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the--blackdahlia · 4 years ago

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Overload

Title: Overload

Summary: Radar wheels and deals with Sparky and gets an experimental drink from Norway.

Warnings: Just some minor language. Nothing bad

Word Count: 1,692

Prompt: Free Space

Done for @anyfandomgoesbingo

"Come on Sparky, you gotta do better than that." Radar told him. "Got any movies or something?"

" Oh come on Radar. I don't got anything else."

"My captains will kill me if I give away a case of pressure bandages for anything less than Rita Hayworth." Radar told him. Sparky was looking around for something when he spotted the crate in the corner. It was from a cousin in Norway. A new drink that was supposed to be better than coffee. Sparky had drunk half of one of the cans it came in, and he could've ran laps with no problem.

" I got the perfect thing ." Sparky said with a smile.

****

Later that afternoon, a private from the 8063rd brought a crate to Radar in exchange for pressure bandages. The private had just pulled away when Hawkeye and Trapper approached.

"Watchya got there?" Trapper asked, nodding to the crate.

“This?” Radar asked. “Oh, I worked a deal with Sparky. He needed to get some bandages for one of the other units.”

“And we got...aftershave?” Hawkeye asked, looking over the can. “What is this?”

“He said it can replace coffee.” Radar explained. Trapper laughed.

“I’ll be the judge of that!” He took the container from Hawkeye, popped it up, and took a big drink. “Ugh! This stuff is disgusting.” He looked at the can again, shrugged, and took another drink.

“I thought you said it was disgusting.” Hawkeye commented.

“It grows on you.” Trapper told him, walking off with the drink in hand.

****

“Has anyone seen Trapper?” Hawkeye asked a few hours later. Trapper had decided to go for a run, which in itself was highly unlike him. Trapper had faked every kind of stone the human body could have in order to get out of morning exercises.

“No. Why?” Margaret asked as Hawkeye took a seat at the table where her and Frank were talking.

“He just has been missing for a few hours and if we’re separated that long, our wonder twin powers stop working.”

“Is everything a joke to you?” Frank huffed as he sipped his coffee.

“Only on days that end in Y.”

There was a commotion outside of the mess tent then. Hawkeye stood up to look.

“What is going on?” Frank asked as him and Margaret got up and followed Hawkeye out the door. They saw what was going on then. There, standing on top of a jeep with no shirt on, was Trapper John McIntyre.

“Trapper? What the hell are you doing?” Hawkeye asked.

“I am the lizard king! I can do anything!” Trapper called out.

“Has he been sniffing the ether?” Margaret asked. Hawkeye grabbed Trapper and pulled him out of the jeep. He could feel his heart racing.

“Trapper, what is going on?” Hawkeye asked.

“I am the walrus!” Trapper told him. “The walrus Hawkeye!”

“Okay, okay.” He told him. “Did you drink that whole drink Radar gave you?”

“Yes!” Trapper was bouncing.

“What are you talking about?” Margaret asked.

“Radar got some new kind of drink that is supposed to be a replacement for coffee,” Hawkeye told them. “And this is the result.”

“That’s absurd!” Frank shook his head.

“Don’t believe me? Go ask Radar.” Hawkeye told them. “I gotta take the zoo here back to the Swamp.” Trapper and Hawkeye headed back to the Swamp. Margaret headed towards Radar’s office.

“Where are you going?” Frank asked.

“To see if what they say is true.” Margaret told him. She walked into the office with Frank right behind her. Radar was staring into space, one of the drink containers sitting by him.

"Are you going to salute when officers walk in?" Frank asked, but Radar just stared ahead.

"A computer in every pocket." He whispered. "Every piece of information right there. Every form."

"What on earth are you babbling about Corporal?" Margaret asked. Radar turned to look at her.

"Buy Apple stock." He told her, almost like he was in a trance. "Buy in 1977 and never worry again."

"Has everyone in this camp gone mad?" Frank asked. He watched as Margaret grabbed one of the containers from the crate and examined it. "Margaret, what are you doing?"

"I want to see if this has hallucinogens in it or what." Margaret opened the can and sniffed it.

"Margaret…" Frank watched as she took a drink.

"Oh, this is awful," she cringed. "Try it." She handed it to Frank.

"I'm not trying it!" Frank took a step back. "Mommy always told me to avoid drugs and just tell people no!"

"Frank, Corporal O'Reilly tried it. That makes him more of a man than you." Margaret told him.

"Beware of Luke's father," Radar whispered. "There is another Skywalker."

"Okay, I'll try it, but not here." Frank told her. The pair started to walk out.

"May the force be with you!" Radar called after them.

****

"I don't get it," Hawkeye commented as he watched Trapper bounce his legs like he was running in place. "I drank it and I don't feel like you do?"

"Whatdoyoumean?" Trapper spoke quicker than normal, his words blending to one large one.

"Well, I don't feel tired." Hawkeye told him. "But I don't feel manic. I feel like a normal person."

"I'mfinenothingwrongatall!" Trapper told him. Hawkeye sighed. Thats when he heard yelling from outside the tent. He went to the door just as Frank came barreling towards it, his arms covering his head.

"They're going to kill me!" He screeched as he dove into the Swamp and immediately went under his cot.

"Who’s going to kill you?" Hawkeye asked as he saw Frank's hand reach out to find his helmet.

" They are!" Frank finally found his helmet and pulled it under the cot with him.

"Who is 'they'?" Hawkeye asked, sitting on his cot and watching Frank's.

"The Chinese! Russians! Koreans! You name them, they're trying to kill me!"

"Whatabouttheamericans?" Trapper asked quickly.

"Them too!"

Margaret came into the Swamp then, looking around.

"Where's Frank?" She asked.

“Frank, one of them is here to see you!” Hawkeye called out, to which he received a yelp as a response. Margaret walked over to Frank’s cot and lifted it with ease, staring down at the other major.

“Oh Margaret! Thank god!” Frank jumped to his feet as Margaret sat the cot back down. “They’re going to kill me!”

“Who?” Margaret asked.

“We’ve been trying to figure that one out ourselves.” Hawkeye told her. She looked over at him, then at Trapper, who was practically bouncing.

“What’s wrong with him?” She asked.

“That drink I think,” Hawkeye explained. “I drank it and it didn’t bug me. But it seems to be making him...whatever this is.”

"Apparently Frank is paranoid." Margaret pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I am not paranoid!" Frank told her before screaming and diving when a jeep backfired.

“Let’sgoforarun!” Trapper stood up and got ready to run when Hawkeye snagged his belt and pulled him back down.

****

“Hey Radar,” Henry greeted as he came back in from his R&R. “What did I miss?”

“Avoid the Texas Book Depository,” Radar whispered. “Beware the Grassy Knoll.”

“What?” Henry stopped and stared at the clerk. “Is there a gas leak in here?”

“Men will go to the moon Colonel!” Radar told him.

“Okay, that’s it. Come on.” Henry got Radar on his feet, when he noticed the now half empty crate. “What is this?” He grabbed one of the containers and sighed. “Where’d you get this?”

“Sparky.” Radar told him.

“Who all had some of it?” Henry asked.

“Captains Pierce and McIntyre and Majors Burns and Houlihan.” Radar reported. Henry nodded and went to the mic for the PA. After calling for the four to meet in the mess tent, Henry dragged Radar there. He had just sat a big cup of water in front of Radar when Trapper came running in with Hawkeye following right behind. A moment later, Margaret was dragging Frank in.

“Welcome...back....colonel,” Margaret breathed when she finally got Frank in a seat.

“Hihihihihi!” Trapper said, bouncing around.

“Well, hi Tigger.” Henry sighed. “You seem to be a little wired.”

“I think Frank and Trapper are having a little bit of a bad reaction to the drinks Sparky sent us.” Hawkeye explained.

“Davy Crockett, Peter Pan, Elvis Presley, Disneyland!” Radar told them all before Henry motioned for him to drink his water.

“Okay then…” Hawkeye side eyed the corporal.

“Radar told me to buy Apple. That’s code word for something, right?” Frank asked, holding a fork in case of an attack. “May the force be with you. That’s a sign for them to attack me!”

“Okay, so I’m prescribing water and lots of it.” Henry told them. “This stuff is showing up in Tokyo and for the most part, it’s having the same effects it’s having on you guys. On inspection of it, it has almost double the caffeine as coffee, which might work during surgery as long as Trapper can stand still and Frank doesn’t think that someone is going to kill him.”

“Kill me? Where are they?” Frank looked around and Henry sighed.

“I’m sending the rest of that on a supply truck somewhere else. MAke it someone else's problem.” He poured water and set it in front of Frank and Trapper. “Are you two feeling anything?”

“Outside of not being our normal tired selves, no.” Margaret told him. Henry nodded.

“Good. Keep it that way.” Henry went to head out of the mess tent. “I need a shower and sleep after dealing with you guys. I’ll see you later.” He left, leaving everyone there with their water.

“Hawk?” Trapper was already starting to calm down after drinking well over half his cup of water. “Think we can get that stuff to brew in the still? We can market it to tired college kids.”

