Writer Wrong: Part Three

The Party

By: Helen J. Lake

Disclaimer: M*A*S*H belongs not to me, and no money was made by writing this. Dangit.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I decided that crutches would be best for the party. Sidney had frowned and said that the wheelchair would be right outside if I needed it. He reminded me of someone…but I had yet to identify who.

“Do you need a quick lesson on how to use these?”

I looked up from my bandage, which had just been changed. Sidney held the crutches, one in each hand. The Post-Op was empty except for the nurse.

“I had to use some when I broke my ankle in high school,” I mused, rising to my feet. “But a refresher course is probably a good idea.”

He showed me by using them himself first I laughed at his awkward position—I was much smaller than him, and the crutches were my size. He began to laugh too and handed them to me. I hesitated, getting a feel for them, then shuffled forward.

“Atta girl,” he encouraged.

I made the mistake of looking up—and promptly toppled over. He caught me and we froze. One crutch was on the floor, the other was a cross an empty cot. Gasping, not in pain, but in surprise and embarrassment, I looked up. Sidney’s arms were around me, and as our eyes met, I was suddenly very aware of my attraction for him.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

Clearing my throat, I straightened, nodding in silence. The nurse came over and eyed me.

“Shall we try again?” Sidney suggested. The nurse—Kellye, I recalled—handed him the crutches. I accepted them and started moving again. The doors opened and Pierce came in. He was watching me, so I aimed for him. I reached the end of the cots where he stood, hands in pockets, and grinned at him.

“That does it!” he declared. “This means you’ll have to save a dance for me!”

I smirked, knowing I wouldn’t be doing anything like dancing. Turning, I made my way back to Sidney as Klinger burst in. He held the simple spring dress up as he rushed towards me.

“What do you think?” he cried, obviously proud. “I shortened the hem, took in the waist, and brought the sleeves in…”

He continued to rattle off all that he’d done and I smiled, touching the soft fabric. I could feel Sidney’s eyes on me and I looked up. His dark eyes were laughing, and that constant curve adorned his lips. My heart was pounding and I turned away, blushing.

“Put it on so I can make sure it’s okay,” Klinger demanded.

“Yes, Sahib,” I retorted, glancing at the other men.

“Why don’t we all turn around while she changes,” Sidney suggested.

I sank onto the nearest bed and took the dress from Klinger. He turned his back towards me, and the other two did likewise. Moving faster than I thought I could, I whipped the gown off and pulled the dress over my head.

“Okay,” I said. “Someone zip me up!”

I felt a warm hand touch my back and I glanced over my shoulder to see…Pierce. He was smiling and I had to smother a groan when I felt attracted to him, too.

What’s next? I wondered. Klinger?

I took the hand Klinger offered and let him haul me to my feet. He didn’t release me as he examined his handiwork. Pierce went over to Sidney and said something that made Sidney’s eyes grow wide. Remembering my desire to read lips, I focused on their mouths and tried to…

“She’s your patient, too” Sidney said.

“I think she likes you,” Pierce replied.

They both looked at me and I dropped my eyes. I can’t read lips, I decided. Just wishful thinking on my part…

* * *

“These slippers don’t really go with the dress,” I noted.

Sidney eyed my ratty green hospital slippers, then glanced at the lovely red dress. “I don’t know,” he replied. “I kinda like the Christmas effect.”

I snorted, panting at the exertion of going all the way across the camp towards the Officer’s Club. Sidney, to his credit, said nothing about how I should have used the wheelchair; though now I would have agreed. Instead, he went ahead and held the door as I maneuvered inside.

I was grateful that the music wasn’t too loud as we went inside. Pausing as Sidney closed the door behind us, I surveyed the small, but crowded, bar. The musical source was at my right—a piano, with a chaplain playing. A small bar, occupied by an older Korean man took one entire wall. Small makeshift tables and chairs were scattered throughout the moon. There was even a jukebox, a pinball machine, and a dartboard.

“Sidney,” I said, forgetting to call him by his title. “I’m not even military, let alone an officer! Are you sure this is okay?”

“They’re not that picky,” he replied. “After all, they let me in!”

Reassured, I hobbled towards an empty chair. Sidney touched my arm and pointed. I looked that way and saw Pierce waving us over.

“Sidney!” he called. “Come on, I’ve got two empty chairs here.”

Pierce’s ever present companion was there, and gallantly took my crutches as I sat beside Pierce. My injured right leg was next to him and he was careful not to bump me. I smiled at him.

“Miss Lightfoot,” he said, grinning in a not-quite-leer. “You look wonderful. Klinger does nice work.”

I blushed at his direct gaze. His comrade cleared his throat.

“Hi, I’m BJ,” he said, smiling widely. I shook his hand firmly.

“Call me Sharon,” I replied. “It’s nice to put a name with a face.” When he paused, I added, “I remember you from when I first woke up here.”

“Ah,” he said, still smiling.

“And call me Hawkeye,” Pierce added.

