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MASH 3-sentence ficathon ficlets part 2
6.
https://threesentenceficathon.dreamwidth.org/4733.html?thread=8248957#cmt8248957
any, any, bite
"I knew I should have been a veterinarian," Hawkeye said as Margaret dabbed the back of his hand with antiseptic, "and also, ow."
"Don't be a baby, it didn't even break the skin; besides, do you really think you'd be less likely to be bitten if you'd gone into veterinary medicine?" -- but Margaret's grip, though businesslike, was careful, and she took her time with the thorough disinfection of the purple half-moon bite mark on his forearm; they both knew human bites were notoriously infection-prone.
"Maybe not, but at least you can smack them on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper; rumor has it that the medical profession tends to frown on that."
7.
https://threesentenceficathon.dreamwidth.org/4733.html?thread=8239997#cmt8239997
any, any, daemon au
"Captain Pierce!" Frank barked, "your weasel has been tormenting my Betsy again!"
"Mélusine is a marten," Hawkeye remarked from where he was lazily sprawled reading on his cot, as a streak of red-brown shot up the tentpole into the canopy, easily dodging Frank's thrown boot, "and I'm sure Betsy started it, anyway."
In the glass goldfish bowl on a crate beside Frank's cot, his cichlid shot around and around her toy fish castle and occasionally flashed up to the surface, splashing furiously to express her own opinion.
8.
https://threesentenceficathon.dreamwidth.org/4733.html?thread=8258685#cmt8258685
any, any, time loop
AU of 8x16, 'Bottle Fatigue'
The cloying, metal stink of blood was so strong that Charles could still taste it and feel it, a hot splash across his face and hands, drenching the front of his scrubs, wet on his mask; this time he'd felt the sharp sting of shrapnel across his scalp, but when he touched his forehead, the skin was smooth and dry. Still, he staggered and leaned against the wall while the others scrubbed up: not enough time, never enough time, if only he could go back a little farther, it just kept going around and around, and it always ended in the same place -- in the OR, with a live grenade in Pierce's hand, and never enough time to change the inevitable outcome.
But he was a Winchester and he'd never taken failure for an option and he was going to change this one or die trying (as he'd already died more times than he wanted to think about), so he straightened up and grabbed Pierce by the shoulder -- maybe telling him what was going to happen would work this time, because nothing else seemed to do anything, and he wasn't sure how many more failures he could take.
9.
https://threesentenceficathon.dreamwidth.org/4733.html?thread=8180861#cmt8180861
any, any, mistaken for strangers
Set kind of vaguely during 8x15 'Yes Sir That's My Baby'
The first thing Charles had said when they arrived at the hotel was "We don't know each other, or more specifically, I don't know you," so Hawkeye had taken that fully to heart and cheerfully swanned around collecting and spreading gossip: collecting, instigating, and prodding it along. ("The balding, sweaty gentleman at the bar there ...? never met him, but on the other hand, I've heard --")
He figured he'd won a round when Charles marched up to him, grabbed him by the shoulder of his Class A's and strongarmed him off to the hotel suite, muttering under his breath about calling Colonel Potter and having Hawkeye confined to quarters for the duration.
10.
https://threesentenceficathon.dreamwidth.org/4438.html?thread=7437910#cmt7437910
any / any / chocolate
The box came in to the 4077 mail call with the label peeled off, scuffed up and squashed and looking like it had been dropped in the mud a few times; but when Radar peeked inside the peeling paper-and-string packaging, it turned out to be an absolute bounty of name-brand chocolate bars, still in their pristine wrappers, from back home.
Trapper claimed it was from his wife and kids, Klinger said it was definitely his Uncle Abdul's stateside connections, and half the nurses insisted it must be a paramour in Tokyo or Seoul or back in the States. But for once, Henry made an executive decision and gave an order, and the senior staff opened the mystery box in the mess and passed out the chocolate to everyone who showed up -- and it all went around with some to spare, and Hawkeye slipped the extra leftover handful of chocolate bars under the table to Henry for a morale job well done.
11.
https://threesentenceficathon.dreamwidth.org/4733.html?thread=8230269#cmt8230269
any, any, a letter never sent
Tag for 10x20 'Sons & Bowlers'
For once, Hawkeye wasn't actually trying to snoop. He set his tray down by Charles's in the mess, where Charles -- up earlier than the rest of his tentmates, and sitting alone -- had been writing letters, and the draft from the tray dislodged the small pile of pages. Charles made an annoyed noise, snatching for the sheets of notepaper before they scattered onto the mud-tracked floor -- but Hawkeye was faster, and just happened to glance at the stack as he handed it back. My Dear Honoria was perfectly normal. Dear Dr. Pierce ... wasn't. There were only a few lines after that, but Charles had already confiscated the letter before Hawkeye could read them.
