Writer Wrong: Part Five

Dead or Alive

By: Helen J. Lake

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

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Colonel Potter,” Radar was saying as I followed him into the larger office. “Miss Lightfoot is here to see you.”

“Send her—oh, hello Miss Lightfoot,” he greeted, looking up from signing something. “Radar, please—“

“I’ll shut—“

“The door,” they finished simultaneously.

I smiled, amused, and finally understanding why they called him “Radar”. Sitting on the chair in front of the desk, I crossed my legs and pulled the robe tightly closed.

“You could have gotten dressed,” he said, eyeing me.

I shrugged. “If I make you uncomfortable, I can return later.”

“I’m a doctor,” he replied.

I bowed my head in agreement. “What did you need to see me about, Colonel?”

He sighed. “We’ve kept you here for nearly a week now,” he began. “And because you needed time to heal, we didn’t rush your paperwork to HQ. However, today, we received this notice.” He held up a paper, then slapped it back onto the desk in annoyance. “It seems that somehow, when we reported the deaths of your comrades, they recorded that all of you had been killed.”

I absorbed this information in silence. Chewing on the inside of my bottom lip, I stared at the surface of his desk.

“I’ve already got Radar collecting the paperwork I’ll need to file to bring you back to life, essentially,” he added.

Taking a deep breath, I sighed. “Colonel, I’m glad you want to keep me updated, but I really don’t see what I can do to help.”

He seemed surprised that I wasn’t more upset. “Miss Lightfoot, this means that notice was sent to the States. Your family would have received the telegram by now, and must think you’re dead.”

I almost laughed. “I have no family.”

Now he looked embarrassed. “Surely there is someone…” But he stopped talking when I shook my head.

“I’m afraid the only people who care about me are in this camp,” I said, picturing Hawkeye and Sidney. I had no reason to go rushing off, did I? Everyone outside of the camp thinks I’m dead. Everyone in the camp is friendly enough—with the exception perhaps of Houlihan, but she didn’t scare me. And Hawkeye…I smiled, remembering the feel of his skin against mine.

“Well, Miss Lightfoot,” Potter began to say.

“Call me Sharon, please,” I insisted, not really meaning to interrupt. “Sorry, sir.”

“Sharon, then…it looks like we will keep you around until things are cleared up.”

I smiled at him, but before I could say anything, the doors flung open and a tall balding man stormed in, with Radar chasing him.

“Colonel Potter!” the newcomer exclaimed. “I must insist that you have that drunken psychiatrist removed from my tent immediately!”

“I tried to stop him, but he insisted on—“ Radar was saying, but he stopped at a menacing glare from the tall man. I watched with interest, amused.

Potter sighed. “Welcome back, Major Winchester.”

“I come back from a very important medical conference in Tokyo, and what do I find?” Winchester was continuing, his face red. “Sidney Freedman, half drunk off his—“

“Winchester!” Potter interrupted forcefully, his own face flushing.

“Colonel!” he tried again.

“Boston,” I declared. Suddenly, I had the attention of this fuming giant.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“Definitely Boston,” I continued, cocking my head as I looked up at him. “Harvard graduate.”

Blinking incredulously, he gaped at me, then turned to Potter again.

“Major,” Potter said, holding up a hand to halt further onslaught. “This is Sharon Lightfoot, a civilian journalist who was…injured.”

Now he was eyeing me. “Were her clothes injured too?”

I decided that I liked him. “I’m afraid they didn’t make it,” I retorted.

“Hmm,” he mumbled. Suddenly remembering what he had come in here for, he whirled to Potter. “Colonel, I must insist!”

“Hold your horses, Major,” Potter said, bouncing on his feet. “Sidney’s leaving tomorrow anyway.”

I sat up straighter. Sidney was leaving so soon? I hadn’t had a chance to speak to him, to…

“Colonel,” I said. “If I may?” When he nodded, I continued. “I ousted Sidney from the VIP tent, which doesn’t seem fair. May I suggest that we add a cot to the tent, for this one night, so that he can sleep off his…imbibing?”

Potter was shaking his head. “It’s not proper,” he said.

Winchester had lit up. “No, it’s perfect! Who could you trust more than a shrink? I’m sure he wouldn’t…try anything,” he said, glancing at me.

Unsure if he was insulting my attractiveness, and not particularly caring, I snorted. “Or, Colonel, we could set the extra cot up right next to Major Winchester’s…”

Potter laughed at the outrageous expression on Winchester’s face. “Don’t advertise that he’s staying in the same tent with you,” he suggested.

I stood, ignoring the comical difference in heights between Winchester and myself. He glared down at me, and I got the impression that this was a common expression for him.

“Major,” I said, nodding to him. “Colonel…”

I left the office, limping slightly, and listening to Winchester start complaining about one thing or another. Radar appeared at my side, lugging a folded cot.

“I have the spare cot for the VIP tent, ma’am,” he announced unnecessarily. “I’ll set it up for you.”

“Thank you, Radar,” I replied.