“I need a drink,” Sidney announced. “Anything for you Sharon?” His eyes flicked to Pierce.

“A martini, one olive,” I said, looking at Pierce. “If that’s okay with you, Hawkeye?” I meant to sound as if I was daring him, but it came out almost flirty.

“Sounds good,” Pierce replied, the sparkle in his eyes again. “Make that two.”

“Three,” BJ piped up.

“Four it is,” Sidney said. “On Hawkeye’s tab of course.”

Before he could retort, Sidney was gone. BJ was chuckling and I smirked.

“So how are you feeling?” Pierce asked.

I took a slow breath. “Better…almost normal. For me.”

“Normal for you is different?” BJ asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Normal is very different for civilians,” Pierce pointed out.

I didn’t reply and was grateful when Sidney reappeared. He passed out the drinks and sat beside me again. Staring down into the clear liquid, I listened as the men chatted. With one finger, I took the olive out and popped in into my mouth.

“So, I took the trash can lid and flung it like a Frisbee,” BJ was saying, laughing. “It landed in the middle of the street—BANG!”

I startled, my heart in my throat. Sidney’s hand brushed mine and I turned to him. His dark expressive eyes met mine in a question: Are you okay?

I smiled, nodding, and sipped the martini. BJ and Hawkeye were laughing at the story—which I’d lost track of. At the moment, I didn’t mind…

The doors opened and a young man entered. He wore dirty glasses and a worn army green knit cap. Spotting our table, he ran up.

“Holy cow, sirs!” he exclaimed.

“What is it, Radar?” Hawkeye asked, downing the last of his drink.

“MP’s just found what was left of that journalist’s group! What a mess!”

A strange squeak came out of my mouth ad it was then that Radar noticed me.

“Oh!” he cried, eyes wide and horrified. “Oh, geeze!!”

Landmines were exploding and something was on my hand! Oh God, it’s someone’s brain! I gasped and tried to wipe it off on my leg. The heel of my hand bumped the wound and the pain seemed to snap me back to reality.

“Sharon?” Sidney said gently.

Trembling, I looked at him. The others were staring at me. “I’m okay,” I whispered. Radar was practically having a stroke. “Radar, it’s okay…” When I said his name, he calmed, though his eyes were huge still. “What did they find?”

Hawkeye held up a hand. “I don’t think it’s a good idea…”

“Sidney, tell him that facing and acknowledging that horror will help me,” I demanded.

He shrugged and nodded. “What she said.”

“So there,” I said, sticking my tongue out at Hawkeye. He smirked at me and I turned to Radar again. He swallowed nervously, but pulled a chair up. Our small table was now quite crowded.

“There wasn’t much left,” he began cautiously. “A burned out truck, and a few…bodies…the animals had gotten to a few of them. Sorry, ma’am,” he added in a whisper. I flinched and closed my eyes as he continued. “They were able to identify all of them…seven total, plus a North Korean soldier…”

Sniffling against the sudden tears, I asked, “Did they bring anything back? Anything at all?”

“There wasn’t much left,” Radar replied, apologetically. “The locals are good at scrounging for every last scrap…We got the MP’s dogtags, though…”

I sighed heavily, wiping my eyes. “No matter…anything of value to the others would do the locals more good.”

Everyone was silent for a moment, as I tried to regain my composure. I shook myself, rubbing the back of my hand across my nose, and sighed. Sidney was looking at me, but I couldn’t meet his eyes. If I did, I would cry. He had a way of making me so emotional…I was used to being the one in control.

“Hawkeye,” I said coyly, hearing the chaplain start to play a slow song. “How about that dance?”

He nearly spit his drink. “You up for that?” he said, eyeing me.

In reply, I rose to my feet. He took my hand to steady me when I wobbled a little. My eyes met his and I was startled by the electricity. He helped me out to the small clear area in front of the bar. With a gentleness that shouldn’t have surprised me, he pulled me close and moved slowly to the music. I laughed inside at the difference in our heights—the top of my head barely brushed his chin.

My eyes were still locked on his. A smile appeared on his lips. I wondered what they might taste like.

Oh God…he’s far too handsome…I can’t let myself go down that path…

“You’re quite a dancer for someone with only one good leg,” he said suddenly, quietly.

He’s flirting…I want him.

“You’re not so bad yourself…” I replied, grinning.

“I’m better with my hands than my feet,” he replied, somehow winking without actually performing the action.

I laughed, delighted at his not-so-subtle suggestion. My hand slid a little closer to his neck, and I made a fist, gently scratching him through the fabric of his shirt. Watching as goose bumps appeared on the skin of his throat, I grinned up at him. His eyes widened in acknowledgement and he chuckled deep in his chest.

“Shall we try for a dip?” he asked.

“Gentle,” I requested.

“Madam,” he said regally. “I’m always gentle…unless you prefer it another way.”

Before I could reply, we turned slightly and he slowly lowered me backwards. I laughed as we straightened, then gasped when I felt a twinge in my leg. He froze immediately.

“I think we better sit the next one out,” he declared.