"You're writing to my dad?" Hawkeye made an attempt to grab it back, but this time he wasn't quite fast enough; Charles caught it, crumpled it, and stuffed it into the breast pocket of his fatigues.
"Yes, well, an attempt was made, that shall never see the light of day," Charles said briskly, not meeting Hawkeye's eyes. He smoothed out the rest of the letters on the mess table, then began to carefully fold and crease Honoria's. (Hawkeye and BJ had had a field day in the past making fun of his precise letter-folding technique -- three across, three down, three up, are you going for the blue ribbon, Charles? Accomplished Letters in Lettering 1952?) Somehow, these days, that letter-folding tic, all but calculated to annoy one's tentmates, had become weirdly endearing.
At the moment, however, it was a distraction from the thing Hawkeye was really dying to know. He reached for Charles's pocket, but Charles clapped a hand over it, then deftly transferred the crumpled ball of paper to his hip pocket on the side away from Hawkeye, and went back to folding Honoria's letter.
"What did you write to my dad? Come on, Charles, I'm dying here ..."
"It's unfinished, and it will remain that way. It turns out," Charles said, darting a sideways glance at him before he went back to putting Honoria's letter in its envelope with a level of precision normally reserved for complex surgical maneuvers, "that writing a letter to another person's relatives is awkward, inconvenient, and beneath the dignity of a Winchester."
"Ah. Well," Hawkeye said, and he wondered slightly if the outcome might have been different if he hadn't happened to glimpse the unfinished letter, "it's the thought that counts, right?"
Charles gave him a wary look, as if not quite sure that Hawkeye was going to let it go that easily. Fortunately Hawkeye had a distraction. For once, he'd been early enough in the mess to get one of the last of the halfway edible sweet rolls that they always ran out of before he was usually up. He waggled it at Charles.
"You want this? I'm not that hungry ..."
"Yes, whatever," Charles said distractedly -- he was now folding another letter, this one addressed Dear Senator Whitcomb, probably the latest in a long line of attempts to get himself transferred out of Korea. Hawkeye balanced the sweet roll on the edge of Charles's tray, and applied himself to his powdered eggs.
(And what he didn't say -- would never, ever admit -- was that he had also thought about writing to Winchester II; had composed entire letters in his head, even. But anything he would have had to say to Charles Sr. would probably have been censored by the War Board anyway.)
https://threesentenceficathon.dreamwidth.org/4733.html?thread=8248957#cmt8248957
any, any, bite
"I knew I should have been a veterinarian," Hawkeye said as Margaret dabbed the back of his hand with antiseptic, "and also, ow."
"Don't be a baby, it didn't even break the skin; besides, do you really think you'd be less likely to be bitten if you'd gone into veterinary medicine?" -- but Margaret's grip, though businesslike, was careful, and she took her time with the thorough disinfection of the purple half-moon bite mark on his forearm; they both knew human bites were notoriously infection-prone.
"Maybe not, but at least you can smack them on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper; rumor has it that the medical profession tends to frown on that."
7.
https://threesentenceficathon.dreamwidth.org/4733.html?thread=8239997#cmt8239997
any, any, daemon au
"Captain Pierce!" Frank barked, "your weasel has been tormenting my Betsy again!"
"Mélusine is a marten," Hawkeye remarked from where he was lazily sprawled reading on his cot, as a streak of red-brown shot up the tentpole into the canopy, easily dodging Frank's thrown boot, "and I'm sure Betsy started it, anyway."
In the glass goldfish bowl on a crate beside Frank's cot, his cichlid shot around and around her toy fish castle and occasionally flashed up to the surface, splashing furiously to express her own opinion.
Author's note
I did think about giving Frank a ferret, but they're simply too cute for Frank, whereas something mustelid seems very Hawkeye. The only other one I know is that Radar has some kind of small, fast bird like a swallow or chimney swift.8.
https://threesentenceficathon.dreamwidth.org/4733.html?thread=8258685#cmt8258685
any, any, time loop
AU of 8x16, 'Bottle Fatigue'
The cloying, metal stink of blood was so strong that Charles could still taste it and feel it, a hot splash across his face and hands, drenching the front of his scrubs, wet on his mask; this time he'd felt the sharp sting of shrapnel across his scalp, but when he touched his forehead, the skin was smooth and dry. Still, he staggered and leaned against the wall while the others scrubbed up: not enough time, never enough time, if only he could go back a little farther, it just kept going around and around, and it always ended in the same place -- in the OR, with a live grenade in Pierce's hand, and never enough time to change the inevitable outcome.
But he was a Winchester and he'd never taken failure for an option and he was going to change this one or die trying (as he'd already died more times than he wanted to think about), so he straightened up and grabbed Pierce by the shoulder -- maybe telling him what was going to happen would work this time, because nothing else seemed to do anything, and he wasn't sure how many more failures he could take.
