Feedback: Constructive crit is welcomed and appreciated.

Archiving: Fair game for the mash-slash archive, whenever it's resurrected. Anywhere else, please ask.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters that I do not own -- I'm just granting them a little unauthorized R&R. Also, it was written for my own fannish amusement and I am not profiting financially from it in any way. So there's no need to get anyone's lawyers in a lather.

Notes: Written for Raven's March 22, 2003, five-minute challenge. Takes place in the third season. The bit about writing letters to General Mitchell was swiped from the episode "As You Were." The pairing was swiped from Jazz Man (I do hope she won't mind :)).

First line: "Somewhere out there--"

LUNACY

by iolanthe <iolanthe@cais.com>

Somewhere out there is a Section 8 with my name on it.

I intend to get it, too, as soon as humanly possible, so I can get the hell out of here and back to where I belong. All I have to do is come up with the right stunt...the one insanity scam outrageous enough to be my ticket home.

Kind of ironic that I have to go to all this trouble pretending to be nuts just to escape a loony bin like this. You'd think a crazy person would fit right in here. Hey, why don't they send all the *sane* people home, instead, and then everybody'd be in the right place?

Maybe I'll put that question to General Mitchell in my next letter. I have a terrific photo ready to send him this time: me in a black velvet strapless number with one of those long cigarette holders. But so far he hasn't taken the bait -- maybe it's time to make good on my threat and send this photo to his wife, along with all the details of our nonexistent tawdry affair.

Whatever it takes, believe me, I'm desperate enough to do it; I gotta get out of here before I really do end up losing my marbles! The day I get that discharge -- and I *will* get it -- will be the happiest day of my life. I won't miss a damn thing about this place.

Okay, so that's not exactly true. Of course I'll miss the people. The surgeons, the nurses, all the enlisted guys, Colonel Blake.... Well, maybe not Major Burns, so much.

But there's one person here I think I'm gonna miss more than any other. If there was anyone I'd stay in this insane asylum for...anyone who could soothe my fear and anger and frustration enough to make this place bearable...it would be him.

I've never really known anybody else like him -- didn't pal around with guys like that back home. Most of my friends were schemers like me, wheeler-dealers scrambling for whatever advantage they could get, just to be one up on the next fella.

Not him. He's the kindest person I know, almost totally selfless...and no matter what insanity is going on around us, he's like the calm in the eye of the storm. Been a good friend to me, too, even with all the nonsense I throw at him.

To tell the honest truth, there's been times I would've liked for us to be something more than just friends. But I know that's never gonna happen, no matter how clever a schemer I am, so I settle for what I can get.

And I'll miss him when I leave.

I *am* going to leave.

Sure, I hate the thought of never seeing him again. But after the war's over, who knows? I think Toledo's less than a day's drive from Philadelphia....

END

© March 2003