“Yeah? And what are we calling it?” Hawkeye asked.

“Scarlet Buffalo.” Trapper said proudly. Hawkeye shook his head. “Yeah, you’re right. And I think I’m ready for a nap.” Trapper drank the rest of his water and they headed back to the Swamp, leaving Margaret to deal with Frank and Radar.

#mash #anyfandombingogoes2020 #hawkeye pierce #trapper john mcintyre #margaret houlihan #Frank burns #radar o'reilly #henry blake #fanfiction

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loungelizardatwar · 7 years ago

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I'll Warm You Up

1,026 words

Description: Trapper is cold and grumpy, so Hawkeye uses their alone time to warm him up. Pairing: Benjamin Franklin “Hawkeye” Pierce/“Trapper” John McIntyre

The Swamp, 9:36 am, Thursday Morning

Trapper was cold and it put him in a bad mood. It was winter on the 4077th, and he couldn’t find enough warmth anywhere. At least there weren’t any wounded yet.

Trapper pouted unhappily from his spot on his bed, taking a sip of the cold coffee in his mug. He had a blanket draped over his shoulders and messy hair from a failed attempt at sleeping. It was just too damn cold for him to get any sleep. Trapper looked up when Hawkeye entered, all bundled up with his hat and scarf and coat. He must have just gotten out of his shift in OR. Trapper groaned as he felt the gust of wind rush into the tent, practically chilling him to the bone. He shivered, wrapping the thin but soft blanket that he had around him further. It didn’t help much

“Hey Trap, you warm under there?” Hawkeye asked as he took off his coat and scarf. He found it amusing that Trapper liked to hide in his blankets. It made him look like an army drab caterpillar.

“Not warm enough,” Trapper grumbled. He placed his cup of coffee on the ground by his bed and then he wrapped the blanket the rest of the way around himself, so only his face remained visible. “I hate winter.” He mumbled into the fabric.

Hawkeye chuckled as Trapper disappeared under his covers. “Okay, that’s it. I’m coming over there to warm you up.” Hawk suddenly declared, grabbing his own blanket to wrap himself in and climbing on to Trapper’s cot. He crawled up underneath the blanket that was hiding his boyfriend. There wasn’t really enough room on the small bed for both of them, but neither of them minded much.

“Mmm, that’s better.” Trapper murmured, nestling himself closer to the warmth of Hawkeye’s body heat. Trapper ’s chest was now against Hawkeye’s back and his long arms found their way around Hawk’s waist almost effortlessly. It was clear that they had been in this position before.

“I couldn’t agree more.” Hawkeye replied with a smile. He turned himself around so that he could bury his face into the crook of Trapper’s neck. He took in a slow breath, and sighed through his nose. He loved Trapper’s subtle musky smell.

Trapper hummed in response, loving the way that Hawkeye felt nestled in his arms. The blankets wrapped around them created a little “nest” of comfort and Trap had a hard time remembering the last time he had been so comfortable.

Hawk smiled, and he couldn’t help but let his hands roam up under Trapper’s shirt, his fingers tracing lazy trails across his ribcage and stomach. The skin was very soft and warm there, and Hawkeye reveled in the feeling.

Trapper shivered, flinching away from Hawkeye’s trailing fingers. The sensation they caused raised goosebumps along Trap’s arms. “That tickles,” Trapper said with a soft chuckle and a smile.

Hawkeye’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh, does it now?” Hawk asked, gently raking his fingers down Trapper’s torso in a deliberately ticklish way. He couldn’t help but grin at Trap’s reaction

Trapper let out a quiet stream of giggles, and he squirmed gently in Hawkeye’s arms. “Mmhm, hahah, it feheheels good though,” he admitted without an ounce of shame. Trapper had always been quite clear about what he liked. He was grinning fully now, his eyes crinkling at the edges and his teeth showing in a crooked display of his happiness.

“That’s so fucking cute,” Hawkeye said happily. He let his gentle hands come to rest on Trapper’s hips, giving them a playful squeeze for good measure. He was utterly delighted at the snort and bout of laughter that got him.

Trapper actually blushed when Hawkeye praised him, placing his hands over Hawk’s to block out the sensations. He laced their fingers together in an attempt to stop Hawk from tickling him anymore. “Oh shut up,” he said, clearly a bit flustered. He was still smiling though.

“But I want to hear you laugh, Trap!” Hawkeye teased playfully. Hawk decided that he didn’t need his hands after all, and he gently nipped at Trapper’s ear lobe. He began kissing a slow and ticklish trail down Trapper’s neck, which awarded him with a fresh burst of giggles.

“Thahahat’s it,” Trapper declared vaguely. He gently rolled over onto Hawkeye, effectively pinning him face up on the mattress. “I’m gonna getcha’!” Trap taunted with a grin, using his nimble fingers to seek out all of Hawkeye’s ticklish spots.

Hawkeye cackled uproariously, as was his trademark laugh. He flailed and shrieked too, but no amount of wriggling got him out of Trapper’s strong hold. Trap was built like a brick shithouse, after all.

Trapper managed to get both of Hawkeye’s wrists pinned down, and he was finally able to dig into Hawk’s belly with no mercy.

“I gihihive, I give! Hahahaha!!” Hawkeye pleaded after a few minutes. He was laughing too hard to think straight. Even though he loved it, it was getting hard to breathe.

Trapper chuckled at Hawkeye’s wild reactions, tickling him until his need for revenge subside. Once he was satisfied, he rolled off of his boyfriend and they sat in silence for a few moments while Hawkeye caught his breath.

Their eyes met a moment later, and they both grinned at each other.

“Phew, that was fun.” Hawkeye said, finally breaking the silence. Normally he would pounce back on Trapper immediately and continue the tickle fight, but he was too tired this time.

“Everythin’s fun with you,” Trapper agreed, silently drawing Hawkeye back into his arms. He let his eyes close without a word, content to just bask in this comfortable moment.

“What a sap,” Hawkeye muttered with a smile, curling up in Trapper’s arms. He let his head rest against Trap’s chest and a relaxed sigh left him.

Trapper just smiled, his arms squeezing a little more snugly around Hawkeye’s waist. Then he planted a gentle kiss on the top of his boyfriend’s head. Trapper knew that Hawk liked to get the last word in, and he was happy to let him.

#fanfic #m*a*s*h 4077 #m*a*s*h #Pierceintyre #fluff #tickle fights #cuddling #slash fanfic #shmoopy cuddly tickly shit #Bunny is bad at titles #I hope this isn't too out of character aaa #screams #thank @guzguz-here for telling me to post this

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helioheliks · 7 years ago

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Rock, Breeze, and Bird

The sky was a clear, sapphire blanket; the stone around him, flawless granite gray. The earth… was a brown and green watercolor smudge four hundred feet below him. Crion worked hand-over-hand, foot-over-foot, higher and higher up a towering cliff face. The last respite he had was twenty feet below, but it was beginning to feel like a small eternity had passed since that blessed time he was able to rest his aching limbs. The goal, however, was in sight: a small outcropping, far too small for a grown man to rest on, was overflowing with twigs, feathers, small bones and bird droppings no more than fifteen feet above. “Just a little bit more, please,” he pleaded aloud with his bleeding and bandaged hands, “I’ll put more than a patch on it when we get home, I can’t focus the will enough for a proper spell now, just give me this little bit more.”

To push the ache and the bouts of delirium away, he recited songs to himself. Over and over, his fingers twitching and flexing ever so slightly as he climbed hand-hold to hand-hold in time with the fretting of the music. Faintly, between verses, he recalled the encouraging memories of the wise old trapper who got him hooked on this ‘falconry’ nonsense in the first place.

“The bond starts with the trial, ya see?” He had exclaimed with great gusto from behind a scraggly white beard that enshrouded the whole lower half of his leathery face, “You have to want it, and the birds can sense it! If you don’t make the climb yourself, they’ll feel that weakness in you.” He wiggled his fingers mysteriously at that.

Crion hummed a few more verses of ‘All Along the Violet Shore’ before delving back to reaffirm his convictions.

“The number of eyass dead from wind and cold and hunger is three times that of the healthy survivors. Carefully taking just one to raise helps the nest. The other little ones suddenly have more food to go around, and one is guaranteed a good life,” He had eyed Crion with cold accusation, then, “So long as whoever takes them in is willing to learn how to treat ‘em right.”

Crion reminisced on the three weeks he had spent every day from noon to midnight with the old, wise coot, his two hawks, and his eagle. He had learned everything he could about the cliff-dwelling hawks - how they lived, how they ate, how they behaved, and how they died. He had taken a certain amount of glee in the notion that hunting hawks’ attention spans could be so short that they needed to be hooded to keep them from flying off at everyone or everything, but swore never to bind his in such a way. At the end of those weeks, he had left his home in Ul’dah without a word to find his own hawk nest, and of course only the highest and most precarious would do to make a proper story.

He stopped mid-stretch and chided himself aloud, “Are you unloading your own exposition on yourself? By the Gale; show, don't tell.” His voice was thin and raspy, but in that moment he felt the rebuke was worth the pain.

