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.

Feedback: Constructive crit is welcomed and appreciated.

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

Notes: Written for Raven's March 14, 2003, five-minute challenge.

First line: "You're restless--"

TENSION

by iolanthe <iolanthe@cais.com>

You're restless, and it's impossible for me not to notice.

I've tried not noticing you, believe me. Many, many times. It's never worked very well or for very long -- small wonder in a unit this close-knit -- but I continue to try, for the sake of my own sanity. And yours. You have enough on your shoulders without having to worry that the camp chaplain might be thinking the most unholy of thoughts when he catches your eye across the mess tent.

You're restless. Even though you're not pacing or gesturing wildly, there's something in your posture that gives it away. Just sitting there, in your usual spot next to BJ, forcing him to sniff your mashed potatoes before you eat them, I can see the tension in the line of your shoulders. All that nervous energy you keep bottled up inside is straining to escape.

I worry about you. I worry about everyone here, of course, but I can't deny that with you it's a little bit different. A bit deeper. A bit more...personal. But you don't want to know that. I wish I didn't know it, but at least I can spare you from knowing it.

You're restless, and I want to help. I want to *do* something about it. If circumstances were different, perhaps I would even give in to my shameful longings and dare to offer you physical comfort. No strings, no commitments...I would ask only for one night to help work off that dangerous head of steam you've built up.

But, as things stand, I cannot even give you the chance to turn me down. And in your case, I don't believe any other form of tension release would be as effective. For me, a few vigorous rounds with my gloves and punching bag are often helpful, but somehow I can't imagine it working the same way for you.

Instead of offering myself to you, then, I will have to settle for doing the next best thing. Taking the safer, saner course.

When I spot Colonel Potter searching for a table, I wave him over to sit beside me. I intend to have a quiet word with him about arranging a three-day pass to Tokyo...for a friend.

You're restless, but you won't be for much longer. Not if I have anything to say about it.

END