Chapter Text
“Alright Kelly, this one goes first!”
Hawkeye swiped his arm across his brow. If only there was a break in his future…but the endless line of bodies in pre-op ensured a long day, and an even longer night. The sticky heat wave that had settled over the camp only added insult to injury. As if the fighting wasn’t terrible enough, now the days were miserably hot and humid. The 4077th was running on fumes. With the ever-present heat exhaustion, they were short staffed--the tempers of its surviving members were even shorter.
Ignoring the twinge in his back and the headache pulsing in his temples, Hawkeye moved quickly towards the next soldier.
Babies.
They’re just babies.
The soldier that lay before him was more bloody bandage than man. Hawkeye held a sliver of hope as he bent down, fingers searching for a pulse. But he knew he was too late. The tall surgeon sighed heavily.
“Kelly…this one’s…this one’s gone.”
Her sympathetic eyes met his. She gave him a curt nod and signaled two corpsmen. Unfortunately, this was business as usual and not an uncommon occurrence in the 4077th.
Hawkeye straightened up, ready to move on. He didn’t want to dwell on the young face, terror frozen in the kid’s glassy eyes...
“Hey! HEY! You can’t take him anywhere!”
A short-haired, burly soldier was shouldering his way towards Hawkeye. He had a manic look in his eye.
“You need to save him! STOP!”
The sergeant stripes on his shoulder were streaked with drying crimson. His auburn hair was disheveled, his hands filthy. He skidded to a halt in front of Hawkeye, eyes flying between his friend's body and the dark-haired surgeon.
Hawkeye recognized the lost look swirling in the soldier's brown eyes. They were eyes he'd seen more times than he could count. This was news he never wanted to give, and it never got any easier.
I really hate this part.
Hawkeye shook his head sadly.
“I’m sorry, sergeant. There’s nothing I can do for him. He’s already gone.”
“You’re-you're not even going to try?! That’s my best friend lying there, you can’t just give up! Do something!”
Hawkeye locked his blue eyes on the sergeant as he contemplated his next move. The man was a few inches taller than him, and a good deal wider. Though physically imposing, this was his OR dammit, and he didn't need healthy soldiers distracting him from the wounded. He felt for the guy, he really did. But they were overwhelmed, and Hawkeye didn't have the time for a fight.
“Look, I’m sorry. I truly am. But I’ve got other patients to get to-“
All of a sudden, the sandy-haired soldier closed the remaining distance between them. Invading Hawkeye’s personal space, he wrapped one hand tightly around the surgeon’s arm, and leaned in. His brown eyes were predatory, almost unhinged.
“You’re killing him doc. Save. Him.”
Pre-op had fallen deathly silent. Not a funny pun right now, Hawkeye mused. The look in the soldier's eye and the tone of his voice sent a shiver down Hawkeye's spine. He swallowed thickly, trying to quell the panic that bloomed in his chest.
“Sergeant..."
Hawkeye cleared his throat, ignoring the fearful tremor in his voice.
"Sergeant. There is nothing I can do, I don’t know how many ways I can say it. Your friend is...gone.”
The sergeant stared at him, seeming to not understand. Seconds ticked by. Sweat beaded on Hawkeye's forehead and snaked its way down his neck, dampening his undershirt. Still no one was moving. The chaos of the OR next door even seemed muted, dulled. The only thing Hawkeye was aware of was the man in front of him, who was seriously hurting and pissed off, who had an iron grip on his arm, and murder in his eyes.
Relief flooded his senses as Hawkeye saw Klinger and Igor sneak into his peripheral vision. He hoped that they were coming to escort this sergeant out, who miraculously seemed to be growing taller and stockier and scarier now that he was up close and personal. Hawkeye definitely wasn't dwelling on the throbbing in his arm where the sergeant’s grip was ever-tightening. He also definitely wasn't thinking about the colorful, finger-shaped bruises that were bound to appear on his arm later. He was not a fan of violence, even less so when he was on the receiving end of it.
“Doc.”
The harsh word brought Hawkeye's attention back to the soldier. He had a strange expression on his face, as if he was uncertain about what to do. He kept looking from his friend’s body, painfully still on the bloodied litter, up to Hawkeye’s face and back. The surgeon, trying to keep his voice as calm and placating as possible, motioned for Klinger.
“Sergeant, these two men are going to escort you out of here. Now you can make a scene, or you can go quietly. The choice is yours.”
The sergeant dropped his grip from Hawkeye’s arm and took a step back. He locked eyes with the surgeon, indecision flickering over his face. Klinger and Igor had flanked the sergeant on both sides, almost close enough to grab him. Instantly, resolve transformed the man's features, and he knotted his hands into fists.
“What’s your name, doc?”
Confusedly, Hawkeye gave it to him.
“Pierce. Well, doc. I’m in this crummy place, fighting this crummy war. And the one good thing I found here was blown to bits by an enemy grenade. But it wasn’t Korea that killed him. It was you.”
The threatening words hung in the air between them as the sergeant took a swing at Hawkeye. The surgeon was too stunned to move. Trapped in place, Hawkeye waited for the blow to land.
This is gunna hurt.
But thankfully it never came. Once they realized the man's intentions, Klinger and Igor had lunged towards the sergeant. They managed to wrestle themselves in control of the fuming soldier, who only had eyes for Hawkeye. The sergeant's dark look was menacingly, and it sent a shiver down Hawkeye’s spine.
It wasn’t Korea that killed him. It was you.
Hawkeye watched as the sergeant was bodily removed from pre-op, the man's words ringing in his ears. One by one, the nurses and corpsman resumed their duties. But Hawkeye was still rooted in place, his eyes fixed on the door Klinger and Igor had just taken the sergeant out of.
“Doctor?”
Hawkeye shook himself from his stupor. Kelly was watching him, brows knitted in concern. She gestured towards the next patient and Hawkeye threw her an appreciative nod. Bending down to inspect the chest wound, he tried to push the interaction with the sergeant to the back of his mind. Even so, a twinge of unease still knotted in his gut.
The dangerous tone in the man's voice, the threat in his brown eyes.
It was you.
Hawkeye shivered.