Writer Wrong: Part
Four
Healing Children
By:
Disclaimer: M*A*S*H belongs not to me,
and no money was made by writing this. Dangit.
~*~*~*~*~*~
I slept in the VIP tent for two more
nights. Some people think that sleeping can revitalize your emotions and clear
your thoughts. For me, it had only made me more upset. My dreams were full of
the horrors I had seen…of Sidney always walking away, even as I called for
him…and of the small gun I had had before…
Now, standing outside, with only one crutch,
I watched as several of the wounded were packed into an ambulance.
Betrayed. That’s how I felt. When I
felt.
“Radar!” I called, seeing the
bespectacled young man going by.
“Yes, ma’am?” he said politely,
clutching a handful of envelopes.
“When I first arrived here, where were
all my things put?”
“Um, all of your clothing was burned
and the gun was locked in the Colonel’s office,” he said, half-distracted.
I nodded and he walked away. Glancing
around, I spotted the sign that indicated the offices. I began to limp that
way.
“Why did you want to know where the gun
was?”
Damn.
“
I glanced at him. “Shouldn’t you be
taking care of the soldiers?”
He drew up a little taller, having the
decency to look stung. “You’re my priority now.”
“Why?” I kept moving.
“I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
I snorted. “I don’t need to hurt
myself. The world does that just fine without any help.”
He reached for my hand. “
I wanted to scream, I wanted to bite
and scratch and holler at him…but instead, I let him stop me. I didn’t look at
him and waited. To my dismay, I found the sensation of our intertwined fingers
comforting.
“Why do you want that gun?” he asked
again.
My mouth opened, but nothing came out.
It was then that I realized I didn’t know why I wanted it. And that a part of
me wasn’t too sure that I wouldn’t
hurt myself with it. A tear rolled down my cheek.
“Let’s go talk,”
We went back to the VIP tent for
privacy. I tugged at the robe I wore, sitting on the cot. When I’d left the
tent in the first place, I’d been planning to visit the showers—my first shower
in weeks, I’m sick of sponging myself clean—but I’d been quickly detoured. I
was very, very, aware of my nude body
beneath the thin robe.
“Why did you want the gun?” he asked
gently.
I sighed. “I don’t know…maybe
protection?” I shrugged, leaning back again.
When he didn’t respond, I looked up. He
was staring at my leg, which had been revealed by my last movement.
Experimenting, I shifted so that the top fell open a little. To my delight, his
eyes moved slowly up to my chest. By the time his eyes snapped up suddenly to
my face, I was on the move.
“
“Mmph,” he mumbled into my mouth.
Before the embrace could deepen, I found myself being pushed away and onto the
cot. He stared down at me. “
For a moment, neither of us moved.
“I…” he stammered, shaking his head in
shock. “
Trembling, I raised a hand to my face.
“
He drew himself up suddenly, very
professional. “I apologize, Miss Lightfoot. Somehow I led you astray.”
And he was gone.
Where did I go wrong? I wondered. He’s attracted to me, I can see that. And
God knows I feel the same…
I have no idea
how long I sat there in a daze, trying to figure out what had just happened.
Finally, I shook myself. Sliding off of the cot, I retied my robe belt and
headed for the door. As I opened it, I was surprised to see Hawkeye, hand
poised as if to knock.
“Um, come in?”
I said coyly.
He smiled
tightly and nodded, walking past me. “Sharon, I…uh,” he said, pausing to sigh
and rub his hand over his face.
“I see
“Yeah,” he
sighed, giving me a sideways glance. “Care to tell me what the hell you were
thinking?”
I met his eyes,
trying to appear as if my insides weren’t jellied. “I thought…I thought he
wanted me too…”
“You’re
attracted to him,” he stated.
“Yes.”
“So you made a
move.”
“Yes…not a
subtle one, I’m afraid.”
He blew air
between his lips. “Hmm…”
“You look
confused, Hawkeye,” I pointed out, smirking. “Is it because you thought I was
attracted to you?”
