This chapter goes up without proof reading! I'm very, very tired and the worst isn't over yet. Thanks to Mary, Disaster, Radar, and Anime. To Disaster, that was the most warped praise(?) I have ever received but thanks nonetheless :). I'll try to write short next time though nobody really reviewed it till Chapter 62 I guess. Anyway, here it is!

Enjoy!

Chapter 84

I decided to inform Potter of my decision to open him again after giving him a brief chance to get better with antibiotics. Both options sucked the same and if we had a perforation in his gut, no amount of antibiotics was going to help. On the flip side, surgery was going to kill him too. The only advantage was, if done extremely fast and if he was very, very lucky, there was a chance he could make it. One in a million was better than no chance at all. Potter tried to tell me the futility of the whole exercise but agreed that surgery at least held some chance, however small.

Billy's latest labs were due soon and I went to the laboratory myself to check. The technician was typing the reports. One look and my heart sank. His liver was not doing well. Results were staggeringly poorer as compared to earlier reports. His kidneys didn't look all that good either.

"You sure you tested them right?" Catching for a straw called 'lab error'.

"I did them twice, Captain."

"OK." I returned to post-op again, just not sure what to do anymore.

I leaned the chair against the wall, pulled a drawer, put my feet on it and closed my eyes. What would happen if Radar did get the antibiotics? And what if we find a way to evacuate him? Could they do something at 121st? I knew that kidney function was relatively easily manageable. It was the liver function that was worrying me the most. Giving him more antibiotics would mean excessive load on an already fragile liver. Wondering about the cruelty of the war, I opened my eyes to look at Billy's friend again. Cpl. Peter Sanders was due to leave 4077 pretty soon, his injuries while severe enough for him to have surgery weren't severe enough for him to earn a one way ticket back home.

Some more time passed and Radar informed me he couldn't get the antibiotics. Every door had slammed shut in my face.

"Hello Hawkeye!" I opened my eyes to see a very serious Father Mulcahy looking at me.

"Hello Father Mulcahy. You're up late." I informed him without thinking as I looked at my watch to see another day had started.

"Duty calls!" He did not seem thrilled and I shared the sentiment because his arrival spelled my defeat.

"Who sent for you?" I did not mean to be sharp but these days and especially today, my intentions were outgunned by my short fuse by a long mile and Father Mulcahy was not the first victim of my tongue lashing, sparse as it may have been.

"Nobody sent for me, Hawkeye. I just came to pray for him. You're not the only one not ready to give up on that boy!" Leave it to him to pour cold water and make me feel as stupid as I was acting! I mumbled an apology which was accepted by a grace only he possessed and then he sat next to Billy and held his hand as he talked to him without any response from him. My eyes moved towards his buddy again and he was staring at the Priest as if he had seen Death. I briefly wondered about going to him and talk to him but then decided to leave him be. He could do without the aggravation.

Billy Johnson's vitals hadn't improved all that much. In fact, they were declining slowly albeit steadily. How long would that last was anybody's guess. Part of me wanted somebody to tell me my options. That same part was still wavering between any possibility of his recovery with and without surgery. As a surgeon, we learned as the single most important rule, when not to operate but even with that, the first instinct was not to wait and let things 'happen' but to take control and fix whatever needed fixing. Maybe that's why they tried so hard to teach us that rule during residency. My instincts were telling me that he couldn't tolerate the surgery and would die and that was making me feel sick. I was the one supposed to help him live, not facilitate his death. And right now, whether I did operate or not, I was the facilitator. Never did I feel the urge to run away and yet be bound to this place so strongly.

With no idea what the hell was going on and what was causing it and only privy to the information telling me of the consequences while the cause remained obscured, I was feeling impotent.

Around 2am, his pulse started to come down a little though his pressure remained in the low nineties and his temperature and respiratory rate, still too high for comfort.

Father Mulcahy had left long ago. Margaret hadn't returned from her mission. I figured she must have gone to bed since she had a long day herself. Not yet ready to leave post-op, I sat on the same chair that had been my sleeping place during the countless on-call stints I had pulled during my lifelong stay in this hellhole and tried to find the least uncomfortable position to sleep.

I was unceremoniously awakened by Frank who wanted to know if he was needed there or he could go sleep while I sat the vigil. I did not respond and just put my head on my arms and blocked him out.

He just mumbled and grumbled about lack of military discipline in this particular unit and how he could have straightened out every last one of us were it not for Army to send an old man as the commander when he was more than capable of handling juvenile delinquents like me. I knew he was smelling some administrative problems for Potter and severe reprimand and perhaps a license suspension for me if not some time in Ft. Leavenworth and couldn't contain his glee and smugness. Telling him to go to hell, I went to look at Johnson and was pleasantly surprised.

"His pressure is up. And temp is down. What did you do to him, Kellye?" I asked the shift incharge with a very tired smile. She was looking really very pretty to me right now.

"Maybe it was Father Mulcahy who did whatever he did, Hawkeye." Kellye had heard our little conversation earlier and rubbed that in with a smile. I smiled too, my facial muscles protesting.

"I think I owe him an apology though I still believe you had a bigger contribution." I checked the pulse myself and it was down. His breathing was still labored but rate had come down.

"You are so sweet sometimes, I forget what a flirt you can be." Kellye gave me her good natured grin and I grinned back.

"I'll take that as a compliment, Kellye."

"Hawkeye! He's gonna make it, right?" This time, Kellye asked me seriously. We all had seen so much destruction, it was like second nature to be optimistic with a heavy dose of skeptic realism.

"I think so, yes, Kellye. Just so his liver enzymes return to normal and maybe I can have a night of peace."

"Why not go to bed now? We can get you or BJ if we need you. Major Houlihan will be here within no time anyway." I checked my watch at this. It was almost seven.

BJ and Margaret entered almost simultaneously. They both seemed quiet and I briefly wondered about the ass Margaret went to kick last night but it could wait. I signed off real fast, thanks to Kellye who helped me where I wavered.

After what felt like a long time, I finally returned to the Swamp. Frank was awake and humming. I decided to ignore him and just lied in my cot and waited for sleep to come.

I didn't need to wait too long!