#last night and the day before I just had to draw father mulcahy!!!

[parentlover]

I think I did it correctly, there’s something … not suitable for public areas below the cut thingie

[angryhausfrau-writes]

Something Old and Something New - Chapter 1: Prologue

Marjory is bored out of her fucking mind.

Which is an unseemly sentiment, she knows – particularly when she's meant to be engaged in planning her own wedding. A wedding which she is actually looking forward to, despite her current aggravation. But it's true nonetheless.

Because honestly, there's only so many hours one can spend selecting table linens. At some point, the minute differences between ecru linen napkins and cream linen napkins just don't fucking matter anymore. And that point has come and gone. But Mother and Charles's grandmother are still arguing about it.

At least she can bitch about it to Honoria later. Preferably over a glass of wine. Or a raging bonfire made of the reams and reams of notes Marjory's required to take on every minute, insignificant detail. Details which Honoria, as a lowly bridesmaid, is not made to sit through – lucky girl.

Family politics being what they are, Honoria would be part of the wedding party regardless of how either of them felt about it. But fortunately, they've become quite close friends since that first slightly awkward meeting. And Honoria has remained a staunch ally throughout the many battles of wills that have occurred over the course of planning the wedding of the decade. Because of course the union between the Emerson Winchesters and the Oakes will be the wedding of the decade. And it's Marjory's job to get them there, even if she must wear a wig to the ceremony after pulling all her hair out in frustration over her various relatives' and soon-to-be relatives' conflicting tastes in flower arrangements.

Charles doesn't know how lucky he is getting to stick his hands in people's chest cavities all day. Particularly as the people are unconscious and therefore cannot express opinions on wedding dress style or candlestick height. But they all make sacrifices for the good of the family. And this is her particular cross to bear.

Still, there must me some way to ensure that the actual wedding is more than just a political showpiece.

--

“Hey, we got invited to the Winchester wedding.”

Trapper looks up from the bills he's paying. “Singly or collectively?”

“Well, it's addressed to both of us. But I imagine they assume we'll each bring someone else as a plus one.”

The question is, who to bring? Sure Hawkeye and Trapper each have a few girls they're friendly with down at the bar. But taking someone to a wedding seems like a pretty big step relationshipwise, and Hawkeye doesn't want to lead any of them on.

“Oh wait, Trapper, there's a note – Dear Hawkeye and Trapper... hope you can come, blah blah, also wanted to let you know we've invited Major Margaret Houlihan so you may wish to get in touch with her about attending before you RSVP blah blah Love, Marjory. So that's that problem solved – one of us takes Margaret and the other takes Kat. All nice and neat and heterosexual.”

“Beats going stag - this way we have someone to dance with. And Kat gets to go. That Marjory's one hell of a smart cookie.”

“And tactful,” Hawkeye adds. “What she's doing with Charles “Oblivious” Winchester, I'll never understand.”

They grin conspiratorially – Charles has interrupted date night several times now and he still hasn't bought a clue.

“Well, there's no accounting for taste. But I'm glad she's on our side.” And Trapper goes back to balancing the check book.

“Only problem now is, what're we gonna do for a wedding present?” Trapper asks after he finishes and looks at the final balance. “It ain't like we can afford something they'd want. Or that they'd want to admit to owning.”

It's true. Even with two doctor's salaries, they don't make anything close to enough to buy a present for the man who has gold-plated toilet paper holders in his bathroom. And they don't want to get something cheap that they'll just throw away – because then they may as well just not buy a present.

“Well,” Hawkeye says consideringly, “if money's an object, we should probably try and pull at the old heart strings. Get them something sentimental that they'll want to cherish forever for all the good memories it evokes or whatever.”

Trapper nods. “That makes good sense, Hawkeye. Who knew you had it in you.”

“Oh fuck off. If you're going to insult me like this, then you can think up the gift idea.”

Trapper always was the idea man of their little duo anyway. Better to leave him to it.

Trapper ponders for a bit. Then says, “What about making them a quilt – and we each do a square. Cuz they've already invited us and Margaret, who knows how many other former 4077 inmates made the guest list. Probably at least BJ and Sidney. And they're all gonna be in the same boat, presentwise.”

“I like it. Killing multiple birds with one gift. And we all know how to sew at least a little – so that shouldn't be outside of anyone's ability.” Hawkeye pauses “Only question now is, who else is on the guest list?”

“Honoria's helping with the planning, ain't she? She might be able to find out.”

