#captain pierce

I don’t think I’ll ever learn how to get used to the sight of young soldiers on the operation table. Their faces still so full of youth, made pale and taut under the pallor of war. I run a fresh box of gloves in from storage, my feet heavy in my boots from working without rest. I stop beside each doctor, checking to see if they need any more supplies. My eyes scan over the utensils on Hawkeye’s tray, noticing he’s running low on gauze. He must’ve sensed my presence, bumping me with his hip gently for my attention as he asks for a clamp from the nurse beside him.

“Look at them, they’re babies.” I frown behind my mask, “Still so much life ahead of them… it’s a shame.” “What’re you talking about,” Frank complains. “The patients, Frank. Look at their faces,” Hawkeye snaps back, his white gloves stained pink and crimson. “They couldn’t ante up a whisker between them.” “Beards don’t prove anything.” “Remember you heard it here first,” BJ chimes in. “Litter!” “It’s not what’s on their chins, but what’s in their guts.” “Which is mostly shrapnel.” Hawkeye leans into me slightly, “Frank started out to be a psychiatrist, but he discovered he likes the sight of blood.” “Ah, how could I forget,” I play along, drifting to a nearby shelf to replenish the roll of gauze. “Oh hardy-har-har. These men are soldiers, Pierce, and darn proud of it.” “No, they’re not. They’re babies,” he argues. “Look at this Timothy Burke. Can’t be more than eighteen years old. He oughta be home being burped by his mother.” His hands still, eyes scanning the room to signal the raise of his voice, “We’re all a bunch of pediatricians! All except you, Frank.” “Oh? What am I?”

Hawkeye isn’t quick to respond like usual, prompting Frank to look over his shoulder. “Well?” “Don’t rush me. I’m still working on it.” Frank backs into Margaret, surprised at his lack of a witty comeback. She huffs “clumsy oaf” at his mistake as he holds his bloodied gloves aloft. “And no prompting from the studio audience, please.” Hawkeye tosses down a rag onto his tray, slightly agitated, tearing the thin latex material off his hands. “Babies.”

The shift continues on, each long hour stretching into the next without end. Strangely, all of Hawkeye’s insistence on acknowledging the age of our patients today has brought me a sense of nostalgia. Peeling back layers of memories of what I had done when I was their age. It’s uncomfortable in a way, thinking of something so fondly that has been stripped away from these people’s lives. They’ll never get these years back, and more often than not, they’ll have a physical reminder to go home with them. Some even choose to keep the bits of metal we pull from their torn bodies, a few patients even remarking they were lucky. All we can do is try and provide them comfort before they’re sent off.

When I’m relieved of my duties I’m quick to shower, scrubbing my skin furiously with my little bar of soap. I never truly feel clean in this place… I turn off the spray of lukewarm water, running the towel over my body, mussing my hair under the rough material. I wrap myself in my robe, making the quick trip to my tent to change into a new set of clothes, operating on muscle memory. I find myself in the mess hall, holding onto a cup of bitter tea, taking small sips to keep from collapsing on the table. I sleepily eat some crackers, the packaging crinkling under my fingertips. I fold the plastic closed, tucking it away in my pocket so I can snack on them later. I reach to push the door open, I'm met with Hawkeye beating me to the punch. His face is rather slack, half-lidded eyes giving away his drowsiness. What he's doing up and walking about is odd, he's normally the first to collapse on his bed once long shifts are over. "You should be getting some rest, Hawk," I pat his arm. He trails after me, nearly tripping over his own feet as he follows. He hooks an arm around my shoulders, slightly jostling me, "Hey, wanna go down to the park and play ball?" "And fall flat on my face? It's the middle of the night! I think it's best we go to bed. See you tomorrow?" "Okay," he mumbles, staggering over to the Swamp. How he still manages to find any sense of playfulness eludes me.