“Mm,” I agreed, laughing as we limped our way back to the table.

Sidney was still staring at me, but this time I met his eyes. Shrugging and smiling, I reached for the back of my chair. Before I could actually sit, the PA crackled into life.

“Attention all personnel!” a disembodied voice cried. “Incoming wounded! Happy Hour has been reduced to a Happy Minute!”

The others raced for the doors, even Sidney. It seemed I was forgotten, until at the last second, the psychiatrist turned back and ran to my side.

“I apologize,” he said. “Let me help you back.”

I had the crutches, and together, we walked out of the Officer’s Club and into Hell. People ran all over, shouting orders, carrying litters and…

“God!” I hissed, seeing the soldiers. I felt like climbing up the side of the Officer’s Club, just to get away from all the blood and carnage. I nearly dropped the crutches in my panic.

“Sharon,” Sidney said firmly. “Listen to me.”

Blinking in a daze, I felt my breaths coming in gasps. I felt his hand on my waist, a warm and comforting touch, and I was able to look at him.

“Sharon, I am going to take you to my tent,” he was saying.

“Thought you’d never ask,” I mumbled half-heartedly.

“Don’t leave until I come for you, okay?”

As Klinger—now in a flowing green frock—ran past with a stretcher, I nodded emphatically. We slowly began to make our way to the VIP tent. Someone ran past, knocking a crutch from my grasp. Instinctively, I flung my now-free arm around Sidney’s neck, sobbing into his neck. He held me tightly, and somehow managed to bend to get the lost crutch. He carried it, keeping my body pressed against him, and we began to move again.

“It’s a good thing you’re so small,” he muttered, his voice carrying a somewhat fake sound of jocularity.

I didn’t reply, but instead concentrated on blocking out the sounds of the noisy compound. Sniffling, I was immediately intrigued by Sidney’s scent. Soap, sweat…a hint of aftershave, long worn off by this late in the day. I was so engrossed in analyzing what I smelled, I didn’t realize we were inside his tent until he began to push me away.

“Here we are,” he said.

Unwilling to release him just yet, I pulled him closer instead. He accepted the embrace, his hand patting my back supportively.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, and this time, I let him help me sit on the edge of the cot. “Don’t leave the tent unless you need to use the latrine…or if you have a serious problem.”

“Do you have to leave?” I asked, suddenly afraid of being alone…and a little upset that he would leave me at a time like this.

“There are boys out there who need my help,” he said, trying to evade my grasp.

“What are you going to do, psycho-analyze their wounds?” I snapped. Okay, so I was being rather selfish. But I was already afraid, and it could only get worse if I was alone.

“Sharon,” he said firmly, taking me by the shoulders. “You’re making headway very quickly, and I believe you can handle this. You can handle this.”

“I can handle this,” I repeated, only half-believing it.

I sank back onto the cot, and watched him leave. Swinging both legs up, I found the pillow and stuffed it under my knees. The green ceiling of the tent moved slightly with the outside breeze. I could hear the people outside, and imagined that Sidney’s voice was among them.

Feeling very alone, cold, and afraid…I was suddenly walking down the dirt road, clutching the gun in one hand, and holding the tattered coat closed with the other. Part of me cried out that this had already happened, that it couldn’t be happening again…but I kept walking.

Darkness took me.

“Sharon.”

I heard a pleasant voice say my name, as if from a great distance.

“Sharon,” he repeated. My name was accompanied by a gentle shake of my shoulder.

“Mmph,” I replied. Opening my eyes, I squinted up at Sidney. “What time is it?”

“A little after six,” he replied wearily. “They’re still in surgery, but most of the wounded has been taken care of. We were lucky there wasn’t more.”

I was silent, bitterness burning in my throat. I sat up and he slid past me to collapse on the cot. He sighed, rubbing his eyes, then blinked at me.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I stated evenly, pressing my lips. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

He studied me, but I didn’t care. I noted that I didn’t feel attracted to him anymore. Actually, my mind argued, I didn’t feel much of anything at the moment.

Feeling nothing is better than feeling terrified.

Before he could respond, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Sidney said.

Radar’s head poked in. “Doctor Freedman, your cot is all set up in the Swamp.”

“Thank you, Radar,” he replied. The young man left. I looked at Sidney, waiting.

“Post-Op is full of wounded,” he explained. “I thought it would be best if you didn’t have to sleep there. You can stay here tonight.”

Inside, what was left of my emotions flared up. “You’re leaving me alone again?”

“It’s not proper for me to stay, Sharon,” he argued.

I was shaking, out of anger, fear…I lost track. “Go then,” I snapped. “Get the hell out of here. What do I need you for?”

“That’s not fair, Sharon,” he began.

“War isn’t fair,” I retorted, turning my back on him.

He tried to speak to me a few more times, and when I continued to ignore him, he gathered up a few of his things and left. As soon as the door shut, I squeezed my hands into fists, feeling my nails dig into my palms, and tried not to scream.

Onward to Part Four….