“Aha!” Hawkeye exclaims triumphantly. He loves it when a plan comes together. “Honoria and I are meeting up this afternoon – since someone-” he looks pointedly at Trapper “-doesn't appreciate musical theater. I'll squeeze her for information then. You call Margaret and Kat and see which of them is willing to put up with you for an entire evening.”

Trapper flips him off playfully. “You're just jealous Margaret had the hots for me and not you.”

“As if!” Hawkeye exclaims, affronted. “I'm irresistible!”

“Uh huh, whatever helps you sleep at night.” And Trapper heads toward the phone. “Have fun at your interrogation, honey. I'll feel out Margaret to see if she thinks the quilt thing's a good idea or not.”

--

Margaret had liked the quilt idea – and she and Kat agreed to a double date with him and Trapper. So that's that problem solved. And fortunately, Honoria's willing to snitch for a good cause so Hawkeye gets the guest list pretty quickly. Now it's just down to coordinating everyone else.

Trapper takes one of the pages of the list Honoria'd slipped surreptitiously into Hawkeye's coat at their last little get together. “Looks like Steve and Letta and Sidney all got invited. They're close enough we can just call them up and ask if they wanna go in on the gift, so that's convenient.”

Hawkeye looks at his own page. “More good news, Trapper. Max is on the guest list, too.”

“Oh, thank God - someone who knows what she's doing. Think we can get her to take charge of this whole deal?”

Cuz it turns out that making a quilt involves significantly more work than Trapper had anticipated. And as Max is a professional seamstress, she probably has things like a sewing machine, or batting, or even just a big old piece of cloth to use for the back part.

“C'mon, Trap, let's write her now and ask. And we should write everyone else, to let them in on the plan.”

“I'll write Radar and the Padre. You better be the one to write BJ, otherwise he'll never agree to anything,” Trapper says, a little bitter.

It ain't his fault BJ still hasn't warmed up to him. And it ain't like they've gotta be best friends or nothing, but it'd be nice to all be able to be in the same room together without it feeling like sides are being drawn. With Hawkeye's favor some kinda token to be fought over.

“Right,” Hawkeye says tightly. Hawk's made it clear he ain't much more happy about the situation than Trapper is. But also that BJ's his friend and he ain't about to give that up. “I'll write Colonel Potter, and Donna Parker too since you never met them. Boy, Marjory sure has a sense of humor inviting Charles's former “wife” to his wedding.”

“I'm surprised Father Mulcahy made the cut – given how much Winchester hates the Irish, Catholics, and Irish Catholics.”

Though in fairness, Winchester has mellowed somewhat on that front since Trapper's known him. And the Padre's a pretty unobjectionable guy. But it kinda seems like Marjory – who'd been the one to draw up the list, according to Honoria – had just listened to Winchester's yearly drunken diatribe against all the MASH personnel and invited everyone he'd only pretended to hate outta obligation. Still, Trapper don't mind seeing some old faces – and meeting some new ones – at this shindig, so no skin off his teeth.

Even if it does mean more people to rope into their scheme.

--

Max gets a letter from Trapper – and it's not unexpected, exactly. They've been writing back and forth since she got back stateside.

First a Christmas card from both Trapper and Hawkeye – who are shacked up together now, surprise surprise.

Then Max wrote Trapper asking about Seong – making sure the kid didn't have anything wrong with him since he still wasn't talking for months and months of being home in Toledo and settled and safe.

And maybe Max knew Hawkeye better at that point. Been closer friends with him than Trapper cuz of going through all the real bad shit at the end of the war together. After all, they had almost two years of keeping each other the right kinda crazy – up till no one could do that for Hawkeye cuz what he'd seen was just too fucked up. And that kinda thing tends to bring folks together.

But Hawkeye wasn't the guy to go to with anything kid related on account of said fucked up shit. And sure, Max could've written to BJ – he's got kids too, and a toddler not kids in grade school already. But BJ'd been normal - the most normal outta all them 4077 folks. And he'd gone back home to his family, back to living his abnormally normal life, like some shining golden monument to God Bless America and apple pie. And she didn't wanna interrupt that.

So she'd written Trapper. Who kept insisting that he wasn't a pediatrician or a psychiatrist – and he'd tried to recommend both, but Trapper knows Max, knows Korea, knows what the kid's been through better than any so-called expert and she felt a lot more comfortable going to him than anyone she didn't know.

