hell of a life

[literaryimmortality]

The heat should be overwhelming but I can't feel anything. Jim's gone, shot out into space and I've just pulled the trigger. I shouldn't feel guilt, I know, given that he'd all but sealed my fate when he woke me up. I should hold onto the anger that's been inside me for months, let it stop the sadness that's sure to come.

But I can't.

Maybe that makes me weak. Maybe that's all I've ever been and I'll ever be. But the one person I held dear for over a year has disappeared into the darkness of the sky, and I don't know how to get to him.

I say his name over and over, and he doesn't respond. I don't even know if he's alive. All I know is that I was the one that did this, that I should have searched for another solution. I close my eyes, grit my teeth. I shouldn't have opened the vent. I shouldn't have—

"Aurora?"

My eyes open and widen, and I search for the source of the voice. He's out there, somewhere, he's still alive. I can fix this, I—

I have no idea where I am. There's no metal beneath my feet. It's ground. Earth. Grass. I gasp. I haven't felt grass in over a year. Longer, maybe. I think of the rose Jim brought me and that's what makes me try to stand up, start looking for him.

But I forget for a moment about the wound in my arm and when I try to push myself up with it, I scream. The pain's so intense that for a moment my vision goes dark again and I can feel hot tears filling my eyes under their lids.

I inhale sharply and realize it's cold, here. I think for the second time in my life I'm waking up where I can't possibly be.

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[cpthawk]

The thing about this city is that it's so quiet. For two years he'd dreamed about quiet, but now that he has it it's almost unsettling. There's no shelling, no choppers, no loudspeaker announcing new wounded every time he dares to try and shut his eyes. There's not even the sound of Charles's turntable, or BJ's snoring. It's not so bad out in the city, where he can hear the sound of traffic and people going about their lives, but the nights leave him practically climbing the walls.

He never thought he'd miss the noise. Ridiculous, the things he can't shake.

The evening is settling in, the air getting colder, the sound of the city starting to quiet again. There's no reason for him to be outside except that he thinks he'll go mad if he sits in his apartment alone any longer. Instead he walks through the park, hands in the pockets of the new jacket he's bought. It's nothing outlandish, plain navy, but just the fact that it's not olive green means it's his favourite thing in the world.

Underneath, resting against his chest are his dog tags still, because for some reason he can't stomach the idea of taking them off.

He's lost in his own head when the scream pierces the quiet, and Hawkeye snaps to attention. He follows the sound, walking quickly through the park until he spots her on the ground. The fact that she can scream at all is a good sign, but she's bleeding and she looks both confused and like she's in a lot of pain. He drops to his knees beside her, leans over to check her pulse more from habit than anything.

"Hey, hey," he says, calling her back when he sees her eyes flicker shut. "Can you hear me?" He's come here without his medical bag but at least her wounds look superficial. He's already pulling his jacket off, pressing it firmly against her arm to stop the bleeding.

[literaryimmortality]

I've spent months pretending like I don't need anybody. For days I was locked in my suite and I didn't even tell Jim. I didn't want him to think there was a way he could fix anything after all he'd broken between us.

But I can't fix this on my own. I'm not a doctor, and I don't know how far away the closest autodoc might be. I'm not sure I'd have the strength to find one, anyway. So I open my eyes to this stranger who could be anyone but isn't Jim, Gus or Arthur, and try to figure out how he could be here.

How I can be here. But it's all too much and instead I just look between his eyes and my arm, his jacket not quite dark enough to hide my blood. "I'm sorry," I say, weak but somehow still restrained. "I'm ruining it."

[cpthawk]

He flashes her a quick smile at that before he moves his attention back to her arm. If he's learned anything it's that a joke is as good an indication of health as just about anything. She's going to be fine, but he still wants a good look at that arm. Her blood is staining his jacket and maybe it's a little disappointing that his first new clothes are going to end up as bloodstained as his old ones, but it's just a jacket.

"What, this old thing?" he says, shaking his head. "You're practically improving it."

He shifts on his knees, pulling back the jacket a little to inspect the wound. The blood is slowing and now that he can get a proper look, he could swear it's a shrapnel wound. She's a young woman in civilian clothes and that's all wrong, not how it's supposed to go at all. He wants to know where she came from, but that can wait. For now, he keeps talking to her, trying to keep her focused.

"You wanna tell me what happened?" he asks her, looking for any signs that there might still be any foreign body in the wound. It looks clear, though he can tell from the bleeding and the torn tissue that she's likely ripped it out herself. It'll probably need stitches, and Hawkeye's just about the best sew he knows, but this is Darrow, not the 4077th and he can't just stitch her up himself. "I'm a doctor, believe me, you're gonna be just fine."