We entered the tent and he began to assemble the strange contraption. While he was distracted, I opened the care package the chaplain had sent over. Inside was an assortment of important items: soap, comb, talcum powder, a can of Spam, two pens, and a tiny vial of aftershave. Shrugging, I ran the comb through my hair. Radar was muttering to himself, arguing with the cot, and had his back to me. Snatching the red dress from the chair, I dropped the robe and slipped it over my head. As I pulled it down, I saw Radar turning.

“OH!” he cried. “Oh, geeze! I’m sorry!”

I laughed, making sure the dress covered everything. “It’s okay, Radar, I should have warned you.”

He was blushing furiously as he backed his way out of the tent. The cot was assembled and sat in the middle of the tent, a blanket and a pillow on top. Standing, I frowned down at the ugly green slippers as I went back out the door.

“How did you know I was from Boston?” Winchester stood right outside, looking calmer, but intrigued. “And that I went to Harvard?”

Smiling mysteriously, I put my hands on my hips. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your entire name, Major.”

Drawing himself up regally, he replied, “Charles Emerson Winchester, the third,” he declared, clearly proud of his heritage.

“Charles…may I call you Charles?” I asked, squinting up at him. He grunted an affirmative. “Charles, I’m from Massachusetts myself. I’ve lived all over the state, and I’ve heard all of the varying accents. One of my hobbies is identifying Massachusetts’ natives by their dialect and inflections alone.”

His narrowed eyes peered down at me intently. Instead of appearing curious, he looked like he was examining a lab specimen. Again, his face fell into that expression easily. I continued to limp towards the Swamp and he followed silently.

“Leg wound?” he asked suddenly.

“Uh huh,” I puffed, annoyed at how tired I felt. It was my own fault, of course, I noted. As if in response to my thoughts, Hawkeye stepped out of the Swamp. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Post-Op?” I called.

He turned to me, grinning, and my heart skipped a beat. That man is far too sexy for his own good…

“I’m on a coffee break,” he replied.

“Coffee?” I echoed.

“Not for me,” he added, jerking a thumb behind him.

“Sidney,” I concluded. “Just the man I wanted to see.”

There was a flash of jealousy in his blue eyes as I drew near to him. Aware that Charles was still nearby, I patted Hawkeye on the arm—instead of the inappropriate place I wanted to. He held the door open as I went inside. Sidney sat on the edge of a cot; a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. He stared down without meeting my eyes.

“Sidney,” I said quietly.

He flinched. “Sharon,” he greeted.

“Come on, Major,” Hawkeye said. “Let me show you this odd case we have over in Post-Op. I think you might be the only one who can take care of this kid…”

“Yes, I’m sure my medical skills were missed.”

As the door swung shut, I saw Hawkeye toss a wink over his shoulder at me. Smirking at the way he manipulated Winchester, I turned back to Sidney. He was looking up at me. I was shocked at the redness in his eyes. Drawing myself up, I took a slow breath.

“Sidney, I’m very sorry for what happened earlier,” I began. “After talking to Hawkeye, I was able to realize that my attraction for you was…inaccurate.” I paused, seeing how he had slouched again. “I’m not saying that I don’t find you attractive. I just…” I stopped, squeezing the bridge of my nose. “For someone who expresses herself in the written word, I certainly can’t seem to collect my thoughts.”

He drank from his coffee. “Take your time,” he suggested.

My leg was beginning to bother me somewhat, so I sat on the footlocker. This put me right in front of him, and my knees nearly touched his.

“I have made many mistakes in my life, Sidney,” I tried again. “Most often, I confuse comfort and support as attraction. You were the first person who really reached out to me, who seemed to want to know me, since I came to Korea. It made me feel special, and I wanted to express this somehow. Unfortunately, I resorted to a physical display, when in reality, I should have just written you a poem.” I chuckled dryly at myself. “Please accept my sincere apologies, Sidney.”

He was silent for a long time. “There,” he said, smiling crookedly. “That wasn’t so hard.”

“There is one other thing,” I said, smirking cockily. “Why did you come running in here and start getting drunk? It couldn’t just be because I came on to you.” His eyes widened slightly as he stared at me. I waited another beat, then concluded, “Is it that, for just a second, you wanted me too?”

“My God,” he whispered, cradling his head in his hands.

I leaned forward and pulled him into a hug. That seemed like a bad idea, since the sensation of his breath against my neck made me break out in goose-bumps. Patting him on the back gently, I helped him stand.

“It’s okay, Sidney,” I murmured. “Let’s get you into the VIP tent so you can recover.”

He didn’t reply, but stood a little straighter. I kept one hand on his bicep as I lead him towards our tent. When one of the corpsmen stopped to stare, I shrugged at him.

“Just a little stomach bug,” I said in a warning tone. They moved on without a word.

We made it into the tent and I had Sidney sit on the newly assembled cot. He was watching me as I shook the blanket out and placed it beside him. When I bent for the pillow, he grabbed my wrist.

“You lied to that corpsmen.”

