Hey guys!

Missed me?

*Ducks and takes cover*.

Yeah, I know its been a long while. VERY LONG WHILE. But honest to God, I was so busy, so overworked, I was feeling like I was living the nightmare of my story.

Now, I have some easy schedule for next couple of months and all the will and desire to end the story as planned and promised. Any and all feedback will be welcome, greatly appreciated and will act as a catalyst for me.

Meantime, read it again, as much as is possible anyway, and stay tuned.

Chapter 102

Post-op was fine. I could've skipped the visit but for the force of habit. After putting down the orders for the shifing of patients with relatively minor injuries, I decided to go get something to eat. I simply could not remember when I last ate and my brain was sending urgent 'Crash' signals to rest of my body.

Mess tent was vacant on account of not serving dinner at this very moment. There was nothing edible in the kitchen but then, when did it ever have anything edible?

I went to the backside to find something that could be eaten and wasn't disappointed. Passing over peanut butter as its taste still lingered in my mouth from a few days back, I decided to make some French Toast for myself. No such thing as vanilla flavor and one look at the powdered eggs and milk and I changed my mind back to a peanut butter jelly sandwich.

After gulping down my meager lunch cum dinner, I left the mess tent.

Sun was down now and there was a bitter chill in the wind. While I enjoyed the cold weather, winters in Korea were nothing close to even resembling fun. If anything, they were brutal, unfriendly and did nothing to remind me of home in a pleasant way.

Some distant rumblings told me to get ready for another intake of injured. It had been a long while since I last slept so I made a beeline for the Swamp to catch up on some lost sleep before another night and quite possibly, a day was shot to hell.

Swamp was cold and dark and both my bunkies were fast asleep. Come to think of it, from the lack of action in the kitchen, cook perhaps knew that most of the camp was going to bed and very few would show up for dinner.

I lied down on my cot and my mind went to the events of the last few days. Since my return to work last week, I had little time to think about what was going on in the world. Christmas was close. I could imagine the insanity that took over some real decent people when close to this time of the year. Those like me could go either way, sometimes having a good time with those around them and sometimes, just staying at work to avoid the whole happiness-enchilada.

I had a feeling this year was going to be rougher than it was last year. Last year, we were sure we would be home by this time next year. This year was more melancholy especially for people like me. There was a fear, of expecting something that might not happen... ever. I knew that according to point system, my discharge papers were probably already in the making but the way things were going both in my life and in the life of Army, I was afraid to be optimistic.

'Did you just hear yourself, Hawkeye'? I thought, chuckling this time. I had never been like this in my life and this new, dark, brooding side was scary. I could imagine some people refusing to identify this new side as me. Even I was afraid of accepting this new me as me.

I was awakened around midnight. There was a patient who had spiked a high grade fever and pain abdomen and unbeknowest to me, I was the one on-call. With my head full of cotton and my muscles disobeying any command to contract and relax in a regular, orderly fashion, it took me a while to comprehend what the nurse was saying to me and then get moving. Somebody handed me a mug of coffee which was perhaps the best coffee I had ever had in this bug-infested hellhole in... a very long time.

You need to come up with some new names for this place, Mister! You've started repeating yourself and its pathetic!

Patient was a seargent, mid forties, and from the looks of him, smoked cigarettes like Bogie did. He had a fever because of the wound. A couple of stitches had to come out and soon as I opened the wound cavity, a small collection of pus followed it. After cleaning the wound, I tried to find out a cause behind his pain in the abdomen. It seemed like he was having it on account of an ulcer.

"War spared you. Your cigarettes won't!" I told him without much passion. His fingers stained with nicotine and teeth brown, I didn't need exceptional powers of deduction to get to that conclusion. He looked embarrassed.

After advising him and adding antacid treatment to his list of medication, I returned to the Swamp. If only I could sleep some more…

No such luck!

Maybe getting something warm to eat and some warm company to sit next to would alleviate this tiredness, I thought almost optimistically as I started towards the mess tent a few hours later.

"You look terrible!" Margaret commented as I landed next to her. Brenda, who was sitting opposite her excused herself and I just rolled my eyes. "And why did you have to do that?"