The morning comes too quickly. I dress, meandering over to the mess hall, chewing on one of the crackers I took last night. I fill my tray with breakfast, balancing a slightly overfilled cup of coffee as I take my seat next to Radar. "Morning, Captain," he cheerfully greets. “Morning, Radar. Did my book happen to come yet?” “Not yet, post has been a bit backed up. I’m sure it’ll be here by the end of the week.” I snap my fingers in dissatisfaction, “Damn, been waiting on it for about a month now! Think they have something against science fiction? Any time I order one they hold them hostage!” “Maybe they don’t want a mad scientist on their hands, got plenty of mad doctors already,” BJ teases.

Hawkeye rounds the edge of the table, shoulders tense and his undereyes puffy. He attempts to stifle a yawn behind his coffee mug, taking a large drink as he drops his gangly limbs on the bench. His body sways unnaturally as he steadies himself by staring at his cup. "Tired?" BJ asks. "What's beyond tired?" "Exhausted?" Radar suggests. "What comes after that?" "Dead?" Klinger offers. "Now you're getting warm." "Well, what do you expect, wandering around the compound half the night," Frank bites. "What's he talking about?" Hawk shifts his attention to his other bunkmate. "I guess he's talking about your midnight stroll." "Now what are you talking about?"

His shoulders hunch up closer to his ears, uncomfortable with the thought that he did something he cannot remember. His eyes shift to mine uneasily, the side of his boot reaching to tap against mine as a quiet form of comfort. I hit his back, a tiny smile forming on his face as he settles his shoe snugly against the outside of my foot. "Hey, Captain, no foolin'. You were playing basketball, sort of," Klinger affirms, spinning his fork in his fingers. "Come on, don't pull my leg. The shape I'm in it'll come off." "You were telling me about your new tennis shoes!" "What tennis shoes?" Hawkeye leans forward, his voice gaining a frantic edge. "You were wearing boots, but you were talking about this great pair of tennies you got. Then you asked me about some guy named Vander-something-or-other." "I don't know any Vander-something," Hawkeye shakes his head, giving my foot one last tap as a silent talk to you soon, getting up from the table to try and avoid the conversation. "You said he was the new principal." He stops mid-step, back still bent awkwardly. He hesitates before turning his head, a far away look morphing on his features. Colonel Potter doesn't let Pierce out of his sight, staring him down. "What is it, son?"

Hawkeye blinks, as if to clear his thoughts, returning to the present. He quickly looks at me, his face turning solemn, brows lightly furrowed at the information he's being told. He slowly sits back down, hands resting on the worn table. "Vanderhaven. He's talking about Clarence Vanderhaven." Radar drops his fork, "I just got a cold shiver down my back." "Me too..." "I saw you last night," I say, gaining the attention of the table. "You asked me to play with you at the park. I'm guessing you meant basketball—" I nod my head towards Klinger "—but when I said no you went back to the Swamp. You were stumbling around like a baby deer." "You must've been sleepwalking," BJ diagnoses. "I don't sleepwalk. I mean, I never have," Hawkeye assures. "How do you know?" "That's right! You may have even performed surgery in your sleep," Frank states. BJ instantly takes the chance to poke fun, "The voice of experience."

Potter's steady voice prevents things from escalating any further, "I'm sure it's nothing to be overly concerned about, Hawkeye. You've just been working too hard. You're not worried about anything special, are you?" Pierce regains his nervous tone, "Me, worry? What have I got to worry about? Except the chance I may go to sleep tonight in the Swamp, and wake up tomorrow morning strolling through downtown Peking." He squints at Klinger, "I was playing basketball?" "Yeah. But on the bright side, you weren't bad," with a smile he imitates using both hands to toss a ball up and behind his head.

We finish eating without any more discussion of the topic. Hawkeye soon eases back into his typical persona, yet still weary underneath. He leaves the table first, evacuating the scene of his stress. Potter and I were the last to finish, taking our time reading over the latest news in the world of horse races to see if our favorite won. "Captain, I'm of the impression that you and Hawkeye share a close bond." "Yes sir," I keep my answer short in fear of saying too much. Even then, I don't know our exact standing myself. We were close, yet knowing Hawkeye's skittish nature around any form of true commitment, I never brought it up. We just allowed things to flow and weave together into a tightly knitted tapestry of trust and glimpses of vulnerability. "I want you to keep a close eye on him. If he'll trust anyone it's either you or BJ, and we can't let a good doctor slip through the cracks." "Understood."

