janecarnall (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} janecarnall) wrote,@ 2004-11-18 14:45:00 |
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MirrorM*A*S*H: part 3
Part one and part 2.
“What did the Colonel have to say?” Trapper asked.
Hawkeye collapsed on his bunk. He left the man standing.
“Do you want the good news or the bad news?”
“Spill it.”
“The bad news is the Colonel took over the rabbit hutch.”
“What?”
“Before I left the office, I had to fill in a form transferring all property rights in slave DI436478 to Colonel B. J. Hunnicutt.”
“So what’s he still doing here?”
“The Colonel doesn’t feed his own rabbits. He’s hutching here.”
“So what’s the good news?”
“The Colonel took over the debt that went with him.” Hawkeye grinned. “Ask him for your watch.”
Trapper sat up. “You’re kidding.”
“No.” Hawkeye laughed. “The best part is – ”
“ – your sadistic glee?”
“ – the Colonel owes Winchester even more money than he owes you.”
Trapper thought about it, and went off into a whoop of laughter. “Why didn’t you borrow Frank’s watch?”
“I’ve tried that before. No one ever takes Frank’s watch for anything.” Hawkeye was still laughing.
“What are we going to call him?”
“What’s your name?”
The man was still standing where Hawkeye had left him. His right hand was at his chest, as if he were clutching at something that wasn’t there.
“Francis John Patrick Mulcahy.”
“Francis,” Trapper said immediately. “Frank’ll hate it.”
“Francis,” Hawkeye agreed. “Why did you claim to be a priest?”
“I am a priest.” The man’s voice was quiet but definite.
“Cybele never set a knife in you.”
The man looked disturbed. “I’m a Catholic priest.”
Trapper laughed again. “He’s a Christian. Hawkeye, you bought a Christian!”
Hawkeye was on his feet. The man backed away.
“Stand still. Are you a Christian?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, fuck,” Hawkeye said, and sat down again. “Okay. This isn’t a suggestion, it’s an order. You’re not going to tell anyone what you just told me, and you’re not going to tell anyone you’re a priest. Clear? And you never heard that,” he added to Trapper.
“Heard what?” Trapper asked.
“Nothing. Okay.” Hawkeye stared at the man. “My orders are to keep him clean and fed. Francis, which should I do first: scrub you or feed you?”
Outside the tent, the speaker blared: “All right, boys and girls, that noise you hear is incoming wounded. Incoming wounded. All cutters to the OR. Ready to operate.”
Hawkeye and Trapper were on their feet. “Stay here,” Hawkeye said quickly to the man. “Don’t talk to anyone.”
For once, Hawkeye woke up at his own pace. He was lying where he had fallen on to his bunk, and someone had dropped a blanket over him. The tent was quiet. Well, someone was walking round it. Hawkeye rolled over. Frank Burns was walking up and down.
“Where’s the boy you bought in Seoul?” Burns demanded.
Hawkeye sat up and yawned elaborately. The man was lying on the other side of the cot. He seemed to have crawled into the only spot which was not visible from either the outside or the inside of the tent, unless you were actually on the cot looking down. Hawkeye reached for one of his magazines and pretended to be reading it. "Haven't seen him."
They had all come out of OR and had unloaded in the man's mouth. He had. Trapper had. The Colonel had. Probably Frank Burns had, but by that time Hawkeye had fallen into his bunk and gone dead asleep: even Winchester unloading wouldn't have disturbed him, and on the few occasions he'd been around Winchester having sex, the man was noisy.
Burns growled and went out. Hawkeye looked down at the man. "You could have washed."
"Sorry." The man didn't move. His face was a mess. It looked as if he had gone to ground without so much as getting a drink of water.
"What did we decide to call you?" That had been - Hawkeye glanced at his watch - over two days ago. Three-quarters of which he'd spent in the OR or just outside it. And he'd slept for twelve hours. Trapper was still asleep.
"Francis."
"Okay. Go take a shower, Francis. And then go to the mess tent and get me a tray of whatever they're serving now. If you're hungry, get twice as much."
The man didn't move. Hawkeye sighed. "Look, Francis, I'm an easygoing, reasonable kind of guy. Ask anyone. Well, anyone but Major Burns. Or Major Winchester. Or Major Houlihan. Or the Colonel. But right now I'm hungry. And you stink. Take a shower, get me some food. And coffee. I want coffee."
"Please, Hawkeye," he said in a whisper, not moving. "Can you come with me?"
"Get out of here!" Hawkeye said, astonished.
It had been a rhetorical flourish: the man scrambled to his feet, though. He slid down to his knees almost immediately, clutching at the side of the cot. "Sorry," he whispered again.
"You okay?" Hawkeye sat up.