He didn’t
reply, but I saw the tips of his ears turn a little red. Tilting my head at
him, I was pleased to see him grin slightly.
“I am, ya
know,” I admitted.
“You going to
make a move on me too?” he asked, his grin widening.
My eyes locked
on his. “You think I’m that easy?”
“No!” he
exclaimed, those gorgeous blue eyes widening. “I should get back to the
business at hand,” he continued. “
“Oh God,” I
sighed. “I infringed on his professionalism…”
“Among other
things,” he added.
Bowing my head
in shame, I found myself gazing down my robe. It was hanging open slightly, so
I yanked it closed and crossed my arms.
“What do I do?”
“That’s up to
you,” he replied, “But I’d recommend waiting until he’s sober to do it.”
I sank onto the
chair—the very one
Hawk sat on the
cot, leaning back and drawing one leg up casually. Somehow, he just knew I
needed to talk. His eyes searched mine.
“Why do you…?”
he prompted
“Well,” I
began, shifting to cross my legs. “If you ask the shrinks back home, I have an
insatiable need for human contact. On top of that, with my tough as nails
demeanor, I drive people away.” I shrugged. “I guess I have a problem opening
up to people…when all I really want is to have that…intimacy.”
I paused to
gage his reaction. He was frowning in his concentration; a line formed between
his eyebrows.
“When I finally
do open up,” I continued. “I’m so
relieved to unload and have someone listen to me…I go too far. I see an
intimacy…a relationship, that isn’t really there.”
“So,” he said
slowly. “When
“I misread the
comfort as attraction,” I concluded. He gazed at me, a question in his eyes. I
smirked—I couldn’t help it!! “Now you’re wondering if I’m just as comfortable with you.”
Grinning, he
nodded playfully. “The thought had crossed my mind.”
I leaned
forward, smiling as sexily as I could. “It’s different with you,” I breathed.
Reaching forward, I touched his hand where it rested on his raised knee. I shivered
and he echoed the movement, lifting his fingers to caress mine. “With you,” I
whispered. “It’s electric.”
Our eyes met
and somehow, I ended up on the cot, half-sitting on his lap. Mouths meeting
hungrily, we embraced frantically.
“Mmm,” he groaned.
“We…ah, we shouldn’t.”
“You can stop
if you want,” I replied as his lips met my throat. I gasped at the hot trail of
kisses he left across my skin.
He moaned into
my hair. “I don’t want to,” he breathed. “But I should…you’re my patient too.”
That seemed to
be a trigger and he pulled away to look down at my leg wound. His face was
flushed; he was gasping and panting…
“Hawkeye!” I
cried softly. “You’d better decide now; I don’t think I’ll be able to stop
soon…my leg is fine and besides,” I grinned mischievously. “I need the
exercise.”
“Exercise,” he
repeated. “Just what the doctor ordered.”
We lay on the
cot spooning—both nude now. After the first time, Hawkeye had quickly stripped
for the second round. He had nearly wrapped his entire body around mine.
Everywhere our skin touched tingled.
“Tell me about
your childhood,” I requested lazily. Despite all that had happened in the
meantime, my thoughts ran over what we’d discussed before.
He sighed into
the top of my head. “What’s to tell? My mom died when I was young…it was just
Dad and me from then on.”
“Were you
happy?”
“Yeah,” he said
after a pause. “I love my dad very much.”
A tear ran down
my temple and into the pillow. I was silent for so long, Hawkeye shifted us
until I was on my other side, facing him. He touched the wet trail my tear had
left behind. I squeezed both eyes shut, unfortunately causing another drop to
roll. I immediately opened them again.
“Tell me about your childhood,” he said in a sweet,
plaintive voice.
I pressed my lips
together, looking away to the drab wall of the tent behind him. Using his
phrase, I replied, “What’s to tell?”
“I think you
have plenty to tell,” he replied.
Losing myself
in his eyes, and the past, I began to speak. “Both of my parents died when I was
six,” I said slowly, watching for the inevitable question. He didn’t say it,
but I saw it in those eyes.