I barely see Hawkeye throughout the rest of the day. He's seemingly quick to try and busy himself, not wanting to stay in one place too long. For all we know this could be a one time deal, and we have nothing to worry about. A small nagging part of my subconsciousness wants to reach out to Sidney. Psychology was not my specialty, and as much as I tried, there could be something I'm missing. As the sun slowly dips towards the horizon I finally catch him aimlessly walking through the compound, wasting time before we have to do our nightly rounds of post-op. I jog over, grabbing onto his elbow. "Hawkeye!" "Here to join me on a walk through the most beautiful place you've ever seen? They say it's the eighth wonder of the world," he jokes, linking his arm with mine. "Sure," I agree, locking him to my side so he can't try and escape me. "Are you sure everything is okay? You know you can talk to me about anything that bothers you," I start as we begin a leisurely stroll. He hesitates, his blue irises flitting around for bystanders. When he doesn't see anyone he relaxes, losing his usual bravado to something secretive. "I just don't get it, I've never sleepwalked in my entire life! Even if I did, there seems to be no way of me knowing if I can't even remember it. A bit spooky, if you ask me,” he confides. "Can you recall anything in your dreams from last night? Anything at all?" I softly pry, bringing our torsos closer together as I tuck my other arm into our hold. "I saw a childhood friend... I was a little kid again, back in Crabapple Cove. It must've been after school. I was playing basketball, I think. It's all kinda," he shakes his free hand in the air as he tries to think of the best descriptor. "Blurry?" "Yeah. I wasn't even thinking about Maine when I went to bed, I don't know where it came from."

We round the corner of one of the tents, heading towards the outskirts of a field that has been safely fenced off from any mines. A large tree stands tall, a spot where we typically like to hide as we share a few bits of edible food we've snuck away. Once, Hawkeye said he had a special surprise, walking me there with his hands clasped over my face. He was grinning like a schoolboy when he showed me two crudely carved initials, just small enough to where they could remain our secret yet be missed by prying eyes. We settle down in the grass, our shoulders pressed together, his hand moving to intertwine with my fingers. I lean my head into him, both our gazes looking out into the tall grasses and plants that faintly sound like crashing waves as a warm wind snakes through. His is voice low, as if to keep from disturbing the tranquil soundscape, the faint vibrations from his chest traveling up to where my ear connected to his body.

"There was this stream with fish in it that ran right behind the house. I would go out and skip rocks if I scraped up my knees too badly from climbing trees." "What was your record?" He hums, thinking while he absentmindedly moves his thumb along my skin. "Five" "I win, my best was six." He lets a tiny laugh slip out, his temple resting on the top of my hair. He squeezes my hand, giving a content sigh. "You're a real keeper, ya know that sweetheart?"

I'm woken by the sound of shouting. BJ told me he would keep a close watch on Hawk, but I'm sure he nodded off around the same time, so we'll have to rely on any possible sightings if he did get up. I'm momentarily tangled in my robe, bolting out of my tent, careful to catch the door before it bangs harshly onto the wood frame and wakes my bunkmates. My feet nearly slip out of my dirtied slippers as I sprint towards the Swamp, not caring about the mess getting on my socks. As I approach I can hear BJ soothing Hawkeye, a cadence similar to that of a father coddling their baby. "It's okay. You're having a bad dream." I carefully open the door to keep from waking Frank, although there's no doubt he's a heavy sleeper since he didn't get up to snap at all the commotion.

