#anyways anon ty for unlocking this fic for me I sincerely hope you like it

[youngpettyqueen]

would you consider doing hawkeye and trapper with "Let me take care of you this time" ?

THANK YOU FOR WAITING SO PATIENTLY ANON listen ive been trying to nail down a scenario to put this Piercentyre idea into for AGES and this prompt gave me everything I wanted and then I procrastinated on it anyways BUT its here at last! and I sincerely hope you enjoy it after waiting so patiently!

Hawkeye pushes himself up from his knees as Ginger and Klinger move off with the wounded soldier he’d been tending to. He watches them head straight for the hospital, both of them quickly vanishing from sight in the silver of the storm, before he turns back and heads back into the fray. One down, countless others to go.

Triage is in complete chaos, everyone sprinting around like chickens without heads as they try to scramble all of the wounded into the hospital as fast as possible. They had no warning for these wounded- not a call, not an announcement, not even Radar’s borderline-supernatural hearing. One minute they were all inside sheltering from this downpour, the next Jeeps were rolling in, the roar of their engines drowned out by the constant roaring thunder overhead.

The sky opened up early this morning and so far it’s showing no signs of closing back up. Hawkeye’s never seen a storm this bad. He’s been here a couple months now, he’s dealt with the worst heat the Korean summer has to offer, but this is the first thunderstorm he’s had to grapple with. The rain is coming down in violent sheets, turning everything pale and silver and spraying up mist where it strikes the ground. The lightning is bright enough to light everything up white, and the accompanying thunder is loud enough to rattle his bones. 

He moves through triage at a jog, dodging around other moving bodies and keeping an eye out for a free patient. He throws a hand up to try and shield his eyes, but it doesn’t help much. He can barely see a thing in this downpour. 

Someone rushes by, clipping his shoulder hard. Hawkeye stumbles, tries to right himself, but his foot sinks deep into a mud puddle and momentum pitches him sideways. He feels his ankle wrench in way it’s definitely not supposed to, pain bolting up his leg, then he hits the ground hard on his side, splattering mud all over what little of him wasn’t already covered in the stuff. 

He bites out a few curses as he pushes himself up to sit. “For fuck’s sake-” He hisses. He tries to push himself to his feet, but his ankle immediately buckles under his weight, dropping him back into the mud with a grunt, “Come on, damnit, come on-“ He tries again, but this attempt proves just as futile. He curses again, looking around if there’s anything within reach he can use as leverage to pull himself up. He doesn’t have time for this-

“Hawkeye!” Someone shouts over the roar of the storm. He looks up to see Trapper jogging over, his arm up to shield his eyes. He comes to a stop in front of him, concerned frown fixed on his face, “You alright? That looked like a nasty fall.” 

Hawkeye is suddenly grateful for the intensity of the storm- it means Trapper won’t be able to see the frustrated, embarrassed blush creeping up his neck. “I’m fine,” He grumbles, “I just need to-” He tries one more time to push himself up, but it’s no use. His injured ankle trembles violently underneath him, throbbing fiercely in protest, and he quickly sinks back down before it can give out again, “Damnit-!” He hisses.

Trapper quickly drops down to kneel with him, placing a steadying hand on his arm, “Yeah, you look just fine to me,” He says, sarcasm dripping off his voice like the rain dripping off his coat. His eyes flick down to where Hawkeye clutches at his ankle, and his expression softens, “What’s goin’ on with your ankle? You twist it?” He asks, his tone growing gentle. 

Hawkeye hesitates for a beat. Just a beat, because then Trapper’s eyes are back on his face, and he looks so damn worried that he immediately caves with an irritated sigh. “Into a damn pretzel,” He gruffs. He rubs at it through his boot, trying to ease the throbbing pain, “It hurts like hell, Trap- think I sprained it pretty bad.” He admits. That blushing, burning feeling is spreading across his face and lighting up the tips of his ears.

Trapper’s frown deepens as he considers him for a moment, looking like he’s assessing the situation. “Alright, I got an idea,” He ducks in closer, “Here, put your arm around my shoulders.” He instructs.