9.
https://threesentenceficathon.dreamwidth.org/4733.html?thread=8180861#cmt8180861
any, any, mistaken for strangers
Set kind of vaguely during 8x15 'Yes Sir That's My Baby'
The first thing Charles had said when they arrived at the hotel was "We don't know each other, or more specifically, I don't know you," so Hawkeye had taken that fully to heart and cheerfully swanned around collecting and spreading gossip: collecting, instigating, and prodding it along. ("The balding, sweaty gentleman at the bar there ...? never met him, but on the other hand, I've heard --")
He figured he'd won a round when Charles marched up to him, grabbed him by the shoulder of his Class A's and strongarmed him off to the hotel suite, muttering under his breath about calling Colonel Potter and having Hawkeye confined to quarters for the duration.
10.
https://threesentenceficathon.dreamwidth.org/4438.html?thread=7437910#cmt7437910
any / any / chocolate
The box came in to the 4077 mail call with the label peeled off, scuffed up and squashed and looking like it had been dropped in the mud a few times; but when Radar peeked inside the peeling paper-and-string packaging, it turned out to be an absolute bounty of name-brand chocolate bars, still in their pristine wrappers, from back home.
Trapper claimed it was from his wife and kids, Klinger said it was definitely his Uncle Abdul's stateside connections, and half the nurses insisted it must be a paramour in Tokyo or Seoul or back in the States. But for once, Henry made an executive decision and gave an order, and the senior staff opened the mystery box in the mess and passed out the chocolate to everyone who showed up -- and it all went around with some to spare, and Hawkeye slipped the extra leftover handful of chocolate bars under the table to Henry for a morale job well done.
11.
https://threesentenceficathon.dreamwidth.org/4733.html?thread=8230269#cmt8230269
any, any, a letter never sent
Tag for 10x20 'Sons & Bowlers'
For once, Hawkeye wasn't actually trying to snoop. He set his tray down by Charles's in the mess, where Charles -- up earlier than the rest of his tentmates, and sitting alone -- had been writing letters, and the draft from the tray dislodged the small pile of pages. Charles made an annoyed noise, snatching for the sheets of notepaper before they scattered onto the mud-tracked floor -- but Hawkeye was faster, and just happened to glance at the stack as he handed it back. My Dear Honoria was perfectly normal. Dear Dr. Pierce ... wasn't. There were only a few lines after that, but Charles had already confiscated the letter before Hawkeye could read them.
"You're writing to my dad?" Hawkeye made an attempt to grab it back, but this time he wasn't quite fast enough; Charles caught it, crumpled it, and stuffed it into the breast pocket of his fatigues.
"Yes, well, an attempt was made, that shall never see the light of day," Charles said briskly, not meeting Hawkeye's eyes. He smoothed out the rest of the letters on the mess table, then began to carefully fold and crease Honoria's. (Hawkeye and BJ had had a field day in the past making fun of his precise letter-folding technique -- three across, three down, three up, are you going for the blue ribbon, Charles? Accomplished Letters in Lettering 1952?) Somehow, these days, that letter-folding tic, all but calculated to annoy one's tentmates, had become weirdly endearing.
At the moment, however, it was a distraction from the thing Hawkeye was really dying to know. He reached for Charles's pocket, but Charles clapped a hand over it, then deftly transferred the crumpled ball of paper to his hip pocket on the side away from Hawkeye, and went back to folding Honoria's letter.
"What did you write to my dad? Come on, Charles, I'm dying here ..."
"It's unfinished, and it will remain that way. It turns out," Charles said, darting a sideways glance at him before he went back to putting Honoria's letter in its envelope with a level of precision normally reserved for complex surgical maneuvers, "that writing a letter to another person's relatives is awkward, inconvenient, and beneath the dignity of a Winchester."
"Ah. Well," Hawkeye said, and he wondered slightly if the outcome might have been different if he hadn't happened to glimpse the unfinished letter, "it's the thought that counts, right?"
Charles gave him a wary look, as if not quite sure that Hawkeye was going to let it go that easily. Fortunately Hawkeye had a distraction. For once, he'd been early enough in the mess to get one of the last of the halfway edible sweet rolls that they always ran out of before he was usually up. He waggled it at Charles.
"You want this? I'm not that hungry ..."
"Yes, whatever," Charles said distractedly -- he was now folding another letter, this one addressed Dear Senator Whitcomb, probably the latest in a long line of attempts to get himself transferred out of Korea. Hawkeye balanced the sweet roll on the edge of Charles's tray, and applied himself to his powdered eggs.
(And what he didn't say -- would never, ever admit -- was that he had also thought about writing to Winchester II; had composed entire letters in his head, even. But anything he would have had to say to Charles Sr. would probably have been censored by the War Board anyway.)
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