Plus, his parenting advice had been sound – the kid's gone from starvation skinny to plump and healthy and he's now babbling away at a mile a minute in three different languages.

And since Trapper's a family man, through and through – just absolutely loves kids, his own and other people's – that asking for advice had turned into writing more generally about family life, swapped kid photos, that kind of thing. Which is nice too, cuz Max don't have a ton of friends in Toledo who got kids she can ask for advice from. And sometimes asking family nets a whole bunch of conflicting advice that ignoring any part of would cause grave insult – so it's just easier asking someone who's hundreds of miles away and not related to her.

So they get to be friends – closer friends than they ever were in Korea. And so, when Max was figuring some stuff out about herself, they'd written about that too. Carefully, of course, and with enough misdirection and double talk to get past any of the army sensors from back in the day - Max still paranoid about other people reading her mail, and both of them knowing what could happen if the wrong eyes got the wrong impression. But they'd written. Cuz again, there ain't that many people out there who'd understand her – all the parts of her – from growing up a poor immigrant kid in the kinda neighborhood where being weak got you dead, to Korea, to being queer.

Hawkeye's really the only other one who maybe comes close. And Max ain't kidding herself that he don't know – that Trapper hadn't mentioned anything – since all Hawkeye's own letters refer to her right. But there's parts of Max's growing up that Hawkeye don't understand as well, so she'd gone to Trapper about it.

And maybe it ain't quite the same thing, the way the two of them are – though Max is married to a woman, so they're more alike that way than she'd though. And what a woman. Soon Li is a diamond – strong and bright and with an edge to her that was forged in war. But she's kind and sweat and gentle, too, when she's with Max and Seong and all the rest of her family.

And when Max realized that she felt most herself as herself – sharp and cunning and with teeth bared for a fight, but also pretty and fashionable and a woman – Soon Li'd just looked at Max like she was an idiot for thinking she'd have to remake herself into something smaller and softer and less just cuz she's a woman. Loved and understood Max for all the parts of her – even the parts that made her a little rough around the edges. Helped Max realize that she could be all the parts of her – even if everyone else said you had to choose.

Trapper'd understood that too, in his own way. Cuz, see, they'd slept together a couple times back in Korea. Just a fun little fling that didn't really mean anything to either of them. But Trapper'd looked at Max like she was beautiful. Treated her like she was pretty and feminine when she'd responded to that – without really knowing why at the time. And then he'd ribbed her good-naturedly at the next night's poker game, like she was still the same person she'd always been – tough and crass and crafty. Like those two things didn't have to cancel each other out.

So Max had trusted Trapper with the truth of herself as she learned just what the fuck that actually was. And they'd grown close on account of it.

So it's not a surprise that Max gets a letter from Trapper – but the subject of it kinda is.

Dear Max, A little birdy told me that you got invited to the Winchester wedding. Well, so did me and Hawkeye and a bunch of other MASH vets. There's a whole list of 'em with addresses included in this letter if you end up agreeing to the proposition I got – and not like that! You're a married woman now. Not that that stopped either of you before, you rogues. (Just kidding, Soon Li. Promise.)

Apparently the letter is from Hawkeye as well.

The proposition is this. See, I figure you and me and all the rest of us wedding guests ain't exactly in a position to buy Winchester anything he wants or needs cuz he's a rich bastard and we're all just culturally defficient plebeians (his words.) So Hawkeye figures that we oughtta get him something sentimental. Something that makes him feel guilty for even considering throwing out. Just really hit him where it hurts emotionally. And I had the idea of making up a quilt. Each of us doing a square of it and then sewing it all together. And Margaret and Steve and Sidney and Letta all think it's a pretty good idea – we're polling the others on it, but it's via letter so we ain't got answers back yet. But it seems like the plan's a go. And I ain't exactly a professional seamstress – not like you are. (I'm buttering you up a little, at Hawkeye's request. Is it working? You're also nice and kind and helpful and did I mention nice? Ugh, this is making me sick. You're a conniving bastard and we both know it – please help regardless.) I maintain it's a solid plan. You just weren't flattering enough, Trap. You've got to really lay it on with a shovel. What happened to the guy who could get nurses to go out with him just with a look? Maybe that's the problem – no eye contact in a letter. Anyway, I got no idea how to put everything together once all the pieces are done and make it look nice. So I was wondering if you maybe wanted to take charge of this little project. Lemme know either way – Hawkeye thinks he can sweet talk Mrs. Potter into doing it if you ain't got time. There's no “think” about it - I absolutely can. I'm a master of convincing people to do stupid things they really shouldn't. And Mrs. Potter apparently has a soft spot for incorrigible pranksters - which explains her decades of marriage to Sherm, I guess. But between those two facts, it's a sure bet. So stop maligning me, Trapper! So no pressure, Max. I know you're busy with running a business and having a family and all. Speaking of, I hope Soon Li and Seong are well – from your last letter, it sounds like the kid's gonna take after you in the smooth-talking department. And in three languages, yet. You must be real proud. Hope to hear from you soon. Your friends, Trapper John And Hawkeye