Suddenly, Crion found himself hurled almost horizontal as a powerful gust charged across the cliff face.

It all happened in an instant: the wind came, his body lurched, his hands tightened, his feet slipped, his muscles clenched, his mind went white, and then… he stopped. He hung in midair at an awkward angle from the stone, a single, tight grip being his only tether. The gale that had threatened to dash him into the open air like a leaf from a tree had bent and twisted, his limbs capturing the wind like a sail. His forearms and shins burned as the coils of wind bit him with cold and bits of debris, but somehow, he was safe. He felt as if he were floating in a pool of water, as if the air had simply given up trying to pull him down. He hung like that for a few moments, working to shake the cobwebs of disbelief from his mind.

“I’m safe?” He asked the world at large. He took a moment to admire the braces and grieves of stormy wind, but ceased his examination as his gaze brushed with the ground below, swaying and bobbing with him as he lay belly-down in the sky so high above it. He snapped his focus back to the hand that still held onto the cliff, then looked up, seeing the hawk’s nest nestled into the stone only a few moment’s climb above him. Closing his eyes to focus, feeling the knot of living energy at his core, he drew one slow, deep breath. The coils around his legs relented with each passing second, and Crion felt the broken down motes of air flowing into him, stoking the energy inside him. His feet slowly came to rest on a couple tenuous holds, but it was enough. He took hold of the adrenaline rush and wielded it like a saber against the pain in his limbs and the mortal fear that had brought his heartbeat to a furious staccato.

“I’m coming for you, little one…” He grunted through gritted teeth. Every word he spoke was another step - another grasp, “I. Will. Bring. You. Home. And. Feed. You. Rabbits.” The end was in sight, he could even hear the chirps and squawks of the younglings, “We’re. Going. To. Be. Best. Friends. And. We. Will. Look. Really. Awesome. Together.” He stopped just below the nest, proper. He had one last obstacle to overcome: the mother. He had hoped he had timed the venture right to catch the incredibly protective mother as she was off hunting food for her young. Despite his previous bad luck, he could find no hint of her as he carefully scanned the sky.

Crion pulled himself up to look into the recessed nest and was met with the hungry pleas of five balls of grey down. Knowing the climb to be the real ceremony with the extraction itself something of a race against time, Crion extended a hand into the nest toward the front most eyass. Before he could grasp the one he had singled out, though, one of its siblings stumbled forward and nipped painfully at his finger. Crion pulled away and sucked at his finger, but smiled as the brave little thing continued to bumble about, unceremoniously colliding with its nest mates before turning back to him and squawking loudly. He reached out and lifted it in one cupped hand. He prepared himself for some fight, but its demeanor had suddenly changed, and it looked very sleepy.

Cradling him - as he was able to determine with a quick check - to his chest, he continued to beam at the little thing like a proud, new parent. “Come on, let’s go home.” Crion whispered to the young hawk. He looked up the cliff, seeing the top was still a short climb away. He wondered for a moment why he thought going the long way was best, but dismissed the thought as the bird clutched tightly to his chest wriggled and settled into his grip. “All about the story, eh little guy?” He huffed. He then turned his attention back down the way he came. “What say we take the easy way home?” He asked, mostly rhetorically, as he let himself drop backwards from the cliff, out into open air. They plummeted for a moment, but the small bird didn’t seem to notice. Crion closed his eyes and let the wind that he had gathered before from the gale trickle out, back into his arms and legs. Soon, they were floating - lazily drifting like a feather on a bubble of conjured wind back to the ground.

They landed some minutes later right where Crion had started his climb, and where he had left his chocobo. He stumbled, weak-kneed, battered and bruised over to his steed. He tucked the hawk into a knapsack bound carefully to the saddle, and then flopped himself across the saddle, himself. He had just enough strength to pat the chocobo on the flank and say “Home, Gladr, but be gentle, I don’t want to wake him…” he trailed off as he passed into a deep sleep.

#Crion Sturmfrei #ffxiv rp #balmung #birthday hawk #learning to submit work as it comes to me #a bird needs a name

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remyfire · 8 months ago

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Thought too hard about postwar Some Things Are Evergreen and caused myself psychic damage. There's so much I want to write. There's so much agony on the table, but also the healing, the fluff, the love.

Thought about a thunderstorm cutting the power in Mill Valley in the middle of the night and little toddler Erin being scared out of her mind. But here's Peg with a cup of her favorite juice. Here's Trapper stripping the sheets and blanket off his guest room bed and draping them into a fort in the living room for all of them to sit in. Here's Hawkeye showing Erin how to make shadow puppets and keeping her giggling. And Erin chooses BJ's lap, insists upon it. Beej cuddling her with her back against his chest while Peg rests her head on his shoulder, Trap's fingers loosely linked with Peg's on her other side, and Trap's leg kicked out so Hawk can feel it against the small of his back while he's spinning such silly stories that all of them are laughing harder than they have in almost two years.

Thought about another night where while BJ's putting Erin to bed, Hawkeye selects a record of lovely crooning ballads and Trapper crooks his finger at Peg. The two of them dancing together, Trap still careful with his feet—it's been too long since he's danced this close to a gal, after everything—and Peg goading him under her breath with a coy smile until he stops being so nervous and pulls her in. How the moment BJ enters the room, Hawkeye sweeps him into his arms with such a comfortable intimacy, two men who have barely been apart for longer than a month since they met. The easy flow of Hawk stealing Trap away, their foreheads touching, Hawkeye who still can barely breathe from the realization that he's here, Trap who still fights to remember that Hawk is real. And BJ draws Peg in with a light in his eyes that every day is getting a little closer to the glow she remembered when he was fresh-faced, full of hope. Tonight, it's reminiscent of their first dance at their wedding, and it makes them both want to cry from relief even though they can't keep the tender smiles off their faces.

Hawkeye getting a naughty idea and slipping Peg away from BJ this time, whistling innocently along with the music while Trapper and BJ stand a few feet apart, staring each other down. Waiting. But just as BJ moves to take a step back, the corner of Trap's lips quirk as he extends a hand. And while Hawk and Peg are watching them conspiratorially, so close that her cheek's smushed against his chest, BJ just inhales a slow, measured breath—and takes his hand. And neither Hawk nor Peg have ever seen two men fight mid-dance so feverishly to try and lead but it's better than them posturing like guard dogs, so it's progress all the same.

God willing, I will fucking get to postwar STAE one day, because these four are gonna make me melt every day until I do.

#i have been haunted all day. and i am still presently writing stae in s5. help #some things are evergreen #my writing #mcpunnihawk

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remyfire · 8 months ago

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I think the funniest thing about Hawk being Like That is that Alan Alda has writers credits on the show. This man voluntarily made his character the most touch starved needy desperate person on the planet and that's so fucking insane of him. But also Mr Alda I would like to give you a little hug and a kiss for giving him to us because I love him with my whole heart. And don't even get me started on the fact that Hawkeye yelled to a general "I want to have your baby!" In literally the first season. Like Hawkeye my love not everyone needs to know you want to be pregnant 😂 And truly he deserves to be absolutely smothered with cuddles, everyone loves him and he loves everyone and I think it could help fix him.

Listen my Trap brain is always on, he's my man, I am thinking about him quite literally daily. And now that you reminded me of the priest line I'm gonna think of that too! Like Trapper my love what happened in your past? Did your parents give you that many names in hopes you'd be a priest? Did you pick one yourself for confirmation? Why did you keep all of the names despite seemingly abandoning the religion? I am peering at him like a bug under a microscope and there's nothing he can do about it.

That little coffee through line with Margret is so cute! Even though I'm sure it was unintentional on the show's part I definitely couldn't help but think of it and flash back to The Nurses in both the scenes in Temporary Duty and CAVE. Margaret and cups of coffee representing her character growth is honestly so sweet and I love it. Also ooohhhh self proclaimed Military Brat Margaret Houlihan realizing that the Army Way isn't the only way or even the best way, and the things that would DO to her. The realization that what she's learned her whole life isn't necessarily good, and having to contend with what that means for her and her career and her personality. And also having to face her father after that, because we see in Are You Now, Margaret? that she cares very much about disappointing him and even affecting his career. Would such a realization maybe help her become more of her own person that isn't living only to make her father proud and keep up the Houlihan name? Or is her desire to be a point of pride for her family more important to her than her personal development? Truly she's so fascinating to me. And it's definitely an interesting parallel with Mulcahy, both of them having something so deeply ingrained in them that it h u r t s when it's finally inevitably broken out.

Everyone in this show suffered enough in the narrative for several lifetimes but damn if I don't wanna give them a little bit more hardship to really crack them open and wrap up their character development in the way they deserve. I'll definitely give them softness and love but first they need a little bit of pain I think 😂

(Also I am officially onto season 8! I finished Goodbye Radar last night and was a Wreck. Man I love this show)

Okay hi again anon, sorry for making this sit while thinking too hard about Hawk and Beje and Trap things.