“My father was
wonderful…he loved his little girl so much. Unfortunately, my mother felt
neglected while I was spoiled. One day, while I was at school…” I had to pause
as the memory overtook me.
“Mom wasn’t
stable, they said,” I was barely speaking above the sound of our breathing.
“She took a kitchen knife…and stabbed him when he was home for lunch. Over and
over…then she turned it on herself.”
“My God!” he
hissed; eyes wide.
“She didn’t die
then,” I continued. “She was locked in an institution, and I was sent to an
orphanage.” I swallowed dryly. “They wouldn’t let me see her at first. I had to
beg and plead…a week before my seventh birthday, they let me in.” Shuddering, I
buried my face in his chest. “It was horrible…the smells, the noises, the...the
air was full of craziness. She didn’t
recognize me at first. But then the haze in her eyes cleared. I spoke to her
about school, about the place I was living in…”
“What
happened?”
I hadn’t
realized I’d trailed off like that, so I shifted, and began to play with the
hairs on his chest. “One minute she was fine, and seemed to be listening to
me…the next, she had taken the pencil on the table and tried to stab me.” He
tensed beside me.
“Her own
child?!”
“When I slipped
out of her grasp, unhurt, and managed to get behind the psychiatrist…she…”
“No, Mommy, no!”
“I
love you!”
“She stabbed herself
in the throat.” I forced out. “Before she did it, she proclaimed her love for
me…how’s that for ironic?” I tried to smirk up at him, but it wasn’t very
convincing. Taking a deep breath, I continued in a rush, “So I spent the next
10 years of my life moving from orphanage to orphanage. I was even placed in a
few foster homes. I hated it. One thing my mother taught me, love only leads to
pain…so I lashed out in my lonely anguish. Shoplifting, vandalism…there wasn’t
much I wouldn’t do.”
He was horrified,
I could tell. Instead of stopping, I quickly continued, as if I was afraid to
stop; that the story wouldn’t be told if I stopped.
“I kept myself
at a distance from the others. And since I’m small, they used me as a punching
bag, and a patsy. When they’d do something wrong, I’d get blamed. And I
wouldn’t argue or stand up for myself. Instead, I would get even.” I grinned
evilly at the thought of some of the pranks I’d pulled. “I’d put glue on the
pillows of the House Mum…and make sure that when she put her head on it, I was
out of the house. Usually, out stealing candy. The others would try to tell her
that I had done it, but she started to doubt them.”
“For my
sixteenth birthday, I was given a diary. The smell of the paper, the fake
leather binding…I was transfixed by it.” Smiling up at him, I scooted closer.
“Finally, I had a safe outlet. And somehow, one of my teachers noticed a knack
I had for writing. She convinced me to try my hand at the school newspaper. The
next thing I knew, I was working part-time at the local paper as a researcher.
That lead to scholarships and awards and…here I am.”
He leaned back,
rubbing the stubble on his chin. “Well…” he said; sounding dazed. “That’s some
story…”
“I’m sorry, I
didn’t mean to just go on and on like that…”
“All of that
certainly explains a lot,” he continued as if I hadn’t spoken. His eyes
searched the canvas of the tent.
“Oh, so you’re
the shrink now?” I teased.
He chuckled,
and rolled towards me again. The clock caught his eye and he gasped. “I’m due in
Post-Op in five minutes!” he exclaimed, clambering over me and reaching for his
clothes.
I was silent,
watching him dress. I wondered how much stock he put into what we had done. I’d
heard about him—from the nurses in Post-Op, mostly. They’d been discussing what
a contradiction Hawkeye was: he pursued anything female, and yet he worshipped
the female form.
My ruminations
were interrupted when he sat on the edge of the cot to put his boots on. The
bottom of his shirt brushed against my thigh. Letting my eyes caress his
back…up to his shiny black hair, I smiled. For the first time in a long time, I
smiled sincerely and…happily.