[literaryimmortality]

I'm not worried about being fine. I'm worried about Jim and getting back to him and whether he's still breathing. I'm worried about whether the reactor cooled in time or if more than five thousand lives are about to end and it's all my fault.

But I'm not on the Avalon anymore, somehow, and I don't think I can change any of those things. All I can do is focus on the voice of this man who claims to be a doctor and trust that he knows what he's doing.

"It was... there were pieces of metal flying everywhere," I say. "Something got stuck in but I got it out. I think I got it out."

It was painful enough that I'd hate to think I'd have to do it all again.

[cpthawk]

He nods quickly, tying his jacket off in a tourniquet and moving to her hands. There are burns on them, fresh, and angry looking. She hasn't explained exactly how she's gotten into this state but they never do. He knows she's confused, in pain, and there's no way he can expect a proper answer out of her any more than he expected it from the kids who ended up on his operating table in Korea.

"You did good," he assures her. The wound is clear and with stitches and time to heal she'll be right as rain.

He wishes he had his medical bag here, but he settles for ripping at the hem of his shirt to tie loose bandages around her hands. He's going to need new clothes after this but that's not as important as the oath he swore.

"Can you tell me your name?" he asks, and the question is twofold. It'll focus her, ground her, but also let him know if there's any other serious head injury he should be worried about. She looks okay but it's been a long time since he had more than thirty seconds spare to triage a patient so he means to do it properly.

[literaryimmortality]

I don't realize my hands are so rough until he's looking at them, small blisters forming on my palm.

I want to say that he's wrong, that I didn't do good – or well – and that there's a man out there who needs his help more than mine. But when I glance up all I see are the stars as they looked from Earth, far away and unreachable. Just like Jim.

He's ripping off pieces of his clothing and I know it's something that can easily be replaced but the guilt just grows until I struggle to look at his face. "Aurora Lane," I manage to answer and this time, I don't look for any recognition of my name. "I'm sorry," I start again. "Who are –– why are you here?"

[cpthawk]

"Okay great, that's great," he says, practically in autopilot now. If this were Korea he'd be moving onto the next patient by now, putting her somewhere near the back of the queue. Her wounds are superficial and there's nothing worrying about them, but this isn't Korea and there are no other wounded waiting for him.

"My name is Hawkeye Pierce," he tells her, tying off the makeshift bandages gently and sitting back on his heels. There's a little blood on his hands but that's nothing new so he hardly pays it any mind. "I'm here for the same reason you are, which isn't an answer you're gonna want right now, trust me."

He'll get her to the hospital, get her properly stitched up and coherent before he starts in on the Welcome to Darrow speech. Or avoid it altogether, if possible. He's probably the least qualified person to give it. Instead, he puts a cautious hand on her shoulder, helping her to sit up a little. "We're probably gonna need to get you to the hospital for some stitches though."

[literaryimmortality]

Nothing he says is remotely comforting, although I'm not sure what would be. Knowing Jim is okay would be the start of it but even then my feelings are so conflicted about him.

The pressure of the bandage hurts and I inhale sharply with the pain of it, the outside air cool on my teeth. When Hawkeye helps me sit up I start to feel the weight of everything coming together and when he suggests we leave, the panic sinks in.

"No, I say," shaking my head. I'm sure I sound insane to him and I feel bad that he's the one who had to find me. "No, we can't. There's a man out there, he needs our help. We need to contact the Avalon."

[cpthawk]

It's nothing he hasn't heard a million times before. Half the kids brought in on stretchers had insisted they be allowed to go straight back out there because some buddy of theirs needed help. Hawkeye's had to put guys straight under to get them to stop trying to shove their friends ahead in the triage line. He doesn't know what the Avalon is but he understands the sentiment.

He doesn't know whether her man is going to be okay or not, but it doesn't matter. Either way he's not here, Hawkeye can't help him, and neither can she.

"You need stitches," he tells her more firmly, shaking his head. "And I left my sewing kit at home, so you're gonna have to oblige me and let me take you to hospital." He wipes blood off on his jeans looks at her pointedly. "Can you walk or shall I sweep you off your feet?"

[literaryimmortality]

He wipes the blood off his hands so casually he has to be a doctor. Or a murderer. I'm not sure I care either way. I open my mouth to argue that I need to get back to Jim but it's not like I'm in any position to save him.

And Hawkeye's so set on taking me to the hospital that I think we could sit here for hours in a stubborn stalemate. So eventually I just nod, starting to my feet and it hurts but it's not impossible. "I might need to lean on you," I admit. "But my legs are okay."