I swear that Alan did more to break and attempt to breed Hawk than any of us fanfic authors have ever done. I am not entirely convinced that this man didn't start getting the bends once he couldn't whump Hawk anymore and instead pivoted to writing fanfics for the old distant zines that popped up in the '80s. He probably has multiple AO3 accounts right now just churning out agonizing pain. Alan we know what you are.

I do hate that we got so little development for Trap compared to Beej but it's also delightful because it means all of us get to sit here and rotate him on a merry-go-round that goes faster and faster and never stops. Anything is possible. He's so INTERESTING!!! He's like half a guy! No matter what anyone says, they could probably make it work! And that means I am in fact slam dunking the religious trauma into him at breakneck speeds. Sorry, bud (lie).

I'm so glad you mentioned Are You Now Margaret because that's one of those underrated episodes that always has its teeth so deep in me. We learn so much about her so fast. Her big friend group!! She had so many people who loved her and who she loves enough that she refuses to endanger them even though she hasn't spoken to make in years!! The fact that she will give her father that kind of deference even though we all know in our bones that he doesn't deserve it! God, Margaret.

I love people like you who run in with a wrecking ball just absolute decimating all these characters that we know and love so that I can come in after in my little clown car with hot chocolate and blankets. I am a simple author. I know what my duty is here. And it's getting everybody laid by everybody else but ALSO giving them extreme amounts of aftercare and pillow nests ;v; We all share such a vital role in this ecosystem.

#and my role is to be very simple and i know this #my ramblings #long post

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remyfire · 8 months ago

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The canoe life truly is lonely, but alas it is the life I make for myself. And I think you're absolutely right about how and why there is such a variety of different ships here! The rules are different during a situation like war, and the broad cast of characters plus the variety of recurring characters means there are so many different ways to push people together and have it make sense. Like I once had a friend ask who my main Hawkeye ship was and my response was that I never totally understood the term "fandom bicycle" until him and I think that also has to do with that vibe of anything goes. There are so many characters he interacts with and has a connection with that like... why *not* test those limits a little bit, you know?

I'm glad you enjoy the Mulcahy thoughts! And yeah I think his faith helped him get through the war mentally intact, but war also opened his eyes to a lot of things, to the point where I feel like a big realization like that isn't far off once he gets home. From working with so many people from so many different walks of life, he learns to see the world in a broader sense than just his Catholic worldview, and I think that makes him ripe for an epiphany of sorts. And GOD how could I forget about Trapper's names too? Like it certainly seems like he came from a Catholic family even if he no longer believes it himself, and I'd like to know where his undoing came into play. I also think he deserved more screentime with Mulcahy, I think the two of them would have given us some very fun scenes.

YESSSS all the love in CAVE!!! I can't even coherently put into words everything I felt while watching that episode because GOD it was all so much in the best way possible. I honestly never would have even thought of jealousy until you just mentioned it, because BJ so clearly cares so deeply about them both! And just the thought that BJ brought Hawkeye the little cup of comfort because he knew his friend was struggling, and then the way Hawkeye passes it immediately to Margaret before getting it back because he helps others every chance he get and he knew she needed it too! That honestly got me directly through the heart, god, I love them. CAVE was also such a good episode for the furthering of Margaret's friendship with the rest of the camp, in my opinion. For the first several seasons she wanted to always be in control and had kind of a "better than you" mindset that made her very unpopular with everyone else at camp. But watching her evolve past that has been so lovely and deserved! She's wonderful, and I think she could have some great relationships with the rest of the camp if she just allowed herself to. And this episode showed that so well!

I did have the thought recently that this show honestly is so timeless. There are obviously things that date it, but so many of the attitudes and feelings just transcend time. It sucks that we understand the negatives of course, but it's also just fascinating that everything else kind of makes sense as well. I'm not sure if I'm wording this the best, but so much of it feels modern, you know? It's just as good now as it was in the 70s, and I think that's a really powerful thing to be able to do with media. The prevalence of online communities to be able to meet other fans just makes it all the better.

(And no worries! Definitely make sure you're taking care of yourself. I hope things get better for you soon!)

Truly my favorite thing is that Hawk is the perfect fandom bicycle not just because he has protagonist syndrome, which makes it easy for him to be the center of every web, but also that he just. Cannot keep his hands off, his mouth shut, and his desire to be bred silent. Buddy what are you doing. Writers what were you doing. It's fucking delightful. I need that man at the center of as many cuddle piles as possible.

You're gonna activate my Trap brain if you're not careful, oh dear. Just that one-off line, "My folks wanted me to become a priest." There's so much tucked in there for me. Clearly I'm not supposed to read too deeply into any of these one-liners, but it says a lot! He's got all those names. I would say that one of them is probably a confirmation name, but he's also got it attached to his initials to the point that it's on his footlocker, so maybe it's not! Maybe his parents slapped him with the full range of names. Does that mean he has another secret confirmation name? Why would he hold onto a confirmation name to the point that it's on his luggage? So many questions. Trapper I am opening your skull and peering inside. There is no escape.

And Margaret, dear Margaret. A friend of mine watched The Nurses for the first time the other day and it instantly made my mind flash forward to Temporary Duty and her conversation with BJ and Charles near the end of it. "Did you ever offer me a lousy cup of coffee?" to offering the coffee to someone herself to having it handed to her unrequested in CAVE. What a cute little unintentional through line that ended up being.

She's a character that I'm scared of letting myself dig too deeply into because I know she will inevitably take control of me and I will never escape hsfdf like I am so compelled by everything she does to try to get just one shred of respect, one ounce of control over her life over the course of the 1940s and '50s, and the pain she reckons with every day as she realizes that wresting the power out of the hands of others isn't necessarily the best way to find it. That's another epiphany I'd love to see, kind of related to what we've been talking about with Mulcahy and having to come to terms with the fact that his faith is causing irreparable colonizing harm. Would be nice to see Margaret recognize that she's been taught that the only way she can have respect and control over her life is if she kicks other people down under her feet, and...hmm...maybe the Army in fact taught her the bad way...

#if only if only etc #it's a shame we have to obliterate so many of the characters ourselves rather than letting the narrative do it for us #sorry kids i do have to rip your comfort out of your hands and make you suffer for a little while until you see another path #my ramblings

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remyfire · 2 years ago

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Her giggles come unbidden, brought about by an idle thought and hastened with the fizz of the seltzer in her singapore sling. She presses the cards to her face, nearly leaves lipstick stands on her full house before resurfacing. "Sorry, sorry, a funny thought just came to me," she explains through her chuckles. "Before we were going steady, Beej let me guess what his name meant and the very first name I tried, you'll never guess." She doesn't give them a chance to, giggles increasing as she leans over and squeezes Hawkeye's hand. "Benjamin John! How funny is it that in the end, I got a Benjamin and a John after all, hey?"

(this did actually happen in our DMs and it's before I had ever once mentioned Trap's or Hawk's birth names to Christina and I have the screencap to prove it and it's extremely funny. Anyway, this is a self-indulgent, plotless character study with fun, fluffy quad building, so THANK YOU)

The laughter, golden as sunshine, makes BJ smile before Peg says a word. In theory, they keep their hands to themselves when they're playing—there's a 50/50 chance that if any of the four around the table reaches for someone, there'll be claims of attempted cheating or fraternizing with the sole purpose of distraction—but he's tipsy enough that he can't stop himself from reaching to lightly cup her forearm, thumb brushing over her wrist.

He's still getting used to how natural it feels, having Hawk's foot resting on his own beneath the table. Hawk's got one of Peggy's silky robes tucked snug around his lean shoulders, one of Trap's tanks on under it. Beej hasn't made it easy on the man across from him since his late arrival to the house, but with just enough bourbon in his blood, he can even admit that the table doesn't feel right without Trapper's money being tossed into the pot.

He studies Trap's face, tracking the faint quirk of his brow as he considers his cards before finally raising the pot, and BJ files it away.

When he starts catching Peg's words again, he rolls his eyes affectionately. "Oh no," Beej murmurs, almost drowned beneath Hawk's sound of delight. It's an old story, but one he hadn't quite put the significance together about until today, and he chuckles as he studies his hand yet again. When Peg's chips join the pot, BJ chucks in his own.

"You're not serious?" Trap asks with a laugh of his own.

"It's not the first time she was a little psychic." BJ finally claims one of her hands and presses a kiss to the back of it. "Maybe one of the more regrettable times in the end, though—"

Trapper leans slightly over the table. "Y'know, Hunnicutt, if I didn't know better, I'd think I wasn't welcome here."

"Only took two months of living here rent-free before you started picking up on my tone," Beej drawls. "Impressive."

It really is a sign of how things are shifting that Trap just smirks, that for one of the first times in recent memory BJ is the one to break the contact instead of holding it in an adrenalizing game of dominance.

"It makes a weird kind of sense, doesn't it?" Hawk points out. He lazily rests his chin on his palm, the game briefly forgotten—now that they no longer have to play just to survive the long and aching hours of imprisonment, there's room for these languid chats. Erin's tucked in bed. They've got hours to kill yet, a whole weekend ahead of them, and only BJ's due in at the hospital late tomorrow night.