"Sorry," the man said. He used the cot to push himself to his feet. "Please, Hawkeye - are the showers where they were?" He looked at Hawkeye with a dazed expression.
"They're where they've always been," Hawkeye said. "They won't have moved since the last time you used them."
"Sorry," the man said again. "The camp looks different, though I haven't seen much of it."
"You've been to the showers and the mess tent?"
"I stayed in here."
"All the time?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
The door opened and Burns slammed back into the tent. "He was here all along!"
The man had lunged forward and was lying with his face pressed in between Hawkeye's knees, one hand clutching at Hawkeye's left calf, the other at Hawkeye's right ankle.
"What is he doing?"
"Licking my knees," Hawkeye said. He tucked his hands behind his head and looked at Burns. "I kind of like it."
"Disgusting!"
"What did you want him for, Major?" Hawkeye said. "Because I was just about to follow Colonel Hunnicut's orders and see that he was cleaned up and fed. Anything particularly urgent?" The man was hanging on to him like grim death.
"Oh well, if it's the Colonel's orders..." Burns hovered. "I could do that."
"No you couldn't. It's delicate, responsible work. Run away and find something else to do more on your level of expertise. Like cleaning out the latrines."
The door closed behind Burns and Hawkeye grimaced and reached down to loosen the man's grip on his legs.
“Okay. I don’t really like having my knees licked. What’s the problem with Major Burns?” Hawkeye grinned. “Do you know him, too?”
The man nodded. His death-grip on Hawkeye’s legs had loosened, but he was still sprawled over the bunk. “I don’t think – I knew he wasn’t – a very kind person, but he – ”
“What did he do to you?”
The man’s head dropped. He lifted it again to look at Hawkeye. “Do I – do I have to tell you?” His voice was small and pleading.
“Why did you stay in here?”
“I was afraid,” the man whispered. He was shaking.
“Of what?” Hawkeye blinked at him in incomprehension. “Look, I’ll give you Frank Burns. Or rather, I won’t, so don’t worry about it. But most of the people here are good types.” He shook his head. “What happened last night – this morning – last night – it might happen again, it probably will. After we’ve been in the OR, working the clock round, we all get a little…” he shrugged “on edge. And you’re here and you’re available. ”
The man’s head drooped again.
“But it won’t happen often,” Hawkeye said. He was hoping this would reassure the man, but he got no feeling that it was doing so. “Really. We don’t have twenty-four hour-plus sessions all that often. Not more than once a month or so. And if you really can’t stand Major Burns, we’ll figure out some way you don’t have to deal with him.”
The man was shivering. His head was still ducked down.
“Look, I’m sorry. I was thirty-six hours in OR, and after that I’m barely capable of being polite. All I want is to get my rocks off and go to sleep. I know I said we’d have some fun, and that’s not much fun for you. Anyone hurt you?” He couldn’t remember anyone doing anything but fuck the man’s face, but anything could have happened after he went to sleep: it would have taken a major OR session in the Swamp to wake him up.
“It’s not that,” the man said. “This is very difficult – for me.”
“More difficult than working in a brothel, chained to the bed? At least there’s only five of us, even if one of us is Major Burns.”
“It’s difficult… because I know you all. And you used to know me.”
“Oh, yeah,” Hawkeye said. “You were going to tell me about that.” He reached out and tilted the man’s face up. “Let’s go take a shower and get some food. Hey. Hold still.” He untucked the corner of his blanket, spat on it, and wiped the man’s face. “We need to go see Radar first – I told him to dig up some clothes that fit you.”
There was a substantial bruise on the man’s right arm. Hawkeye eyed it thoughtfully. “Frank Burns?” he asked. He pushed the man into the shower cubicle and got in beside him. It was a shame they had to do it in this order, but there was no way he was taking the man into the mess tent unscrubbed.
“If my body was even a degree more awake,” he said meditatively, soaping up the man’s chest hair, “this would be a golden opportunity to find out how sturdy these shower cubicles really are. Turn around. I’ll do your back.”
The man’s back was marked with bruises, mostly old and fading: some in the neat stripes of a beating, others in the random pattern of more casual abuse. “Looks like someone else already did your back. How does it feel?”
“Fine, thanks,” the man said. He sounded uncertain, but oddly reassured.
“Something you should know, Francis. The Colonel’s basically a good guy. But legally, he now owns your ass.” Hawkeye slid his hands down to cup the man’s ass, for emphasis. “He is going to ask into how you knew me, and Radar – and the rest of us – and just in case the story’s got any more surprises in it, you’d be better off telling me first. Because even though the Colonel’s a good guy, he’ll have your ass on a table in OR and Frank Burns doing a dance on your chest sooner than have you cause any trouble for him or for the unit. So while you’re scrubbing my back, how about you take this opportunity to tell me all about it? I guarantee that even if there’s a bug, it won’t hear us under running water.”