Max laughs as she reads the letter. The back and forth almost like having a real conversation. She's missed that – missed her friends. So she writes back right away.

Dear Trapper and Hawkeye (who is definitely not reading this over his shoulder), Of course I'll help, what kinda friend do you take me for? Don't answer that. Anyhow, I think the quilt's a real good idea. A little piece of all us 4077 folks together in one place. That's real sappy. Even Dr. Winchester ain't gonna be able to pretend to turn his nose up at it. And you were right to come to me about it – seeing as you don't know a back stitch from a blanket stitch. I'll write all the folks on your list letting 'em know I'm taking over the project and to send their squares to me. And the dozens and dozens of questions I'm sure I'll get. So thanks a lot for that, guys. It's late and I don't got much more to say other than Soon Li and Seong are doing good – I'll send a more detailed report in another letter, don't worry. I've been saving up some real cute pictures of the kid for your refrigerator. So keep an eye out for another letter soon. And I guess I'll be seeing you in person pretty soon too. It'll be nice to catch up face-to-face, you know? Till then, I hope you're both well. Your friend, Max

To be perfectly honest, Max has never made a quilt before either – which in hindsight is pretty stupid, given how cold Korea got in winter. But she does know how to do more than mend holes and darn socks. And she has made a quilted housecoat before and it ain't that different. So.

“Fear not, friends! Maxine Q. Klinger is on the case.” Cuz despite her status as a conniving bastard, Max ain't one to leave friends in a lurch. And it does solve the problem of what to get for Charles “Snobbery is my Middle Name” Winchester.

Soon Li laughs at her, but she'd gotten Max's sketch book as soon as she'd finished reading the letter herself. And all she says is, “Don't stay up too late plotting, jagiya.”

Allah, but Max loves her.

By the time Max comes to bed, she's got a rough sketch of a couple ideas and a whole bunch of scrawled notes. And of course, the final design'll depend on who all's participating in this little venture. But it's a start.

[aelowan]

A Midwinter Night’s Reading – A Books of Binding Flash Fiction

A warm glow peeked out from under the Mulcahy Library doors and Cian smiled. Rick must be up late again. He had only been here at Mulcahy House a couple of weeks, but already it felt like he belonged in the Library. The House felt happier with him in there.

Cian backtracked through the dining room and butler’s pantry into the kitchen and heated milk for cocoa. Rick had a sweet tooth, Cian had discovered, and would surely welcome a warm, sugary drink on this chilly January night.

Though it wasn’t nearly as cold as last January had been in Kentucky. Winter said the sea air gave Seahaven (and much of coastal Washington) a warmer, more temperate climate. Cian was only just delving into science as he studied for a test that said he knew what you are supposed to learn in high school. He thought it was strange to use a test to teach him what was on the test, but Winter promised that this way was best and would allow him to go on to college. He loved to learn new things and to help people. Winter assured him that going to college to become a doctor would give him plenty of opportunity to do both. But first, he had to learn everything for this test, like how science worked.

He scooped a generous measure of the peppermint cocoa Winter kept in a tin near the stove and whisked it into the warm milk until the frothing foam melted away, and the sweet scent of peppermint and chocolate filled the kitchen. He turned off the heat and poured the cocoa into two mugs, setting the cocoa pot into the sink. The House would wash it and put it away as soon as he left the room.

He carried both mugs into the long hall and stepped with purpose toward the Library doors and their giant, interlocking tree bearing books as fruit. The doors opened for him, and Cian murmured his thanks to the House. Winter said that the doors had stopped doing that, but since he and Etienne had moved in after October, the faerie house seemed to be reawakening.

Alerich Ashimar sat in one of two dark leather armchairs in one of the several seating areas in the Library. The Library had given him an office, but he seemed to like to read late into the night in this spot. A fire was going in the fireplace and added to the pleasant warm glow that seemed to permeate the Library whenever Rick was in it. The English wizard looked up when the doors opened and smiled at Cian. “Good evening. Are one of those for me?”

