Chapter Text
It’s two months before Christmas, long before anyone should logically be thinking of Yuletide, but the conversation drifts through the mess tent with the first taste of snow in the air.
Charles is fed up. Like every other reasonable (and unreasonable) person in this cesspool, he’d hoped to be home by this Christmas, but it’s looking more and more like a wistful thought than a reality. He’s sitting in the still aptly-named Swamp, trying to draft a letter to Honoria, but every time he tries to get past My Dear Sister, Hunnicutt and Pierce storm through with all the subtlety of a blizzard.
Their ceaseless bickering has never failed to remind Charles of two baboons he’d seen once in a zoo, but their conversation is the same one they’ve been having for the past month at least: the reliability of the postal service.
“Of course they’re going to get there, Beej! You practically sent them the day after Christmas last year!”
“Forgive me, Hawk, I hadn't realized how unreasonable it was for me to want my little girl to have presents to open on Christmas morning,” Hunnicutt retorts.
“Gentlemen, please,” Charles tries, turning around to give them a look, but they don’t hear him, too caught up in their own domestic dispute.
“Beej, I kinda doubt you’ll be the only one buying her presents. It’s not like there’ll be an empty spot under the tree if yours don’t show up in time.”
“It’s the principle of the thing, I don’t expect you to understand-”
“I understand plenty, you moron. And who cares anyway? Erin probably won’t even remember-,”
“Won’t remember what, Hawk? Won't remember if I'm there or not? Won't remember if her own father forgets to give her a Christmas present?”
“Well- I- look, when I was her age, I was just excited about presents, didn’t matter where they were from!”
“What are you trying to say-”
“Gentlemen!” Charles snaps, standing up. “Please. I am trying to write my sister.”
“Why don’t you write a brother instead? Much more interesting,” Pierce tells him, and Charles pushes away the sharp stab of pain at the glib remark. “Can you tell Beej-”
“I will tell you both this, and tell it to you in small letters: out.”
“Oh, but Charles, it’s cold out there!”
“That is what your extensive collective of winter gear is for, Hunnicutt. Make use of it and scram!”
“Wow, he’s using normal people words,” Pierce says to Hunnicutt.
“We must’ve really made him mad,” Hunnicutt agrees, the argument forgotten, as they leave. Charles isn’t so reassured that it is over, certain it’ll spark back up in the mess tent by dinnertime.
At least for now, he has peace and quiet in which to compose his letter to Honoria about the chocolates.
He has to sympathize with Hunnicutt, the postal service out here in Hell’s sweatshop is atrocious, and really, requests for any and all creature comforts must be sent early so to arrive sometime before the armistice.
Charles settles in to write his letter, but as he puts pen to paper, he can’t help but pause.
He’s well used to the domestic woes of BJ Hunnicutt, and feels a degree of pity for the man (though he’d loathe to admit it), but something in his colleague’s words has sparked an idea.
A dangerous idea, admittedly, but an idea nonetheless.
There is nothing stopping him from sending a Christmas present of his own to Erin Hunnicutt.
He has no love lost for BJ Hunnicutt, has nothing but grudging respect for the man’s medical skills, but he simply cannot abide by the thought of young Erin keeping Christmas with an absent father.
(Regrettably, Charles's own father, while present physically, was his own kind of absent even on Christmas and Charles cannot help wondering if things could have been different…)
He returns his focus to the letter, but barely, writing out his request mechanically, and it’s only after he’s signed it Your loving brother, Charlie, that he adds his postscript:
My dear sister, I am enclosing two separate checks with this letter, one of which is for the chocolates. As for the other one, and I beg you to keep this to yourself, it is to be used to buy Erin Hunnicutt a Christmas present. A toy or teddy bear would no doubt make her Christmas very special, but I leave the decision up to you. You have a keen eye for gift-giving, and will no doubt find the perfect item. Though Christmas presents will not make up for her father’s absence, I feel that every child should have something special at Christmas. I’ll include the address you are to send it to, as well as notes for Dr. Hunnicutt’s wife, and Erin herself.
Hopefully next year, I shall be home to keep Christmas with you.
He settles back in his chair, satisfied, and takes a sip of his tea.
There is so little he can do, and he could never admit to Hunnicutt or Pierce that he is in fact invested in their wellbeing, but there are still gifts left for him to give.
Dear Mrs. Hunnicutt,
I have no doubt that your husband has mentioned me to you (though I doubt it has been in the politest of terms), but my name is Charles. Please forgive my presumptuousness, but I had wanted to send your daughter Erin a Christmas present, and I write not to seek permission but to inform you as to why. I know more than anything that your husband had wished to be there for you and your daughter, and bitterly regrets that he cannot be. And while I would hesitate to admit that I consider your husband a friend of mine, I feel that since I presume to send your child a Christmas present, we can be honest with each other. Christmas is a time to spend with loved ones, and I regret for your family’s sake, as well as my own, that the members of our unit will not be home for the holiday season. But please accept my best wishes and a simple gift, with one small provision: cherish every second, and that wonderful daughter of yours.
Yours fondly,
Charles Emerson Winchester III.
He has just one more note to write, and then he can corral the hapless company clerk into getting it into the outgoing mail. Charles has written many letters since arriving overseas, but this is the first time he's ever felt uncertain of what he's writing. And it isn't a letter to a congressman or a senator, but to a single little girl.
Dear Erin,
Though it will no doubt be a few years before you yourself can read this, I am sure your dear mother will read it to you.
Merry Christmas, Erin.
I am a friend of your father’s over here in Korea, which is where he is instead of being home with you where he should be. Now, I know for a fact that more than anything, he’d rather be there with you, watching you open your Christmas gifts, than here, and I wish that I had the power to send him home to you.
I am sure that you have been a very good girl this year, and as I am a close friend of St. Nick’s, I asked him to give you an extra special gift. Please enjoy it.
Your father has taught me so much about what family is, and I hope you know that he loves you and your mother very much. He is always happy to tell your Uncle Hawkeye and I all about you! And I only hope that next year, your father will be home to celebrate with you and your mother. Until then, I am sure you will be a very brave little girl. Your family (and its overseas branch here in Korea) loves you very much. Merry Christmas, small one.
Charles.