. Pierce," Johnson interrupted the boy's rant. He had not realized he'd stood from his desk until he heard the scrape of his chair upon the floor, "You received a C on your midterm, on par with the rest of your work in my class."
Pierce choked on his next words. His eyes narrowed. He clamped his jaw. Johnson reveled in Pierce's rare display of loss of words.
"Have you anything else to say?"
Pierce swallowed angrily. "Your methods aren't fair. When I entered this fight I expected to be met on an even playing field –"
"Not fair?" said Johnson. "You really believe that life is fair, Mr. Pierce? Further, you expect my class to be? And as for fighting me in my class, might I remind you that I am the teacher. I am the point of authority; therefore, I make the rules. I must say that you have certainly treated me with no fairness in this little fight of yours, and let us speak nothing of respect."
The boy didn't say anything.
"It is time you realized, Mr. Pierce," Johnson continued, "that life will not be handed to you on a silver platter. If you truly wish to succeed in this world you will have to become accustomed to working for what you want. That it all, Mr. Pierce, you may go."
In his consuming preoccupation with Pierce, Johnson had not forgotten his other students, and began to see a worrying trend in the work of one of them.
It was not that Christopher Newman's work began to get worse, in fact, it began to get better. Johnson was used to the grades of his students steadily improving over the year, nurtured by Johnson's teaching, but he had never seen someone improve quite so drastically in such a short amount of time. Directly after Christmas, Newman had went from receiving borderline Ds to achieving B work on his last test.
Johnson had been around the block enough times to know that students typically did not do that, not naturally at least. He also knew that Newman was often in the company of Pierce, in fact, they sat next to each other in class. Johnson knew that Newman couldn't have looked at Pierce's midterm because, after all, Johnson actually had changed Pierce's tests. But it was possible that Pierce was helping Newman to cheat in some other way.
One day, as a precaution, Johnson asked the boys to please switch seats. He sent Newman to the other side of the classroom and away from Pierce. Newman's newly achieved quality of work ceased to be diminished.
Johnson began watching Pierce and Newman carefully. He checked that his briefcase with the test answers would not be disturbed. He watched their hands during class, to check for any passing notes. He checked Newman's papers for any sequences of words that did not seem to be in Newman's style, and checked the handwriting against Pierce's.
Everything, unfortunately, seemed to be in order and finally Johnson asked for Newman to stay behind after class, to address the issue.
"Mr. Newman," he began. The boy fidgeted nervously. Johnson had yet to confront another student that met his gaze with a grin, as Pierce did. "I couldn't help but notice that your work in my class seems to be improving at a rather drastic rate –"
"I haven't been cheating," said Newman hastily, and Johnson thought it strange that the boy's thoughts would jump so readily there.
"Did I imply that you had been cheating?" said Johnson.
Newman's face flushed red. He knotted his fingers together. "No, sir. But I know that you – but I haven't been, sir, honest."
"Of course, Mr. Newman. May I ask what your explanation does happen to be?"
"It's…Hawkeye, sir," said Newman with extreme trepidation. Johnson noted this with interest. Pierce seemed to hold unusual sway amongst his friends; no doubt they would be wary of crossing him.
"Yes, go on," said Johnson, hardly keeping the excitement from his voice. He was sure his eye gleamed with enthusiasm. He wondered, perhaps, if this might finally be his chance of upsetting Pierce's seat on that wobbly throne –
"…He's been – tutoring me, sir."
"Tutoring you?"
Newman refused to meet Johnson's eye. "Yes, sir. Ever since Christmas. I told him I was nervous about midterms because I wasn't holding a good average in the class. He offered to help me study."
Tutoring? Pierce had been tutoring? Of all the confounded – so the boy had not been doing anything dishonest?
"Please, sir," said Newman, looking Johnson finally in the eye and looking shifty. "Don't let on to any of the other boys. They'd – tease me. Hawkeye's promised not to tell them either…."
And finally Johnson recognized Newman's unease for what it truly was: embarrassment.
"No," Johnson said, stifling the disappointment that threatened to overwhelm him. "Not to worry, Newman. No one but you, me, and Mr. Pierce shall know this little secret."
"Thank you, sir," Newman looked quite relieved.
"You may go –" Newman rushed for the classroom door, "And, Mr. Newman?"
"Yes, sir?"
"I'm – proud of this initiative you have taken with Mr. Pierce. It shows – integrity, recognizing your failings and striving to better them." And helping others in those subjects that you excel.
Newman flashed him a brief smile before sliding through the door, which shut behind him with a click.
Ending Note: I wanted to thank those of the reviewers who have pointed out that Hawkeye has been acting like a rude and insufferable imp toward Mr. Johnson whom, despite his quirks, does deserve to be treated with respect purely for his status and authority as a teacher (if not anything else). That is the exact effect I've been hoping to pull off with this story.
I can picture Hawkeye, regardless of what a wonderful character he is in the show, as being a bit of an arrogant brat in his youth, who has to work a bit on his attitude toward authority (which crops up many times in the show). In this story, I've tried to show him as part innocent trouble-maker, part valiant striver for justice, and part angry and prideful young man. I can see all parts of that in him during MASH, and I've noticed that his particularly nasty side would emerge when facing Frank Burns (citing the episode "The Bus" especially). Even when Frank (being who Frank is) tries to be a little bit friendly, Hawkeye would immediately rebuff him with mockery.
All in all, Hawkeye is a very complex character and not perfect by any means. I've tried to show that here in his sometimes justified but often times blatant disrespect toward Mr. Johnson.
And thank you for reading this ridiculously long tangent.