Cian returned the smile and held out a mug for Alerich. “I don’t want to bother you while you’re reading, but I thought you might like some cocoa.”

Alerich pulled a ribbon up from the binding of his book and tucked it carefully between the pages, shutting the thick volume and putting it on the side table with a loving pat. He reached out and took one of the mugs. “Thank you. This is very kind of you, and not a bother at all. Please,” he indicated the other armchair. “Join me.” Rick sipped his cocoa as Cian settled into his chair and his smile broadened. “This is delicious, thank you. Couldn’t sleep?”

Cian leaned back into the fire-warmed leather and sipped his own cocoa, enjoying the heat of the drink and the fire both. “Noel woke up for his feeding. By the time he was done and back to sleep, I was wide awake. I was going to study, but I saw your light. What are you reading?”

“A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

“Oh! I know that one! Shakespeare, right?”

“Indeed. Do you know much Shakespeare?”

“No,” Cian admitted and took another sip. “But Jessie had me watch this movie when I started studying for the language and literature part of my test. She said it was to ‘get me pumped,’ but I’m pretty sure that means ‘excited’ here.”

The corners of Rick’s mouth turned upward, and he nodded. “It does. Did you watch the play?”

“Not exactly. It was about a boys’ school and a teacher who got really excited about poetry. He stood on his desk and got his students excited too. One of them was in the play.”

“Ah, I know that one. It’s a good movie.”

Cian nodded over his mug. “I liked it a lot. I hope that I have teachers who get that excited about what they teach. Is that how you learned about Shakespeare?”

Alerich looked a little confused. “From the movie?”

Cian shook his head. “No, from a teacher?”

“Oh!” Alerich took a long sip and sat his cocoa next to his book. “I suppose it was. One of my professors at Bremerton, the wizard school for boys in London.”

“Did they stand on a desk?”

Alerich seemed amused at the thought and the corners of his mouth crinkled again. “No. But he read with such passion and love for the material that there were days I wanted to. He read poetry like he was rapping it. It had rhythm and passion. I think he single-handedly made us all closet poets.”

Alerich picked up his mug and was quiet for a moment. Cian drank his own cocoa and let the wizard keeps his thoughts to himself for a little while, though they didn’t look like happy ones.

Finally, Alerich came back from wherever he had gone and smiled, significantly less brightly than before, at Cian. “Sorry. Got a little lost there for a minute.”

Cian smiled sympathetically. “It’s all right. Winter says you’re still processing. She says sometimes you’ll need a little space. I’m happy just sitting here with you.” It had only been a couple of weeks since Rick’s father had died. Their relationship had been… complicated. And given the circumstances of the man’s death, Cian and Winter agreed that Rick would be processing for a very long time.

Alerich reached over and touched Cian’s knee. “You really are very kind, Cian. Thank you.”

Cian blushed a little both at the praise and at the touch from the handsome wizard. “You’re welcome. But I don’t want to interrupt your reading if you’re enjoying it.” He started to get up to give the man some space.

Rick waved him back into his chair. “Please stay. I could use the company.”

“What about your play?”

Alerich looked down at the volume like looking at a very close friend. “I could read to you?”

Cian beamed. “I would love that. I read to Noel, but they’re baby books. I would love to hear you read Shakespeare.”

“How well do you know Midsummer?”

“Really only what was in the movie.”

“It’s been a while, but I think that it mostly dealt with the end of the play and the boy’s suicide.”

Cian nodded, wondering if this topic was too tough for Rick right now.

Alerich was quiet for another moment, then went on, “But there is much more to the play. It is a comedy about forbidden love, obsession, and love gone bad. Here, let me start us off right. The play opens in Athens, where the Duke, Theseus, and his fiancé, Hippolyta, are very close to their wedding day. Shall I read it?”

Cian settled back in his chair, mug in hand. “Please.”

Alerich picked up the book and opened it to where the ribbon was, then went back a number of pages. He cleared his throat and read with the same kind of dramatic voice that Etienne used when he told stories around the fire.

“‘Now fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour Draws on apace; four happy days bring in Another moon: but, O, methinks, how slow This old moon wanes!’”

Cian listened with rapt attention and understood what Winter saw in Rick. It was very easy to fall in love with this man.

If you liked this story, check out our other free flash fiction and all things Seahaven at aelowan.com.