This was inspired
by the Song "Heart of Mine" on the soundtrack of "Keeping the
Faith", *g*. Less by the lyrics than by the tune which really set the
mood.
Do you wanna know/ if everythin' glitterin'/ will turn into the gold/ I see in your hair/ Feel it could be there/ Somehow tonight/…
The song's good
for one more story or two.
Thought of making
it Hawkeye/Trapper first, but then changed my mind.
"Stargazing"
by
Jimaine
Rating:
PG
Pairing:
Hawkeye/B.J.
Archive:
mash-slash…somebody *please* resurrect it before I die??? And it can also be
found
at
T'Len's & Lady Charena's place.
Disclaimer:
none of it's mine, they belong to FOX, all eleven seasons (and don't I hate
them for it)
and
I'm just borrowing them for a little fun. No profits are made.
All that glitters tonight are the snowflakes falling from a starless sky. Occasionally, irregularly, and
sure too often for anyone's liking, the thick cloud-cover is lit by exploding shells, the wrong kind
of shooting stars. The heavier the shelling, the harder the snow falls, and soon shapes and objects
are distorted by the billowing curtain.
They're
reflecting the eerie glow of the artillery fire in the hills, pinpricks of
light against a
background
of slate-gray, and they are filling the air all around us.
One
might think they *are* the stars…getting shot out of the skies by friend and
foe alike…or
abandoning
their position up on high to seek refuge in the company of people who, after
all, claim
to
provide the best care anywhere.
Who
are we to deny them?
Thousands
of snow-stars are dancing in the yellowish light of the oil-lamps, swirling and
dipping
like
icy, pale fireflies to a tune no one can hear, and when they tire of dancing
and rest, they cover
the
frozen ground, the drab olive of tents and jeeps, and us mere mortals who pause
in our
hurried
trek across the compound.
Casualties
are due in ten minutes, but we snatch one moment, one snowflake, for ourselves.
Unlike
the stars they once were, snowflakes aren't permanent, too beautiful and too
fragile for the
place
they're falling down on.
We are
just like them, fragile things, all of us, as we now stop at a barrel and warm
our freezing
hands
over the fire while exchanging a few, scarf-muffled words with two nurses also
heading for
the
OR. A strange sight we must be, four shivering figures inside a life-size
souvenir of Korea that
someone
is shaking a little too enthusiastically.
Countless
glittering snow-stars are swallowed by the flames, fire meets ice, others catch
in
woolen
caps and parkas. With chattering teeth, I look up and across the fire and see
fragments of
the
Big Dipper and Orion melting in your mustache.
I
can't help but smile and keep looking. Even a starless night has its moments of
beauty,
suspended
in ice as they may be.
"What's
wrong, Hawk? Do I have icicles hangin' from my nose? Certainly feels like it.
You can
tell
me. What's the matter?"
Who
will convince this man, ridiculous mustache, big feet and all, that here and
now he's all that's
the
matter? "Just a little stargazing, Beej." And when this is all over,
who will put the stars back
where
they belong?
"Huh?"
"I'm
also wondering if I could borrow your mustache during surgery. My face is
frozen…"
"Lunatic.
C'mon, let's scrub. Radar said something of at least fifty wounded, and a
hundred more
before
morning."
And
some of them would never see the stars again, nor snow, nor anything
glittering.
FINIS