"What does?" BJ asks.

Hawk grins at him, eyes sparkling. "That you found her first." He gestures vaguely to him with his cards, glancing over at the other two. "Beej always takes first pot, the lucky bastard,"

The words warm something in his chest. There are nights like this when BJ can't even remember who 15-year-old him was, that kid with an aching hole in his chest, skittish in his family home, keeping his distance from anybody who wasn't on his athletic teams so he wouldn't lose his chance at college by getting distracted.

There's a lot that can be said about how he and Peggy Hayden collided in that high school drama class. He's not sure either of them will ever be able to truly plumb into the depths of how inextricably they tangled their sense of self around each other at such a young age, nor does he know how long it'll take for them to loosen their orbits until the sight of Peg looping her pinkie with Trap's as she leads him down the hallway to his bedroom no longer fills Beej with that primal desire to reclaim her.

But he's also not sure how that anxious, angry kid would've made it out alive if he hadn't had her light illuminating that long, dark path until he was forced to discover how to make his own without her.

Now, he knows he can. He could glow all on his own without her, without Erin, without Hawk.

He simply doesn't want to.

BJ gets lost in Peg's eyes as he rests their joined hands against his cheek to the tune of Hawk's chips joining the pot. "Maybe I took first. But we've all got a pretty equal share now, don't we?"

Just as the soft words leave his mouth, he catches that edge of her smirk, and he knows. He knows before she even puts down the full house.

As Hawk howls in irritation and Trap tosses his own hand down, BJ shakes his head with a heavy sigh. "Okay, fine, I take it back. She always wins everything in the end."

"But you love me," Peg teases, and Beej loops back into her orbit just for a taste of her lips before she starts gathering the chips for sorting.

"I do." He tucks her hair behind her ear, pleased as punch. "We all do."

"Son of a bitch," Trap murmurs as he gets to his feet. He grabs his empty glass, then Hawk's, stealing a quick kiss from him as he walks behind his chair. "You want another, Peg?"

"I'm good!" She all but wiggles in her seat as she stacks. "This is fun~"

"You say that every time, you cute, little hustler." Hawk leans across the table, and she meets him in the middle with a quick smooch of her own. He chases her when she tries to pull back, and as she squeals and grins against his mouth, BJ shakes his head and picks up his own empty glass.

He meets Trap by the bar, their arms brushing as Beej reaches for the bottle of bourbon.

"Hey." When Trap speaks, they lock eyes. Trapper leans into the counter, his body nearly cupping BJ's own. "What does it stand for, anyway?"

A month ago, he would've been inclined to tell him to go fuck himself. Maybe even a week ago. But something's different on his tongue tonight—something he blames entirely on the bourbon, nothing else.

So when BJ lets, "Anything you want," slip off his tongue, it's more fluid than the last time he said it. Looser. Sweeter. And as he departs the counter, he feels the faint tug at his shirt.

Instinctively, he twists out of Trap's loose grip, and the other man lets him go. As BJ backs up three slow steps, he lifts his brows in silent question. Trap doesn't fill the silence. Doesn't come after him either.

They watch each other, long and hard, before BJ disappears around the corner with an oddly fluttery heart.

#i had fun with this THANK YOU #satisfies myself with writing late late late late series stuff as bite-sized pieces while i wrestle with this behemoth of a chapter #mcpunnihawk #some things are evergreen #my writing

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angryhausfrau-writes · 4 years ago

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Something Old and Something New: Chapter 13 - The Morning After the Night Before

“Morning, Hawk.”

Hawkeye pulls him down for a kiss. “Good morning, Trapper.” They kiss again.

Seems like it's gonna be a pretty good morning, if Hawkeye's acting this affectionate. But first things first.

“I brang you a cup of coffee.” Trapper hands over the mug carefully, not wanting to dump hot coffee all over Hawkeye's lap. That'd really put a damper on the day.

Hawkeye puts the mug on the nightstand. Kisses Trapper again. Deeper, with more intent.

“Hmm. The room service at this hotel really is excellent.” Another kiss. “I'll have to stay here more often.”

And then Hawkeye's untying Trapper's robe and pushing it off his shoulders to pool on the floor. And Hawkeye's pulling Trapper into his lap, running his hands down Trapper's back, grabbing handfuls of his ass to pull them closer together. This time, it's Trapper who kisses Hawkeye.

“There's plenty of availability. I could book you in for the whole rest of your life, if you want.”

Hawkeye runs a hand through Trapper's hair. Smiles up at him so bright and warm. “I think I'd like that, Trap.”

Trapper kisses him deep and sweet. And when the kiss breaks, he rests his forehead against Hawkeye's. Breathes into the space between their bodies.

BJ wakes up to Trapper and Hawkeye eye fucking on the bed next to him. And if the way Hawkeye's kneading Trapper's ass, pulling him impossibly closer so they can rock together, is any indication – they're going to be actually fucking any minute now. BJ has no particular feelings about this. And neither does his hard on.

BJ shifts to a more comfortable position as Trapper reaches a hand down between his and Hawkeye's bodies. And he must make enough noise or a big enough movement that they notice. Because Trapper stills and Hawkeye's gaze snaps to BJ's face.

“I'm starting to notice a trend here, Beej,” Hawkeye teases, his pointed glance at BJ's hand on his cock – obvious even under the covers - enough to bring back all of last night.

BJ blushes and jerks his hand away from his crotch. “Sorry. Sorry. Let me clear out, give you some space...”

BJ tries to wrench himself out of bed while staying mostly covered by the sheets and looking around wildly for clothes that might belong to him.

“You don't gotta clear out,” Trapper says. And he lays a big hand on BJ's shoulder. BJ about leaps out of his skin. “Unless you wanna. But I kinda figured you and Hawkeye'd want this time together. That it oughtta be me clearing out.”

BJ gapes at him. That wasn't what he was expecting at all.

He says as much, prompting Hawkeye and Trapper to look at each other for a long moment.

“I think we need to talk about all this,” Hawkeye says, gesturing to encompass the bed and everyone in it.

BJ freezes like a deer in headlights.

“Not anything bad,” Hawkeye reassures him. “Just, I think we ought to set the record straight, so to speak. In the interests of emotional honesty and healthy relationships and all that jazz.”

Trapper settles back onto the bed. And BJ does not miss the warmth and grounding of his hand. Not at all.

“You been talking to Sidney, Hawk?”

“Nah, just thinking about what you were saying last night Trap. About BJ having a story in his head about how all of this was going to go.” Hawkeye pauses. “I had a story, too, I guess. And neither of them matched reality, so I think we should talk about it.”

Trapper shrugs. “I don't know that I had any kinda story in my head. Though I had kinda figured I'd come home and the two of you'd be fucking like rabbits. But I guess not everyone falls into bed as easy as me,” he looks a little rueful.

Hawkeye laughs. “You are pretty easy. But I guess that's what I mean. We all had different expectations about how this was going to work – and I think we should talk through it. Cuz I really want this to work out.”

“I want this to work, too,” BJ says, voice small.

“All right.” Trapper nods decisively. “But if I'm baring my soul, I wanna put on pants.”

“Do you think... do you think Peg ought to be part of this?” BJ sounds unsure – and this is why it's probably good to have this conversation, difficult as it is. Hawkeye doesn't want him going home sounding – feeling – like that.

“She is a pretty integral member of this little quartet,” Hawkeye says with a grin. “And I'm pretty sure she'd read us all the riot act if we didn't invite her.”

“I'll go put on another pot of coffee,” a now dressed Trapper offers.

And BJ doesn't know that he's going to be able to look at him and not see the version of him from last night - vulnerable, and on his knees, and loving it – superimposed over his cocky smirk, his broad shoulders. Fuck.

“I'm going to need to, uh, freshen up first.”

Hawkeye waves him regally towards the bathroom. “Knock yourself out.”

“There's Vaseline in the medicine cabinet,” Trapper adds helpfully. And BJ blushes hard enough he probably looks like a tomato.

Hawkeye laughs at both of them. And then shoos them out of the bedroom. “Scoot. Both of you. I'm finishing this cup of coffee in what counts for peace around here.” He holds up the mug. “And close the door after you!”

Trapper smiles fondly and complies. Then claps a hand on BJ's naked shoulder. “See you downstairs in a few.”

And if BJ rubs one out in Hawkeye and Trapper's bathroom to the sensation of Trapper's hands on his skin, and the sight of Hawkeye's warm, happy grin, that's not really anybody's business but his.

When Hawkeye makes his way downstairs – after finishing his coffee and the crossword from last night – Trapper has not only made another pot of coffee but what's probably a round dozen scrambled eggs, stacks of toast, and he's just transferring the last of a pan of bacon onto a paper towel.

“Oh, Trap.” Hawkeye comes up behind him, hugs him around his middle, tucks his nose into Trapper's t-shirt.

Trapper turns around in his arms. Hugs Hawkeye back. “I just. You know I ain't good with... with words. I needed to do something.”

Hawkeye cradles the back of Trapper's head, tucks him nice and safe into the join of his neck. “I know. And it's gonna be ok, Trapper. I promise.”