"I 'feel' terrible. It's a set. And do what? Sit next to you? You don't like it, next time I'll sit next to…" I looked around and saw Frank sitting alone in a corner, playing with his breakfast, "… Frank." I informed her and tried to figure out what had landed in my tray and how.

"You should try and make nice with him, Pierce. Sitting with him would be a good start!" She spoke with a straight face but maybe it was my imagination or what, I felt a whiff of mischief in her voice.

"You first!" She glared at me, "Potter's asking me the same thing. You sure you both didn't come to that failsafe plan to exonerate myself while emptying a bottle of single malt? Single malt…." My mind drifted to the bouquet, the taste of a real deal glass of scotch.

Something snapped in front of my eyes and I returned to the planet earth once again, courtesy Margaret.

"Why do you feel terrible? Because of what Colonel asked you to do?" And then, misjudging my expressions, quickly added, "Pierce! I didn't discuss it with him. I was just kidding…"

"I know, sweetcheeks!"

"Major Sweetcheeks to you, Captain!" And with that, we both laughed.

"Why do you feel terrible?" She asked again, somewhat seriously.

"I don't feel terrible." I don't know why I said that but maybe the fun of the moment was too nice to be disturbed by the inane discussion about how and why I felt terrible. Such moments had become rare lately.

"But you just told me you felt terrible." She sounded incredulous and I enjoyed that.

"I was lying." Again, I deflected.

"You haven't been trolling for my nurses lately." Touch of concern in her voice and I smiled.

"Do I look like I have the reserves to spare on that daunting and hopeless task?"

"You've been an awfully good boy ever since…" And I could hear the cogs turning.

"Ever since Cate O' Hara turned me into a frog?"

"I wasn't going to say that." She retorted and seemed like she was telling the truth.

"This breakfast tastes like nothing I've ever eaten." I generously put more salt and pepper on the gray-green-brown stuff in front of me. She was right. I hadn't been going after her nurses like I used to. Carlye was to be blamed, I thought ruefully, remembering how I had walked myself into a corner while making the effort to stop her.

"Get some rest, Hawkeye! You do look awful." Margaret got up from her place and so did I after she left the tent.

Food just wasn't worth eating.

Realizing Margaret's advice was the best kind money couldn't buy, I returned to Swamp but with all the noise around and the light outside reflecting from the snow, I just couldn't sleep.

BJ was moody and it was not hard to guess why. Yet another mail call went by without him receiving any letter from home. Very few received any letters or packages but BJ was so used to receiving them, he simply was unable to deal with having to do without them.

After tossing and turning for what seemed like a very long time, I sat up and decided to write Dad.

"I thought you were going to kiss Frank and make up?" I looked up and saw BJ looking at me intently.

"No. I was going to 'try', try being the operative word. And considering the liplessness of the subject…"

"So you were trying yesterday?" BJ's tone wasn't genial and I wondered what I had done now.

"No. I wasn't trying. I was trying to try."

"Where were you last night?" His tone still had a bit of resentful moodiness about it. I decided to play along but remembering his reaction to my relentless 'pursuit of happiness', wearing skirts and dresses of course, I stayed away from any glib retorts.

"Went to post-op. I was on-call last night, to my utter surprise." I closed my eyes to block out the tiredness that was descending in my veins.

"I had told Brenda to wake me if need be. You need to rest."

"She wasn't there when I went. And it was nothing. Just needed to add antacids to a patient's meds."

"I thought it kept you awake for a long time." BJ spoke neutrally this time again.

"Not the patient. I just couldn't sleep once I was awakened." I ran a hand through my hair. There just wasn't a way to ward off this tiredness, was there?

I returned my attention to the letter even though I wasn't getting anywhere with it.

BJ was returning to the moody being he was before his visit to Seoul and I wasn't sure I liked it.

This also confirmed, as much as was possible, that he hadn't talked to Peg.

He had lied down and had his arm over his eyes.

I just shook my head.

PS: Due to some weirdass glitch, chapters 102 and 103 became conjoined twins sharing some vital organs and such. And none of you even noticed/bothered to point at the weirdness.

Now I am posting the two chapters again, and implore you to please read before reviewing :-p