Hawkeye complies, even as his brow furrows in confusion. “Wha-“ He doesn’t get a chance to even get a word out- Trapper wraps an arm around his back and slips the other under his knees, and in one ridiculously easy motion he scoops him up into his arms, “Trapper!” He yelps, throwing his other arm around Trapper’s neck as he climbs to his feet, “What the hell are you doing?” He demands.

Trapper turns and starts heading for the hospital. “Carrying you,” He replies, nonchalant, like this is a regular occurrence, “I thought that was obvious.” 

“I don’t need to be carried!” Hawkeye protests, indignantly trying to wiggle his way free, “C’mon, put me down, I can hobble just fine!” He exclaims. Being carried inside like a swooning bride is the absolute last thing he needs right now. He's never going to live it down. Ever.

Trapper just tightens his hold on him, effectively and offensively easily preventing his escape. “Sure you can, but you don’t have to,” He replies, undeterred in his stride, “Now quit bein’ stubborn and enjoy the ride before you make me fall and snap an ankle.” He advises.

Hawkeye does quit squirming at that, grumbling irritably as he settles in Trapper’s arms. It’s ridiculous, frankly, how easily Trapper holds him still. How easily he lifted him. He knew Trapper was strong, of course he did- he’s been living with the guy and seeing him every single day for the last two months- but still. It’s one thing to see him scoop a nurse up into his arms and carry her off to a secluded tent. It’s a very different thing to be the one in his arms. 

He gets the appeal, now. He can feel the strength in Trapper’s arms where they- 

He clears his throat. “You know, Trap, when I imagined being swept off my feet, I never imagined it was you doing the sweeping.” He huffs. He notices Radar spot them heading by, stop short, and almost trip over his own two feet as he does a double take. He gives him a wave.

“You never pictured me as your knight in shinin’ armour?” Trapper asks, drawing his attention back to him, “You wound me. And here I was thinkin’ what a great damsel in distress you make.” He teases, giving Hawkeye a smug grin. 

“Damsel in distress?” Hawkeye echoes, with as much mock offence as he can inject into his voice, “I’m not a damsel in distress, I’m a princess. And I demand to be addressed as such.” He turns his nose up in the air, fixing Trapper with a haughty look.

“I think I liked you better grumpy,” Trapper mutters, his eyes gleaming good-naturedly, “But sure, alright, your Highness. I’ll even get you one of Klinger’s tiaras,” He offers, “Make it official.” 

Hawkeye leans his head on Trapper’s shoulder, just to be especially obnoxious. “Something with sapphires,” He requests, “They bring out my eyes.” He bats his lashes for emphasis.

Trapper rolls his eyes. “As you wish, Princess.” He ducks through the hospital doors, helpfully being propped open by Nurse Baker, who fixes them with an odd look as they whisk past. Inside, the hospital is just as chaotic as triage outside. People run around carrying bags of whole blood, plasma, handfuls of gauze, armfuls of bottles. Trapper dodges around Ginger and Klinger as they rush past with a now empty stretcher, heading right back out into the storm.

“Alright, hang tight,” Trapper says as he looks around for somewhere unoccupied, “Just gonna get us a parking spot…” He maneuvers his way through the hustle and bustle, getting off to the side where he can duck through a door into Radar’s office, which is significantly quieter. 

“Did you just want to get me alone?” Hawkeye asks as Trapper continues through the office and right through Henry’s doors, “Trapper, you devil. You could’ve just asked.” He teases.

“Yeah, yeah,” Trapper chuckles as he sets Hawkeye down to sit on Henry’s desk, “There ya go, Princess. Safe and sound,” He pulls up one of the chairs as he speaks, takes a seat in front of him, “Now, let’s have a look at that ankle.” He takes Hawkeye’s leg in gentle hands, wrapping one hand around his calf while he sets about carefully working his laces loose.

Hawkeye winces at the movement, his ankle twinging. “You don’t have to do that, you know,” He says. He appreciates the sentiment here, he really does, but he’d much rather deal with this himself, “I can take it from here. There are actual wounded who need your help, so just leave some crutches within reach and I’ll meet you at our usual tables.” He goes for humour, trying to mask his discomfort.