Trapper sniffs. “Yeah, I know.” And he pulls away, just enough to move his hands to Hawkeye's hips and to press a quick peck to his lips. “Now help me get all this shit to the table, huh?”

Hawkeye gives the base of Trapper's neck one last squeeze. “Sure Trap.”

“Well, this sure smells delicious,” Peg says when they're all gathered at the kitchen table, food dished out and coffee and orange juice poured. Because it feels like they're sitting on the precipice of something big – something important – and she wants to break the ice. But also, the food does smell delicious.

Trapper looks a little embarrassed. “Thanks. There may or may not be coffee cake in the oven for later.”

Hawkeye squeezes his knee under the table.

Trapper squeezes Hawkeye's knee in return. And that gives him the ability to start talking.

“I suppose you're wondering why I've called all of you here today.” Trapper gives him a look. “Ok, fine. I think we should all talk about yesterday and what we want out of the future and, and us.” Hawkeye gestures at the table at large.

At everyone's nod, he takes a deep breath and keeps going. “And since I'm the one bringing this up, I guess I'll go first. BJ, when you cut out after dinner, I felt like maybe you were having second thoughts about all this. Like you regretted it and, and just wanted to go back to Peg. To forget the whole thing.”

Another, deeper breath.

“I just... I would've liked to know what you were thinking, you know? How you felt about what we did. Instead of you just sobbing your heart out and then having sex with Peg. You could give a guy a real complex that way.” Hawkeye ends on a slightly bitter laugh and shoves another forkful of eggs into his mouth.

“Benjamin Joseph Hunnicutt! I cannot believe you!” Peg is practically standing on her chair to look him right in the eye, and BJ is in so much trouble.

“That's his name?” Hawkeye mouths to Trapper, who shrugs exaggeratedly.

“You told me you talked to Hawkeye! That the two of you understood each other. Jesus H Christ, BJ.”

“I did talk to him!” BJ protests. “I told him I loved him! What else is there to talk about?”

Peg and Trapper exchange incredulous looks.

Hawkeye gets up to fix himself more coffee. BJ can see the tense line of his back. The way his fists clench on the counter, on the handle of the coffee pot, on the back of his chair when he sits back down at the table. How his knuckles turn white on the handle of his coffee mug.

“Ok, ok. I can see that there's still more to talk about.” BJ runs a hand through his hair. “I guess I just felt really overwhelmed, after, you know? I didn't.. I still don't know what I'm doing. And with Peg, I know what to do. How to make her feel good, show her I love her, you know?”

“Sex,” Trapper mouths at Hawkeye.

“I got scared and it was easier to just run back to what was familiar.”

“Ah.” Hawkeye nods in acceptance. In relief. Because it's not him - he's not lacking somehow in BJ's estimation. It's just that BJ was feeling insecure. Which, that's pretty damn relatable. “Thank you for explaining. And I wouldn't judge you for, for lack of experience or anything. Just because I got most of my awkward fumbling out of the way as a teenager doesn't mean I don't remember what that was like. And we're all adults here, capable of communicating.”

Hawkeye ends on a firm note, like he can will it into existence just by saying it. And Trapper is a little skeptical of that. But it's worth working towards. So.

“I think we oughtta talk about the sex part some more. Cuz it's not that I, uh, didn't have a nice time last night. But it kinda got sprung on all of us – and I think we oughtta talk about, I dunno, expectations and stuff.”

Peg raises an eyebrow at BJ. And he must not have told her about his nocturnal wanderings. Great.

“Yeah, we probably should,” Hawkeye says. With a glance at Trapper that means he knows what Trapper's getting at. That they should talk about the whole deal with BJ thinking he was gonna be some kinda Prince Charming – some kinda savior to Hawkeye.

But before they can get into that whole can of worms, BJ speaks up. “See, that drives me absolutely crazy. Since we're being all honest with each other and everything. How the two of you just talk to each other like that with no words, so no one else knows what the hell you're saying to one another.” He's getting real worked up, and Peg surreptitiously slides the butter dish out of the way of his fist as it slams on the table. “Communicating like adults, my butt.”

Trapper glances to Hawkeye again, which probably doesn't help BJ's temper any. But Hawkeye knows BJ better, knows how to deal with him better. Except it don't seem like Hawkeye's gonna jump in anytime soon. Ain't sure how to handle this. So it's up to Trapper to try and explain.

“Look, BJ. We ain't trying to exclude you or nothing. It's just that me and Hawkeye lived together for a while now and we know each other pretty good because of it.”

That might be a slight understatement, if he's being honest. But BJ's pissed and Trapper don't wanna get him any more jealous and angry than he is.

“You and Hawkeye do it too, dear,” Peg pipes up. She's mostly been a silent observer through all of this, eating one of the more awkward breakfasts of her life. But, honestly.

“We do?”

“Yes, dear, you do. The two of you touch constantly. It's like... it's like you have your own little code worked out just in elbowing each other.”

They're, well, they're pretty fucking obvious. Peg is a little surprised it took BJ as long as it did to realize he was in capital-L love with Hawkeye. But he's always been pretty terrible at self reflection.

“There's no call to be, to be jealous or anything,” Hawkeye says, finally. “Just because Trapper and I are close doesn't mean you and I aren't. It's not a competition.”

BJ doesn't look like he really believes that. And that's his own deal. But, that don't mean that the judicious application of truth won't help.

So Trapper is quick to follow that up with, “And I never really got why you were jealous of me, anyway. Hawkeye's been gone on you since the day you met.”

“Really?” BJ blinks in surprise. He'd been under the impression that Trapper's leaving had more than overshadowed his arrival in Korea. Had hated Trapper's guts even more because of it. “Regardless, I had plenty of reason to be jealous of the amazing Trapper John McIntyre. You were all everyone talked about when I showed up to the 4077. Trapper John and his amazing pranks and his amazing surgery and his amazing body.” He pitches his voice into one of comical fawning adoration. It's a fairly good rendition of old Ferret Face when talking about the military industrial complex, if BJ says so himself.

Hawkeye laughs. “Who was talking about that?”

“Did Margaret get drunk again?”

“Maybe it was Ginger, the two of you got along pretty well,” Hawkeye says with a lecherous eyebrow waggle.

And BJ really doesn't need to hear any more about Trapper's legendary prowess with the nurses. “Ok, ok, maybe I made that last part up.” Although Hawkeye had been pretty fond of reminiscing about his handsome, muscular tent-mate when he got drunk enough. “But the rest still stands. I was, I felt like I was just your replacement. Trapper version two. Everyone compared me to you – and I never felt like I measured up.”

Peg squeezes his hand in reassurance. And BJ takes a breath.

“But even more than that, I felt like... I felt like you got there first. Like you got to know parts of Hawkeye I can't know – that I can only hear about in stories. And I'm jealous that you get to know those parts of him.”

And, ok. That's a lot. A lot of stuff Trapper can't really do nothing about, since it's the past and he wasn't even there. But.

“You know parts of him that I don't know, too, BJ. Like. Like at the end, for the real bad shit. You were there for that.”

“We don't. We don't really talk about the war that much. The bad stuff, anyway,” Hawkeye says quietly. Trapper puts a comforting hand on Hawkeye's shoulder. And he unashamedly leans into it. “But it changed us – all of us – right down to our bones. And you've seen parts of me that Trapper never has. Just like he's seen parts of me you haven't. It doesn't make one more or less meaningful, I don't think.”

Peg speaks up again. A little hesitant about butting in at this emotional moment. But there's things she needs to say now. “There's parts of you I can never know, BJ. As much as, as much as you wanted to come home and pick your life right back up where you left it, you changed. I changed. We all changed. And Hawkeye knows the ways you changed, what it was that changed you, in a way I can never know.”

“Oh, Peg.” BJ sounds anguished and she takes his hand, trying to offer comfort.

“It's not a bad thing, BJ. It's just how it is – I wasn't there, I didn't experience what you went through. All I can do is listen and try to understand. But I can't know, not like Hawkeye can.”

Trapper shifts a little uncomfortably. This is all hitting kinda close to home, the whole deal about you changing and your wife changing and your kids changing. The war changing you.

And he's honestly glad that BJ and Peg are making things work. Including the whole BJ also being in love with Hawkeye part – which would not have flown with Louise at all – even if it is unconventional. They deserve to be happy. To have a nice, abnormal, happy life with their kids and their dog and their white picket fence. But it's kinda a relief when the timer goes off on the coffee cake and he can escape to the kitchen to go deal with that for a while.

When he comes back to the table, they've all moved on to talking about sex again, which is a topic Trapper is much better equipped to deal with.

“So,” Peg is saying, “all three of you had sex together?”

BJ nods. Although he's not really sure that it counts as them all having sex together since it had been Trapper getting him and Hawkeye off and then getting off with Hawkeye separately.

Peg raises an eyebrow at BJ's response. She's genuinely surprised that BJ would even stand to be in the same room as Trapper, much less have sex with him.