[cpthawk]

He almost doesn't expect her to agree so easily, and he'd been ready to literally sweep her off her feet if he needed to. It wouldn't be the first time, but it's better that she says she can walk. He gives her legs a quick once-over anyway, just to make sure, but they look fine to him. More than fine, but that's not important right now.

He gets to his feet, helping her up and letting her lean on him as much as she needs. He just needs to get her to the street, then he can flag down a cab and get her to the hospital. It doesn't occur to him to use the cell phone the city provided him; in all honesty he's pretty sure it's still in his apartment in the envelope he was handed on his first day. He doesn't know how to use it and he hasn't really bothered trying, and he doesn't know anyone in this city yet that he'd want to call anyway.

"We won't walk far," he promises her. He lets her slide an arm around his shoulders, quietly taking advantage of the position to hold her arm in place with his fingers resting on her wrist, tracking her pulse. Her heart rate is higher than it should be and while he doesn't think the wound is all that serious, he's keeping an eye out for shock anyway.

[literaryimmortality]

I should be focusing on my footing but instead I keep looking up at the stars, all at once in amazement and terrified by how far away the stars are, now. How can it be that it was going to take 120 years to get from Earth to our new colony and I'm here, barely having blinked, right now?

I think I must be losing my mind but I have no choice but to go with it, leaning against Hawkeye and feeling somewhat comforted by his touch. It makes me realize how long it has been since someone touched me. Before today – tonight?- – and meeting Gus, it had been months since Jim and I's skin touched except by accident.

"I'm okay," I say, as much to myself as to him.

[cpthawk]

It makes sense for her to be dazed to a certain degree, but her eyes keep turning towards the stars and he can't work out why. He hasn't paid attention to the sky in forever unless he's ducking mortar fire, and maybe that's something he's been lacking in but he's never really stopped to think about it. Looking at the stars makes him feel insignificant, and that's just about the last thing he needed in Korea.

He felt pointless enough, as part of the ever-churning war machine as it was; adding some kind of existential crisis to the whole thing would have been the end of him.

"I know," he says, glancing at her and giving her a wink. "Doctor, remember?"

He keeps her walking, and after a moment he decides that she deserves to know where she is, at least. If she's going to keep trying to get back to wherever she was - the Avalon - she ought to know that it's not going to happen, even after she gets stitched up. "This place is called Darrow," he starts, and his tone is automatically like he's in post-op, carefully talking a patient through. "I can't explain how you ended up here, I only turned up a few days ago myself."

[literaryimmortality]

"I don't know any Darrow," I say, though even if I did I'm not sure I could think of it now. My mind is racing between the pain in my arm and on my palms and Jim and how far away the stars are.

There are so many colonial planets, it's possible I've missed the name of a province or a city in one. I'm not an expert in geography. I'm not really an expert in anything except trying to write about everything.

But he is, and he must be smart if he's a doctor. If. Maybe that's why it's so jarring that what he's saying makes so little sense. As little sense as what I'm saying is to him. "What do you mean 'turned up'?"

[cpthawk]

He should have expected the questions; hell, he had plenty of them on his first day, too. It's just that he doesn't have any answers, no more than any of the poor people who had found him did. He doesn't know that anyone here has any answers, but it's worse telling her that when she's already wounded and confused enough.

At least he'd been standing on his own two feet when they told him everything he knew was gone.

"I can't explain that, either," he says, a little apologetically. "One minute I was in Korea, the next..." he shrugs with one shoulder as best he can with her arms around him, and gestures to the city around them. One minute Hell, the next, Darrow. It's not worse by any means and he never thought he'd be sad to see the back of the war, but he does wish he got a chance to say goodbye to the people he slogged through it with.

He wonders if Beej has woken up in the Swamp and noticed him missing. He wonders what they'll think, whether they'll class him AWOL or dead. He wonders how long it will take before Charles stops crowing and actually starts worrying, how long it will be before BJ demands a search party. If he thinks on that too long he'll go nuts, so he stamps down on it.

"Wherever you were before, this city brings you here, and no one seems to be able to answer why. Once we get you fixed up there'll be some more information at the station waiting for you, but it's not much." It won't tell her what she wants to know, in any case, but at least it'll give her a place to sleep. Donna had been right in saying that's almost the most important part. "You just happen to be today's lucky winner, I guess."

[literaryimmortality]

"Well, I'm just full of luck, aren't I?" I ask without anticipating a response. He can't know what I've already been through, how I'd considered myself lucky for not being alone on the Avalon when it was actually the opposite case.

