M*A*S*H does not belong to me, it belongs to other people. Thank you.

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"Excuse me, Colonel?"

"Yes, Radar?"

"Um… Corporal Klinger wants to see you."

Henry rolled his eyes. "Send him away, Radar."

As Radar went out one swing door, Klinger barged in through the other (red polka-dot, white purse, white sandals, quickly identified by the colonel as summer casual) and sat down.

"Sit down, Klinger," Henry said resignedly. "What can I do you for?"

"Sir," Klinger said urgently, "I just got a letter from…"

"…home," Henry finished. "Your mother's dead."

"No, sir!" Klinger said, offended. "It's my…"

"Father? Brother? Sister?"                                       

"No, sir." Klinger's voice was low. "It's from my wife."

"Your wife wrote to say she's dead?"

"No, sir, she's…"

"Pregnant?" Henry asked. "'Cause then I'd worry."

"No, sir!" Klinger all-but-shouted, and his voice dropped again. "My wife wrote to say she's leaving me."

"Oh, Klinger…" Henry was caught for a moment between belief and doubt.

"And could I please go home and sort out the divorce amicably…"

"Klinger! Get out!"

The corpsman stood not upon the order of his going. Radar slipped in, placed a glass of bourbon and an aspirin on the desk, and was about to slip out when Henry stopped him, holding up a hand. "Do I have some sort of homing beacon, Radar?" he asked. "Do I give off some sort of signal only dogs and crazy people can hear?"

"I couldn't say, sir," Radar replied non-commitally.

"Ah, no matter," replied the colonel, and downed the bourbon. "Oh… Radar?"

"Sir?"

"You don't hear any choppers, do you?"

Radar shook his head. "No sir."

"That's always good, specially now… how's Pierce?"

"Still the same, sir."

Henry nodded, and Radar retreated. He went out into the compound, on the way to the mess tent where he could get some lettuce for the guinea pigs, and on the way there, he nearly walked into the camp's not-quite-resident psychiatrist.

Sidney Freedman, arriving in camp for the evening poker game, was naturally somewhat perturbed to be met by Trapper John McIntyre, who was not only rather fractious, but he appeared to be on the prowl alone. Sidney wondered if he should attach any significance to the fact. Come to think of it, Trapper was never alone, he always had…

Sidney was even more perturbed to discover the poker game had been indefinitely postponed, "On account of how the dealer's gonna be asleep for a while," Trapper explained obscurely.

In the Swamp, Sidney observed Hawkeye with a critical eye. If he was asleep, Sidney decided, something wasn't quite right somewhere. "I may be a psychiatrist, Trapper," he said, with characteristic care, "but even I'm doctor enough to see that's more than a man asleep."

"Ah, yeah, that's 'cause Henry sedated him."

"Colonel Blake sedated him? Was this an unprovoked attack?" the psychiatrist asked in all innocence.

At that point Frank marched in. "Is he still asleep?"

"Yes, Frank," said Trapper patiently, "to put it in layman's terms for you, he's still asleep."

Frank scowled and thought better of saying something.

Trapper ignored him, looking only at Hawkeye.

Sidney observed this exchange with an interested look on his face.

"In any case," Trapper said, "we're sorry to have got you up here for nothing, Sidney."

"I call it providential," Frank declared portentously. "Anything's a blessing if it stops you making this tent a den of gamblers."

"Maybe you'd like it if we kept Hawk permanently sedated, Frank?" Trapper inquired mildly. "I'm sure you'd love it if we did that and then you had to deal with the wounded all by yourself, being as how you're such an accomplished surgeon."

 Sidney's ears had pricked up.

"Huh," Frank snorted, and departed in a cloud of indignation and overly fragrant aftershave.

"I don't mind," Sidney said, talking about the poker game again, "I like it here, it's like being smack in the middle of an ongoing social experiment."

"I'm sure that remark made sense to you," Trapper said sourly, and flopped down on his cot.

Hawkeye twitched slightly. He was so deeply asleep it was hard to tell if he was still breathing.

"Trapper?"

For a moment, Trapper ignored him.

"Trapper?" Sidney repeated, with the exact same volume and inflection.

"Yeah?" Trapper responded.

"Why is Hawkeye asleep?"

"I told you, Henry sedated him."

"May I ask why?"

"It was something to with hepatitis."

"Hawkeye has hepatitis?" Sidney inquired, a little surprised. One look at the sleeping doctor told him Hawkeye was a little paler than usual, but there was nothing else untoward about him.

"Oh, no," Trapper shook his head, "that wasn't it."

"Trapper, I suggest you explain," Sidney said mildly, "or I'll sit here and ask you leading questions all night."

"Fine." Trapper looked pensive. "It was like this…"

"Why do I get the feeling everything's about to go fuzzy?" Sidney asked, but he listened.