TBC
To part 4
Part one and part 2.
“What did the Colonel have to say?” Trapper asked.
Hawkeye collapsed on his bunk. He left the man standing.
“Do you want the good news or the bad news?”
“Spill it.”
“The bad news is the Colonel took over the rabbit hutch.”
“What?”
“Before I left the office, I had to fill in a form transferring all property rights in slave DI436478 to Colonel B. J. Hunnicutt.”
“So what’s he still doing here?”
“The Colonel doesn’t feed his own rabbits. He’s hutching here.”
“So what’s the good news?”
“The Colonel took over the debt that went with him.” Hawkeye grinned. “Ask him for your watch.”
Trapper sat up. “You’re kidding.”
“No.” Hawkeye laughed. “The best part is – ”
“ – your sadistic glee?”
“ – the Colonel owes Winchester even more money than he owes you.”
Trapper thought about it, and went off into a whoop of laughter. “Why didn’t you borrow Frank’s watch?”
“I’ve tried that before. No one ever takes Frank’s watch for anything.” Hawkeye was still laughing.
“What are we going to call him?”
“What’s your name?”
The man was still standing where Hawkeye had left him. His right hand was at his chest, as if he were clutching at something that wasn’t there.
“Francis John Patrick Mulcahy.”
“Francis,” Trapper said immediately. “Frank’ll hate it.”
“Francis,” Hawkeye agreed. “Why did you claim to be a priest?”
“I am a priest.” The man’s voice was quiet but definite.
“Cybele never set a knife in you.”
The man looked disturbed. “I’m a Catholic priest.”
Trapper laughed again. “He’s a Christian. Hawkeye, you bought a Christian!”
Hawkeye was on his feet. The man backed away.
“Stand still. Are you a Christian?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, fuck,” Hawkeye said, and sat down again. “Okay. This isn’t a suggestion, it’s an order. You’re not going to tell anyone what you just told me, and you’re not going to tell anyone you’re a priest. Clear? And you never heard that,” he added to Trapper.
“Heard what?” Trapper asked.
“Nothing. Okay.” Hawkeye stared at the man. “My orders are to keep him clean and fed. Francis, which should I do first: scrub you or feed you?”
Outside the tent, the speaker blared: “All right, boys and girls, that noise you hear is incoming wounded. Incoming wounded. All cutters to the OR. Ready to operate.”
Hawkeye and Trapper were on their feet. “Stay here,” Hawkeye said quickly to the man. “Don’t talk to anyone.”
For once, Hawkeye woke up at his own pace. He was lying where he had fallen on to his bunk, and someone had dropped a blanket over him. The tent was quiet. Well, someone was walking round it. Hawkeye rolled over. Frank Burns was walking up and down.
“Where’s the boy you bought in Seoul?” Burns demanded.
Hawkeye sat up and yawned elaborately. The man was lying on the other side of the cot. He seemed to have crawled into the only spot which was not visible from either the outside or the inside of the tent, unless you were actually on the cot looking down. Hawkeye reached for one of his magazines and pretended to be reading it. "Haven't seen him."
They had all come out of OR and had unloaded in the man's mouth. He had. Trapper had. The Colonel had. Probably Frank Burns had, but by that time Hawkeye had fallen into his bunk and gone dead asleep: even Winchester unloading wouldn't have disturbed him, and on the few occasions he'd been around Winchester having sex, the man was noisy.
Burns growled and went out. Hawkeye looked down at the man. "You could have washed."
"Sorry." The man didn't move. His face was a mess. It looked as if he had gone to ground without so much as getting a drink of water.
"What did we decide to call you?" That had been - Hawkeye glanced at his watch - over two days ago. Three-quarters of which he'd spent in the OR or just outside it. And he'd slept for twelve hours. Trapper was still asleep.
"Francis."
"Okay. Go take a shower, Francis. And then go to the mess tent and get me a tray of whatever they're serving now. If you're hungry, get twice as much."
The man didn't move. Hawkeye sighed. "Look, Francis, I'm an easygoing, reasonable kind of guy. Ask anyone. Well, anyone but Major Burns. Or Major Winchester. Or Major Houlihan. Or the Colonel. But right now I'm hungry. And you stink. Take a shower, get me some food. And coffee. I want coffee."
"Please, Hawkeye," he said in a whisper, not moving. "Can you come with me?"
"Get out of here!" Hawkeye said, astonished.
It had been a rhetorical flourish: the man scrambled to his feet, though. He slid down to his knees almost immediately, clutching at the side of the cot. "Sorry," he whispered again.
"You okay?" Hawkeye sat up.
"Sorry," the man said. He used the cot to push himself to his feet. "Please, Hawkeye - are the showers where they were?" He looked at Hawkeye with a dazed expression.