I feel my heart sink when I see him. His eyes are unnaturally wide, skin damp with sweat as his mouth is slightly parted. He's attempting to form words, yet nothing but heavy puffs of air comes out. Hawkeye's chest rises and falls frantically as he takes in his surroundings, filling the silence with gasping breaths. I rush to the side of his cot, gingerly sitting as I push back some of his hair sticking to his forehead. I'm on the opposite side of his legs as BJ, bracketing him in with pressure to try and steady his shaking form. BJ helps him grab back onto his dark green blanket that he must've pushed off during his fit. I place a palm on his thigh, and he's fast to latch onto me to reassure himself that he's no longer dreaming, frightened blue raking over me for reassurance. "Everything's okay, you're safe," I whisper, exchanging a worried glance with BJ. He still has this panicked look as he adjusts the blanket, "Oh, God, that was awful." "What was it?" "Oh, God, what a dream!" he breaths. "Who's Toby?" Bj asks calmly. "Toby. Toby Wilder. My— He's my best friend. W-we," he pauses, taking another weighted breath to steady his stammering. "When we were kids, he and I and Dickie Barber were the Three Musketeers. I saw us riding our sleds down Hermitage Hill."

Hawkeye squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, gaining further clarity. He keeps shaking his head from side to side, his body refusing to settle. "We were just kids. We were, like, eleven or twelve. And, uh... he was go— He was going way too fast. He was, like, completely out of control. It was if the snow had turned to ice." He takes another shuddering breath, and I rub his forearm as a sign to take his time. "And he was heading for the trees. And he kept screaming my name... 'Hawkeye! Hawkeye!" "It was just a dream, Hawk," BJ interrupts, patting him on the shoulder. "Yeah, sure, just a dream. Only I'm shaking like a leaf. My heart's pounding as if I've run ten miles. My palms are sweaty. And I'm not sure, but I think I wet the bed," he sighs in exhaustion, dropping his forehead into my collar after his miserable attempt to tack on a joke. I can feel the light tremor spreading over his body, BJ rubbing his back as we reach a silent conclusion.

We quietly work to maneuver around the startled man, giving him privacy to change into a new set of clothes so he doesn't sleep in the sweat soaked material and get sick. We exchange out his pillowcase and single sheet with the extra set we each were given, laying his heavier blanket on top. Once he's calmed enough, he sits down on the cot, blankly looking at his socks against the dirty floor. BJ retires back to his own spot, getting under his covers after we've done all we can. "Can you stay?" Hawk pleads, barely audible. "Of course." We lift the blankets, tucking ourselves in a way where our bodes intertwine enough to fit onto the tiny cot. It creaks as we shift to a comfortable position, Hawkeye resting his head above my heart. He doesn't close his eyes, still too shaken up to try sleeping again right away. I stroke his hair, placing a small kiss to the top of his head. He tries to hold me impossibly closer, like he's trying to merge our bodies into one. "Try and get some rest." "Okay."

I fall asleep soon after to the sound of chirping night creatures. I don't know how well Hawk slept, yet when I rose he was still clutching onto me tightly. Part of me felt guilty about having to rouse him in order to sneak back into my tent, not wanting to sit through a yelling match with Frank over being indecent. I wish I could be selfish and be by his side at all times when he was hurting... Dawn is just barely breaking through a hazy sky, casting a glow over the sleeping Captain. I faintly shake Hawkeye's shoulder, and he groggily responds with a jumble of slurred together words, attempting to bury his head further into me. "I need to get back to my tent," I whisper into his ear. "Alright," he moves to press a featherlight kiss to my neck before untangling ourselves as best we could without making too much noise. I'm reluctant to go as I feel our shared warmth ebb, clinging onto any remaining heat while I tie my robe closed to protect against the dewy morning chill. As I head to the exit I can feel him watching me through lazy eyes. I turn, waving at him as I slowly close the door. He waves back, a sleepy smile playing on his lips while I step outside.

Author's note 2: This originally was all going to be one long post all together, going through the full episode, but then I realized I was only at the halfway mark by the end of this week, oops (⌒_⌒;) I wanted to follow up on my promise of posting for y'all, so I decided to split it into two parts so I don't leave everyone hanging for too long. Thank you so much for being patient!! Also, PLEASE leave comments!!! I love reading them! I truly hope that I met everyone's standards, I know that there isn't too much in the way of M*A*S*H fanfiction, so I wanted to make something I would be proud of! (◠‿◠)