"What's In a Name"


by Jimaine


Challenge-reply for July 11th, 2003. Not a lot of words, rather shallow and sappy as h-… My muse deserted me halfway through, so I've tried to round it off the best I could instead of delivering the coup de grace. I'm currently tying up all the *deepness* in a German story, sorry, guys.


Pairing: Hawkeye/Trapper

Rating: PG

Archive: mash-slash, yeah, and then also T'Len's & Lady Charena's place. And, well, if anybody else wants to have it, please, go ahead! Just ask.

Disclaimer: I don't own MASH or any of the characters. Unfortunately. I'm gonna rectify that oversight by building a time-machine and marrying Larry Gelbart.




Angels and demons. Friend or foe. After all this time, and in this place in particular, it's become difficult to make the distinction. They look so much alike, their faces are the same.


Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings, or so the saying goes – in our case, there are no bells. Only shells. And choppers are doubling as our kind of heavenly messengers, mechanized angels, their wings beating a rhythmic staccato as if counting off the rapidly fading minutes of their cargo's lifetime.


Angels, according to Catholic dogma, are invisible.

Not here, not here...

Here you see things unheard of in the world you call home, feel things previously unfelt. And never again thereafter.

Angels…if there are any, we brought them with us to Korea. In Buddhism, they're called devas, but the basic concept is the same, an angel, by any other name, is always a beautiful sight.


Many who have passed through here claim to have seen angels. Their respective guardian angels mostly, and of course our ever-present nemesis, the Principality known as the Angel of Death. He's got his work cut out for him, never takes a break, always succeeding while most of the others have to struggle to score the occasional victory.


Not daring to breathe, I bury my face, tears, dirt, stubble and all, at the nape of your neck and put my shaking hands where your wings should be. "Why does life have to be so complicated?" The question I started asking myself when aforementioned Principality ferried my mother away still doesn't have an answer.


"Life may be complicated…this isn't."


I can't help but laugh in spite of my overwhelming exhaustion. "Hey, when did you become so awfully rational?"


"Doesn't suit me, hm?"


"About as well as a halo."


Instead of replying verbally, you gather me closer still. It only takes a few heartbeats before the rush of what we call life slows... With a touch, a kiss, you still the panic in me.


Despite the missing halo you are an angel, too, a choir all by yourself.

My angel, mine and mine alone.

My Morningstar.

And if you fall, I'll jump to follow.