Trapper stops what he’s doing, gives him an incredulous look. “Hawk, you can’t walk,” He points out, like Hawkeye needs the reminder, “I think that qualifies you as actually wounded.” 

Hawkeye looks away. “C’mon, Trap, I tripped in the mud.” He mutters, crossing his arms over his chest. His face is going red all over again, he can feel the heat itching uncomfortably under his skin.

“And? You’re still hurt,” Trapper counters, “Hurt’s hurt. Doesn’t matter how it happened. Besides,” He leans over to the side, forcing the eye contact again, “If the roles here were reversed, would you let me treat myself?” He challenges.

Hawkeye stubbornly tries to look away again, but finds he can’t help but look back because Trapper’s stare doesn’t relent. Trapper’s got him, and he knows it. He sighs quietly, crossing his arms over his chest and conceding, “…I guess not.”

“Didn’t think so,” Trapper replies, a bit smug. When Hawkeye doesn’t look any less displeased, however, his expression softens, “Look,” He sighs, “You’ve been runnin’ yourself ragged ever since you got here. You’re always takin’ care of everyone, even if they aren’t your patient to take care of. And it works out great, cause you’re such a damn good doctor, but… you’re not Superman,” He reminds him, “You gotta let someone take care of you every once in a while. So let me take care of you this time, ok?” 

Hawkeye wants to argue. He wants to argue and put up a fight and be stubborn as all hell, he wants to annoy Trapper into leaving him to deal with this mess he got himself into, but… he can’t. He can’t deny that he wants the help, the care. And that must show on his face, because a grin is slowly spreading across Trapper’s face. The sort of grin that he gets when he knows he’s won.

He heaves a dramatic sigh, uncrossing his arms and letting his defensive posture slack. “…Ok,” He agrees, relenting at last, “Ok, alright. Guess I’d be stupid to say no after that little speech.” He can’t help but smile a bit as Tripper’s crooked grin only broadens, showing off teeth. That damn smile of his is contagious.

“Very stupid,” Trapper agrees, “Now, let’s see what we’re working with…”

He returns to his task of loosening the laces of Hawkeye’s boot. Hawkeye sits back, leaning on his hands and watching Trapper work. It’s funny; just a couple minutes ago he was easily carrying him through camp, his arms strong and secure. Now his hands are impossibly gentle, careful where they touch. 

It’s nice, being cared for like this. It’s also nice to be told to accept the care for his own sake, though he’ll never admit to that. Anyone else would’ve appealed to his doctor’s way of thinking, told him he’d be of no use to patients if he didn’t rest and take care of himself. They’d be right to take that angle, it would work, but it’s nice to hear Trapper say  he should accept the care just because he deserves it. 

Trapper’s a nice guy. After two months of forced cohabitation, Hawkeye feels like they’ve gotten to know things about each other that most people wouldn’t know until a couple more years into the friendship. He’s seen a few different sides of Trapper; the joker, the womanizer, the surgeon, maybe even a bit of the soldier. And he can conclude that Trapper is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, a good person. A good person with a big grin and an even bigger heart. 

The arms are pretty big, too. Hawkeye can see why the nurses are so-

His thoughts screech to a halt and tumble apart like a poorly constructed house of cards. Again. Again, about Trapper and strong arms. Again, about understanding the allure. He doesn't get a chance to collect those thoughts before Trapper slips his boot off, however, the action so gentle his wince is more out of surprise than anything.

“Sorry.” Trapper says anyways, and he looks like he means it. 

Hawkeye has a funny feeling in his stomach as he meets his eyes. “Don’t worry about it.” He replies quietly.

If Trapper notices what’s going on, he doesn’t comment. Just gets back to work examining Hawkeye’s ankle. Hawkeye, meanwhile, can only hope that it’s dark enough in this office that the broad strokes of pink painting his cheeks aren’t visible. 

Oh. He thinks. Concludes. Realizes.

Oh, boy.