“We, uh. I walked in on them,” BJ says with a blush. “And they didn't, uh, they didn't kick me out.”

“Aw, who could kick you out?” Hawkeye asks, and pinches BJ's cheek exaggeratedly. “Besides, Trapper was right when he insinuated I wouldn't mind jumping your bones. Or having you jump mine.”

“Speaking of Trapper,” Peg says, guiding them back to the more prescient topic in her mind. Because she really doesn't want the elephant in the room, so to speak, coming back to bite them all later. “Where does he fit in all of this? Because my understanding was that BJ and Hawkeye were an item and Trapper and Hawkeye were an item, but not all three of you at once.”

Trapper shrugs. “I don't really mind either way. But I gotta say, BJ, I think we oughtta set the record straight about what exactly kinda relationship you think Hawkeye and I have. Especially if the two of us are gonna fuck.”

BJ blushes. And it ain't real clear if it's from embarrassment or something else. “I know I was wrong about how you, how you and Hawkeye are. How you treat Hawkeye. It's just that, uh, you're really... manly, ok? Just stupidly movie-star handsome. Cocky. A real tom-cat. And everyone at the 4077 talked about how much you slept around with all the nurses – while you were sleeping with Hawkeye, apparently. And Hawkeye deserves better than that!”

“Oh, BJ. That's very sweet.” Hawkeye lays a hand on his arm. “And I absolutely deserve men falling at my feet. Worshiping me a la Helen of Troy.”

Peg thinks that's a particularly telling metaphor, given that Helen had been whisked away from her husband by Paris when he'd been staying at her home, under the geas of hospitality. She can only hope that this little visit doesn't launch a decades long war. Because it's obvious that they won't be able to resolve everything today – there's just too much baggage to be cleared up with a single conversation.

It does bode well that they're talking things through, though.

“But,” Hawkeye continues, “Trapper and I both knew that Korea wasn't – couldn't – be more than a fling.”

“I was married, for Chrissakes.” And not to a woman as understanding as Peg Hunnicutt.

“And I was going to go home to Crabapple Cove and get married and take over my dad's practice and have a bunch of kids and a white picket fence. There was no room for anything but friendship and, and a fun romp.”

“And it was an awful lotta fun.” Trapper's smirk could best be described as lethal.

And BJ just doesn't understand. “You didn't think. I mean, you knew it wasn't going to be forever? And you still slept together?” Why?

“Yeah.” Trapper shrugs. “I mean, the sex was good. Why wouldn't we?”

“I know you didn't really go in for casual sex, Beej, but it was a way to feel alive in the middle of the horror and death and, and just plain misery. A way to stay sane.” Hawkeye's tone is plaintive. And BJ doesn't know if it's because of the memories this conversation is bringing up or because he wants BJ to understand.

But BJ cannot understand. “So that makes it ok? That Trapper slept around on you? That Trapper cheated on his wife?”

“Look, I ain't proud of cheating on Louise. It was shitty of me to do. But what? You want me to do penance? I've done that. Said a whole chorus of Ave Marias. Apologized to her. Gotten a fucking divorce cuz I couldn't, cuz I couldn't find a way to reach back out to her after I got home.”

Trapper takes a breath. Settles down from the pitched intensity he'd reached. Continues, calmer. “But if you want me to regret it. If you want me to agonize over it – I can't. Cuz it's in the past and there's nothing I can do to change it.”

BJ doesn't know what to say in response to that. Can't imagine what it's like not to agonize over every mistake. Over his infidelity. His betrayal of his wife's trust.

His wife who's laying a gentle hand on BJ's arm. “I know you're in things for the long haul, BJ. That when you love someone you love them wholly and completely. That's why, well, that's why I was so ok with all of this, I think. I know that just because you love Hawkeye that way doesn't mean you love me any less.”

BJ nods. He loves her so, so much.

“But not everyone is like that, Beej. I've had plenty of sex with people I didn't particularly care about – or even know the name of. And obviously this is different. This is love. And I'm glad I get to have this with you – with both of you. But that doesn't make me regret the other kind of sex, or think it's bad or anything.”

“I don't – I can't agree with that,” BJ says quietly. “But I'm glad to know that this is different. That it means something. That it's not just a, a fling. A sordid affair.”

Hawkeye takes BJ's hand. “Nothing sordid about it, Beej.” And then, with a flamboyant clasp of BJ's hand to his chest, exclaims, “I'm ready for you to make an honest woman out of me.”

And that breaks the tension pretty well. So Peg takes BJ's other hand and they sit there for a while in comfortable understanding.

“So I'm pretty sure that means you don't wanna fuck me,” Trapper says, after what he figures is a reasonable interval for sentimentality. “Cuz of us not being in love and all.”

Which is fine. Trapper doesn't particularly care. He just wants all this hashed out in a way that everyone can live with.

And for Hawkeye to hopefully get his rocks off with BJ sometime in the near future. Cuz otherwise, it's kinda a wasted trip.

BJ blushes. Because the thing is, is that he actually kind of does want to fuck Trapper.

He's, well, he's hot, ok. Trapper's objectively attractive. Seeing him naked, feeling his hand on your naked skin – that would get anyone a little hot under the collar. BJ's only human.

And there's the other part of this, too. “You'd, um, you'd be ok with me being the one to... lead, so to speak?”

Trapper laughs. “You mean, am I ok with taking it up the ass?” He shrugs. “I figured you'd prefer it to the other way around.”

“And if you ever do want to try it the other way,” Hawkeye says, “you'll probably want to start out on a beginner model. Work your way up.”

Peg arches a single, elegant eyebrow.

And Trapper shrugs nonchalantly. Like he's saying, “Yeah, my dicks huge. What can you do.”

And Jesus Christ. Is everything about him built just to bring out BJ's insecurities? Apparently yes.

But back to the matter at hand. “It's just. You don't really seem like the type to, uh...”

Trapper sighs. Cuz they're back at this thing again. “Look, I know you got some kinda idea that – how do I say this – that I'm the man and Hawkeye's the woman and that, that I gotta be the one in charge cuz of it. That I can't want to be, or enjoy being, the one “following.” Like it would be... like it would be too queer.” Trapper laughs a little bitterly. “Well, I got some news for you on that front.”

And ok. That's fair. Walking in on a guy with another man's cock in his mouth doesn't really leave a lot of room for ambiguity. But it's just that, “Hawkeye's always, um, making jokes about being a wife or getting pregnant or that kind of thing. So I thought...”

“We were all like that?” Hawkeye teases. “Fey and flamboyant and feminine?”

And sure, if Hawkeye's literally his only frame of reference, Trapper can see how he'd figure that.

Hawkeye raises an exceptionally camp hand to his chest. “While I admit that I prefer to be on the receiving end, shall we say, that doesn't mean I don't like it the other way, too. I like a little variety. I wouldn't want to be boring.”

Peg laughs. “I don't think anyone can accuse you of that.”

Hawkeye grins at her. “You are a very astute woman, Mrs. Hunnicutt. Which is why I have one final question.” Because all the heavy, difficult stuff has been worked through well enough and they can afford to lighten the mood a little. “How did you figure out BJ's real name? He refuses to tell me and it's been driving me nuts!”

Peg leans in and lowers her voice conspiratorially. “You know, we've been married for years and he won't tell me either. So I've just been making some up whenever I need to full name him.”

Hawkeye leans back expansively in his seat and grins pointedly at BJ. “Making names up, huh? What an excellent idea.”

And BJ foresees months of letters addressed to Beelzebub Jehoshaphat or similar. He smiles despite himself. And it probably looks ridiculously sappy, but he can't find it in himself to mind.

While Hawkeye and BJ are having a moment, Trapper clears all the breakfast dishes and brings out the coffee cake. And, cuz they're prolly all talked out about the difficult, emotional shit, he herds them all out to the living room where it's a little more open and spread out. Though he still ends up crammed onto the couch with the other three, Hawkeye half in his lap and half draped over BJ, who's trying very hard not to elbow Peg in the face as he eats.

And he wouldn't say it's comfortable. Not yet. But it feels like maybe it could get to be that way.

#mash #something old and something new #chapter 13 #the polycule eats breakfast #and talks through a lot of shit #COMMUNICATION #they're bad at it #but they're trying

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the--blackdahlia · 4 years ago

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The General’s Daughter Chapter 5

Title: The General’s Daughter Chapter 5

Summary: Stevie Holstead was enjoying her time at a hospital in Seoul. She was there with friends, even with the ever-watching eyes of her father watching her. That was until Margaret Houlihan decided she needed help with the nurses. Now Stevie is heading to the 4077th, and a whole lot of adventure that she never thought she would see in her lifetime.

Series Warnings: Language, violence, war themes, later attempted non-con, sexual themes, later sexual scene, crude humor, and more that might come to mind later on.

AN: Thank you to @piratewithvigor and @jaxl-road for putting up with my never ending ideas, no matter how stupid they are. Anyway, here’s a new chapter. And there is a song linked later on. :)

Taglist: @traceyaudette

Two months later

The first thing Hawkeye thought when he woke up was "why does my head hurt?". He groaned as he pulled himself from his turned over Jeep. He had been coming back from an aid station, filling in for a few brief hours to perform a surgery that needed to be done before the soldier could be transported to an evac hospital or a MASH unit. He had swerved to miss some kids who were playing in the road, because the road was safer than playing in the field by their house.