I tried to shake off his grasp. “So?”

“Why are you doing this?” he demanded. “Why are you helping me? I’m not the one who was able to help you!”

I flinched guiltily, which—damn him—he noticed. I moved to sit on my own cot, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t pursue it.

“Sharon,” he said in a tone that said he wasn’t going to let it go. Damn.

“Yes, Sidney?” I replied coyly, scooting so that I could lean against the support beam.

“How was it that Hawkeye was able to…I mean, it seems so sudden that you are able to see…”

He was stumbling over his words. A highly trained psychiatrist, well-spoken of, and all around wonderful man…and he couldn’t even say to me what he wanted to.

“Sidney,” I interrupted. “What are you trying to ask me?”

His eyes met mine suddenly, forcefully. Neither of us spoke. We didn’t need to. He knew, somehow.

“You should sleep it off,” I suggested, moving from the bed.

“Sharon,” he called. I turned and instinctively caught the wad of clothing he tossed. “Tell Hawkeye he forgot his shorts.”

I gaped at him, looking down at the underwear in shock. Unsure of what to do with it, I folded it tightly, and held it against my stomach. Refusing to be embarrassed or to show any other emotion, I met his eyes and nodded, and left. Moving as quickly as I could, I went back to the Swamp, glad to see no one was there, and tossed the shorts into the mess within. Then, and only then, did I heave a sigh.

“Making a delivery?” Colonel Potter’s voice came from behind me.

Trying not to appear like a child caught doing something naughty; I shuffled around to smile at him. He peered at me; the sunlight gleaming off of his spectacles.

“Just returning something,” I replied smoothly. “I thought taking a little walk might be a good idea.”

“Hmm,” he said, glancing at my dress. “I’ll see about getting you some other clothes. Then you won’t have to borrow anyone’s…”

Swallowing in relief, I watched him walk away. I’m not sure why I was so worried. Maybe because he might reprimand Hawkeye for our…shenanigans, even though those actions had put my mind at ease…I didn’t want Hawkeye to get in trouble for something I had the opportunity to stop. Then again, considering how easily I had fallen into bed with him, maybe I hadn’t wanted to stop at all.

Lost in thought, I suddenly found myself outside of Post-Op. The fact that Sidney knew what had happened nagged at me. Not from guilt that we’d been found out—hell, I didn’t care if all of Korea knew—but the hurt in Sidney’s eyes had bothered me more than I’d expect. Was he hurt because I’d kissed him first; then moved on to Hawkeye within ten minutes? I knew what people would call a girl who did that.

I didn’t care one bit. I’d simply been through enough horrible things…I had built up quite a tough exterior before, but this was the first time I had no qualms about something questionable I’d done.

What does that mean, I wonder…

“Ya know the paint won’t peel any faster with you staring at it,” Klinger pointed out from behind me. I turned towards him, seeing the small stack he held. “Here’s some clothes for you. Although that dress does look nice.”

I smiled. “Thanks, Klinger.” Flipping through the choices, I spotted shorts and a t-shirt. Taking those, I pulled the shorts on beneath the dress. I pulled a shirt over my head, arms inside. Wiggling the straps from my shoulders, I slid them off, put my arms through the sleeves, and pulled the dress down to my waist. Klinger’s eyes were wide.

“That’s some trick,” he noted as I folded the dress and placed it on top of the rest.

“I’ll run these back to my tent,” I said.

“I can do that for ya!” he declared.

Remembering Sidney asleep in the VIP tent, and that Potter wanted the shared tent thing kept hush-hush, I shook my head. “That’s okay, really, Klinger, thanks,” I stammered.

“Not a problem!” he insisted.

I was distracted by the Post-Op doors opening and Hawkeye walking out. He spotted me and headed over. When he reached my side, standing just a little closer than strangers would, I saw too late that Klinger had gone.

“Did you hear about Sidney?” Hawkeye asked.

“Hmm?” I replied, distracted.

“He’s been called to an emergency at an aid station.”

That caught my attention. “What?!”

“Radar just went to tell him,” he added. He was eyeing me. “Did you have a chance to talk?”

“Yes, but…” I lurched towards the tent, my thigh protesting. Hawkeye followed silently. By the time we’d limped close, Radar was putting a bad into the back of a jeep. Sidney came out of the tent, adjusting his cap.

I reached the jeep and held onto it for support; for dear life, as I panted. Hawkeye clapped Sidney on the shoulder gently.

“Be careful up there,” he warned. “The 121^st has been drawing a lot of fire lately.”

Sidney nodded. “I know, Hawk…” He looked towards me. “Take care of her for me.”

“Sidney,” I said, letting him hug me. “Don’t worry about me; you just keep your head down.”

He smiled, climbing into the driver’s seat. “I asked Radar to send a telegram to Stars and Stripes,” he announced. “I have a friend there, and I think he might be able to give you a job as a civilian correspondent.”

Before I could reply—or close my gaping mouth, he started the jeep and drove away.

Onward to Part Six…