"They're where they've always been," Hawkeye said. "They won't have moved since the last time you used them."
"Sorry," the man said again. "The camp looks different, though I haven't seen much of it."
"You've been to the showers and the mess tent?"
"I stayed in here."
"All the time?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
The door opened and Burns slammed back into the tent. "He was here all along!"
The man had lunged forward and was lying with his face pressed in between Hawkeye's knees, one hand clutching at Hawkeye's left calf, the other at Hawkeye's right ankle.
"What is he doing?"
"Licking my knees," Hawkeye said. He tucked his hands behind his head and looked at Burns. "I kind of like it."
"Disgusting!"
"What did you want him for, Major?" Hawkeye said. "Because I was just about to follow Colonel Hunnicut's orders and see that he was cleaned up and fed. Anything particularly urgent?" The man was hanging on to him like grim death.
"Oh well, if it's the Colonel's orders..." Burns hovered. "I could do that."
"No you couldn't. It's delicate, responsible work. Run away and find something else to do more on your level of expertise. Like cleaning out the latrines."
The door closed behind Burns and Hawkeye grimaced and reached down to loosen the man's grip on his legs.
“Okay. I don’t really like having my knees licked. What’s the problem with Major Burns?” Hawkeye grinned. “Do you know him, too?”
The man nodded. His death-grip on Hawkeye’s legs had loosened, but he was still sprawled over the bunk. “I don’t think – I knew he wasn’t – a very kind person, but he – ”
“What did he do to you?”
The man’s head dropped. He lifted it again to look at Hawkeye. “Do I – do I have to tell you?” His voice was small and pleading.
“Why did you stay in here?”
“I was afraid,” the man whispered. He was shaking.
“Of what?” Hawkeye blinked at him in incomprehension. “Look, I’ll give you Frank Burns. Or rather, I won’t, so don’t worry about it. But most of the people here are good types.” He shook his head. “What happened last night – this morning – last night – it might happen again, it probably will. After we’ve been in the OR, working the clock round, we all get a little…” he shrugged “on edge. And you’re here and you’re available. ”
The man’s head drooped again.
“But it won’t happen often,” Hawkeye said. He was hoping this would reassure the man, but he got no feeling that it was doing so. “Really. We don’t have twenty-four hour-plus sessions all that often. Not more than once a month or so. And if you really can’t stand Major Burns, we’ll figure out some way you don’t have to deal with him.”
The man was shivering. His head was still ducked down.
“Look, I’m sorry. I was thirty-six hours in OR, and after that I’m barely capable of being polite. All I want is to get my rocks off and go to sleep. I know I said we’d have some fun, and that’s not much fun for you. Anyone hurt you?” He couldn’t remember anyone doing anything but fuck the man’s face, but anything could have happened after he went to sleep: it would have taken a major OR session in the Swamp to wake him up.
“It’s not that,” the man said. “This is very difficult – for me.”
“More difficult than working in a brothel, chained to the bed? At least there’s only five of us, even if one of us is Major Burns.”
“It’s difficult… because I know you all. And you used to know me.”
“Oh, yeah,” Hawkeye said. “You were going to tell me about that.” He reached out and tilted the man’s face up. “Let’s go take a shower and get some food. Hey. Hold still.” He untucked the corner of his blanket, spat on it, and wiped the man’s face. “We need to go see Radar first – I told him to dig up some clothes that fit you.”
There was a substantial bruise on the man’s right arm. Hawkeye eyed it thoughtfully. “Frank Burns?” he asked. He pushed the man into the shower cubicle and got in beside him. It was a shame they had to do it in this order, but there was no way he was taking the man into the mess tent unscrubbed.
“If my body was even a degree more awake,” he said meditatively, soaping up the man’s chest hair, “this would be a golden opportunity to find out how sturdy these shower cubicles really are. Turn around. I’ll do your back.”
The man’s back was marked with bruises, mostly old and fading: some in the neat stripes of a beating, others in the random pattern of more casual abuse. “Looks like someone else already did your back. How does it feel?”
“Fine, thanks,” the man said. He sounded uncertain, but oddly reassured.
“Something you should know, Francis. The Colonel’s basically a good guy. But legally, he now owns your ass.” Hawkeye slid his hands down to cup the man’s ass, for emphasis. “He is going to ask into how you knew me, and Radar – and the rest of us – and just in case the story’s got any more surprises in it, you’d be better off telling me first. Because even though the Colonel’s a good guy, he’ll have your ass on a table in OR and Frank Burns doing a dance on your chest sooner than have you cause any trouble for him or for the unit. So while you’re scrubbing my back, how about you take this opportunity to tell me all about it? I guarantee that even if there’s a bug, it won’t hear us under running water.”
TBC
To part 4