Fortune hasn't been in my favor for a while, and I don't consider this any different. "Why were you in Korea?" I ask quickly as we near the sidewalk, wanting to focus more on how this happened to him than the fact it's happening to me.

[cpthawk]

There's a bite of sarcasm to her voice that says whatever she was doing before here, it wasn't good, but Hawkeye isn't about to press. She doesn't elaborate and maybe she doesn't want to.

But then she turns the tables and Hawkeye doesn't know if he wants to play story time all that much either. She's in for the shock of her life with this city and she has enough to deal with right now without hearing about the war. There are people in this city for whom it never happened, some who are from far enough in the future to all but forget. Others for whom it hasn't happened yet. He doesn't know where she falls on the spectrum but regardless, it's not a cheery subject.

"Tourism," he says, giving her a wry smile. "Come for the lice, stay for the rats, something like that."

[literaryimmortality]

"I'll be sure to add it to my list," I say, my breath quickening a little as my hands hit more of the open air and start to sting. I know I'm shock but I also know that soon, it will start to wear off, and then it's really going to hurt.

Of course, I'm never going to Korea. I'm never going to anywhere back on Earth. For a while, I thought I was going to. I was going to have an experience no one else ever had. 120 years in the future. Literary immortality.

Look at me now. "North or South?"

[cpthawk]

"I don't recommend it," he says, shaking his head. "Two stars at best." She hisses in a breath and Hawkeye glances down at her hands. The shock is starting to wear off and that means the feeling is going to come back, and he hasn't got anything on him that could help her. The quicker he gets her to the hospital, the better.

He gives her an odd look when she asks the next question, confused. It seems a funny question to ask, all things considered. His accent is clear enough, but maybe he's right and she's from somewhere - or somewhen, he reminds himself - where she doesn't know about the war.

"South," he answers. He doesn't know why she's interested at all, really, there are more pressing concerns here right now, but then it occurs to him that maybe that's exactly why. If he talks more maybe it'll give her something else to concentrate on, rather than the pain she's in. It's not the craziest thing he's ever heard. "Based, at least. The border tends to move quicker than I can keep track."

[literaryimmortality]

"I can't imagine," I say, although really right now it's hard to imagine anything outside of this pain. Whatever idle chatter we make doesn't take away from how desperate and dire this all feels.

But I can still try, and he doesn't seem to mind, so maybe I'll just treat this like another interview and not like I've just fallen out of the sky and into a stranger's care. "You weren't born in Korea, were you, though?"

He sounds like an American but people live all kinds of lives and I know better than to assume.

[cpthawk]

He'd laugh at the question if he weren't concentrating on getting her off the street. He's considered himself unlucky for getting the draft, for ending up in godforsaken Korea in the first place, but he knows that's nothing compared to the people who were born there. He's never seen poverty like it, never knew exactly how privileged he was until he was surrounded by the opposite all day every day.

"No," he agrees, nodding his head. "Drafted."

Gently, he reties the bandage around her hands a little looser, trying to keep the fabric from rubbing too much against her skin. The shirt material isn't ideal, but it'll have to do for now. Better than than letting dirt get into the wounds. That done, he tugs his dog tags out from under his shirt so she can see, letting them drop against his chest.

[literaryimmortality]

The movement of the fabric against her skin is excruciating but then it's looser and Aurora moans softly, grateful for it. Whatever has happened to bring her here, at least she's with someone who seems to know what he's doing – even without an autodoc.

"War," is the only word I can think to say, at first. There have been so many, in ancient and in modern times. A select few have involved drafting, a special kind of cruelty if you ask me. "Did you fight or did you fix people?"

[cpthawk]

He's immediately glad he made the decision to loosen the bandages when she sighs in relief. The last thing he wants to do is hurt her more, but he knows there's not a lot else he can do to ease the pain until he can get her to the hospital. At least it might make a small amount of difference, for now.

"I'm a surgeon," he says, and he doesn't say was. Maybe he's not practising in Darrow yet, but a surgeon is who Hawkeye is and being here doesn't change that. It's in his blood, in the lines of his hands, and he can't ever imagine doing anything else. "MASH unit," he explains, glancing up from her hands to look at her. "That's where I was before I turned up here."

[literaryimmortality]

MASH sounds vaguely familiar and like maybe something I've read in a book or heard my father talk about, but I still can't place it. I also can't place wherever here is, so that's hardly surprising. I nod, though, my head all but pressed against his shoulder. "My father was a war reporter, for a while," I tell him, hoping whatever transport he has in mind is nearby.