He turned then,
his blue eyes capturing me once more. My smile widened as he leaned to kiss me
gently—a kiss full of so many emotions, I could hardly identity them all:
desire, lust, kindness, sincerity, gratitude…
“I’ll see you
at dinner?” he asked, breaking away. I nodded and he kissed me again, and was
gone.
Stretching
carefully—despite ourselves , my thigh throbbed—I heaved myself out of bed.
Tying my robe on again, I gazed at the crutches nearby. Opting to go without
them, I left for the showers. When I went inside the small facility, I found
Kellye dressing.
“Hello, Nurse,”
I greeted, shuffling to hang my robe on a peg.
“Hi, Miss
Lightfoot,” she greeted, grinning.
I pulled the
chain to turn the water on, gasping at the coldness.
“Give it a few
seconds,” Kellye suggested. “It will heat up.”
As she said
that, it started to steam. “Thanks,” I burbled as I stuck my head into the
spray. Releasing the chain, I started to lather up.
“Miss
Lightfoot, can I ask you a question?”
“Only if you
call me Sharon,” I said, scrubbing my hair vigorously.
She was smiling. “
I cocked my head at her. “Remind you of
yourself?”
She laughed. “A little,” she admitted.
“And you were wondering what my
heritage consisted of?” I continued. “My mother was Japanese by blood, American
by citizenship. My father was white. The Second Big War was interesting for my
family…”
“The internment camps,” she concluded,
then paused. “What I was curious about…well, how did you manage to walk so far
all alone like that? I know I couldn’t have done it!”
I hesitated long enough to rinse the
soap from my head. “I was in shock, Kellye, so I don’t remember much. I
just…walked.”
“Yes, but twenty miles!!” she
exclaimed.
I stared at her, shocked. I hadn’t known
how far I’d walked…the number didn’t seem right, somehow. Hadn’t we been closer
than that? Before I could speak, the door opened to reveal the head nurse,
Houlihan.
“Kellye, you’re late for your shift in
Post-Op,” she said, annoyed.
“Yes, ma’am,” Kellye replied,
collecting her things and scurrying out.
Houlihan eyed me as I rubbed the soap
over my body. She was frowning slightly, her lips tight, and her eyes flashing
in thought.
“Do you not like me personally?” I
asked, breaking the silence. “Or just all civilians?”
“I don’t dislike you,” she snapped, but
her expression softened somewhat.
“But I make you uncomfortable,” I
concluded, seeing the way she held her arms crossed so close to her body.
She sighed heavily. “It’s very hard to
keep secrets in a small camp like this.”
I pulled the chain to rinse the suds
away. Unsure of what she meant, I waited.
“I saw Doctor Freedman in the Swamp,”
she said finally. “He’s busy getting drunk there. I was looking for Captain
Pierce, but
Raising both eyebrows, I fought to keep
the amusement from my face. “Overheard?” I replied innocently. Inside, I
wondered if she’d heard us having sex, or the conversation afterwards.
“Don’t play coy with me,” she almost
snarled.
It was my turn to frown. “You cannot
give me orders, Major,” I pointed out.
She sighed again. “Doctor Pierce should
know better than to fraternize with—“
“A civilian?” I suggested.
“A patient,” she corrected.
Shutting the water off, I opened the
stall door. She stepped back, her chin up, as if she expected an attack.
Pointing at the healing mark on my thigh, I struck a pose.
“If you allow me to shower, and to go
without bandages, why am I not supposed to…fraternize?”
Before she could retort, the PA came to
life. “Attention, please. Would Miss Sharon Lightfoot please report to Colonel
Potter’s office at her earliest convenience? Thank you.”
“Hmph,” I grunted, snagging a towel and
drying quickly. “Not another lecture, I hope,” I commented with a glance at
Houlihan. I smiled at her, hoping she wouldn’t pursue the matter. Slipping into
the robe once more, I headed for the door. She stepped out of the way.
“See you around,” I said casually, heading for Potter’s Office.