He had left Stevie behind at the 4077th, to “keep Trapper and BJ in line” before he had rushed out. He took his role as chief surgeon seriously when there were actual lives on the line, and when he knew it would piss Frank off to no end. He didn’t want an award for going to the aid station, like Frank would’ve. And now, here he was, laying on the side of a road, his jeep overturned, his head throbbing and he couldn’t get his thoughts together.

And suddenly, the kids that he had tried to avoid were dragging him into a hut to their parents. He was dizzy, he was tired, and he really just wanted to get back home. But, instead, Hawkeye just went with it, letting them lead him into the hut. He was too tired to fight.

****

“Where is he?” Stevie asked as she paced Radar’s office, looking up at the clock above the door. BJ and Trapper were sitting on Radar’s bed, watching her pace, while the clerk worked on the phones. She hadn’t been too fond of Hawkeye going to the aid station alone. She had tried to convince Henry that they needed a scrub nurse too, but he just wouldn’t send her. And now he was almost two hours past the time he was supposed to be back, and no one had heard from him.

“Stevie, sit down or something,” Trapper told her. “You’re making me seasick just watching you. Just relax.”

“How can I relax?” Stevie asked, turning to stare at the two surgeons. “We’re in the middle of a war, and Hawkeye’s missing!”

“He’s just fine Stevie. It’s Hawkeye. He’s always fine.” BJ told her, hoping to try to calm her down some. When he saw she wasn’t going to sit down, he stood up and wrapped his arms around her for a tight hug. He glanced over at Trapper when he heard her crying against his chest. Neither of them had seen Stevie cry before. They knew this was serious.

“What if he’s not?” Stevie whispered.

“He is. He’s got to be,” BJ told her, holding her close.

****

Hawkeye, through his scrambled mind and double vision, had managed to write out a note the best he could and gave it to one of the kids to deliver to the MASH unit in Uijeongbu. He had had faith, until the father questioned his pronunciation and suddenly, Hawkeye wasn’t sure if he had said the right place or not. He was in this hut, not sure where he was, with a family that looked at him like he was crazy and couldn’t understand a word of what he was saying. He would’ve given anything to have Stevie with him right then. He had heard her speak a little Korean before. He was sure that she would know what to say to this family. But, instead, he had done everything from singing and dancing to poetry in hopes of keeping himself awake and offering them some entertainment. He ran his fingers through his hair, like he always did when he was nervous, and they came away red.

“You know, I gotta get home,” Hawkeye told them as he walked around, rambling. “There’s a girl back there at camp. She’s got eyes that rival the bluest sky. And golden hair that almost glows when the sun hits it just right. She’s the sweetest girl I’ve ever met. Always willing to help, not hurt. And I really like her.” He knew that his rambles sounded like gibberish to them. They were just trying to go about their daily lives with this raving madman in their living room. In fact, they were probably wondering why they had let their kids bring him in in the first place. “Actually, somedays I think I more than like her, you know?”

He watched for their reactions, but nothing really changed. Hawkeye sighed and went to examine himself in the small mirror on the wall again.

“I make it out of this, I’m going to finally talk to her. I promise.”

****

Stevie was reading over a patient’s chart in post op, hoping to try to distract herself. BJ and Trapper were discussing a patient, while also keeping an eye on Stevie. They were worried about her and Hawkeye.

“Guys! This girl just brought this note to me!” Radar called out as he pushed open the doors to post op and ran in. “It’s from Hawkeye!” Stevie’s eyes snapped up from the chart she was reading as BJ took the note from Radar to read over it.

“He’s only a couple miles from here!” BJ announced, already heading for the door. “Radar, get a jeep and let’s go!”

“I’m going too,” Stevie told him, hanging up the chart and going to follow him. BJ shook his head, making Stevie frown.

“Stay here with Trapper.” BJ told her. She was about to argue, he could tell, but put up a hand to stop her. “Hawkeye would kill me if something happened to you while we went to get him. Just get ready for him, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” Stevie nodded. “Just hurry up.” BJ kissed her cheek before he ran out of post op to the jeep Radar was waiting with. It was time to bring Hawkeye home.

It was only about twenty minutes later, but it felt much longer, when the Jeep finally showed back up at camp. BJ helped Hawkeye out of the jeep and into the hospital to examine him. Stevie gasped at the bruises on his face and the blood dripping down the side. He offered her a small smile of reassurance as BJ sat him on a chair in the lab. Stevie stood in the doorway while BJ looked him over to make sure everything was still functioning. BJ could feel he was being watched though, and once he was sure that Hawkeye wasn’t going to fall over and die, he stepped back.

“I have some things I need to do,” He told them. “Can you bandage him up?” He knew Stevie and Hawkeye needed to talk.

“Yeah,” Stevie nodded, gathering the supplies. BJ left as Stevie started gently fixing Hawkeye up. “You know, if you wanted to get out of Post-Op duty, all you had to do was ask.” Stevie told him. He hissed a little as she cleaned the blood off of him. “Sorry Hawk.”

“It’s ok,” He watched her for a bit. “Hey Stevie?”

“Yeah?” She asked, working on bandaging him.

“You know how when you’re about to die and your life flashes before your eyes?” Hawkeye asked, watching her.

“You’re not dying Hawkeye,” Stevie put the last bandage on his head and went to clean up everything.

“Out there, I thought I was,” Hawkeye explained. “And the whole time, I wasn’t thinking of my dad, or Maine, or anything else. I was thinking of you.” Stevie froze and slowly turned to look at Hawkeye. “All I could think of was your beautiful smile, or your gorgeous eyes, or the way you hold yourself in surgery.”

“Hawk, you don’t mean that...” Stevie told him.

“I do,” He gently took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I think I’ve liked you since the day you stepped foot in this cesspool. But I knew for sure I liked you when you fell asleep on me during King Kong.”

“Hawkeye…” Stevie stepped closer to him. He reached up and cupped her cheek, brushing a calloused thumb in circles on her soft skin. “I think I’ve liked you the whole time too.” A smile spread on Hawkeye’s face as he leaned in and kissed her.

BJ walked in with Trapper and Radar right behind him, to check on them, and found the pair in a passionate lip lock. BJ and Trapper looked at each other with a smile while Radar’s eyes were wide.

“Let’s leave them alone,” BJ said. Him and Trapper stepped out, but Radar loitered for a bit before Trapper grabbed him and pulled him out with them.

****

To Stevie’s instance, Hawkeye went back to the Swamp to take a nap. A much needed one after the day's events. He woke up a little confused at first, expecting to see Stevie waiting for him, but instead, he saw Trapper reading a magazine.

“Well, well, well, the mummy lives,” Trapper closed his magazine and leaned forward. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I was in a Jeep accident,” He groaned. “Where’s Stevie?”

“She’s helping in Post-OP with BJ and Lt. Dunn,” Trapper told him. “We took turns making sure you were okay though. And she’d still be here if Margaret and Frank didn’t force her to leave.”

“Remind me to send them a fruit basket of pear grenades,” Hawkeye sighed.

“So, wanna talk about what we all saw earlier?” Trapper asked. Hawkeye looked over at him.

“What did you see?” He asked. Trapper smiled.

“You two finally did what we’ve been trying to get you two to do for at least a month now,” Trapper couldn’t shake the smile on his face. Hawkeye returned the smile.

"Yeah, we finally did," Hawkeye nodded.

****

Over the next few months, Stevie and Hawkeye were always together. Margaret made sure Stevie was always assigned to another doctor when it came time to operate, but even when they were on separate ends of the OR, Hawkeye still managed to flirt with her. It was obnoxious and annoying, but honestly, it warmed so many hearts to see them so happy.

One rare, quiet day found the pair lounging in Stevie’s tent. She was smiling as she read a letter from Michael, talking about how much he loved Japan and even including a photo booth image of him and Izzy.

"What are you giggling about?" Hawkeye smiled up at her from where he was laying with his head in her lap.

"I got a letter from Michael," she told him. "Him and Izzy love Japan. They're even talking about staying once their military career is over." She held up the picture so Hawkeye could see.

"Ah, so this is the famous Izzy," He took the photo to examine it. "He's so short."

"What does that make me?" Stevie asked, pouting a little.

"Fun size," Hawkeye laughed. Stevie shook her head, but leaned down and kissed him before settling back.

"Well Mr. Funny Man, what are you reading?"

"Letter from my dad," Hawkeye told her proudly. "He says hi and he can't wait to meet you."

“Wait, you’ve told your dad about me?” Stevie asked.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?” Hawkeye asked. Stevie was quiet and Hawkeye turned his head to look up at her. “Sweetie, are you okay?”

“I...don’t be mad,” She told him. “But I haven’t quite told my dad yet.” Hawkeye could tell that she was upset, so he sat up and cupped her face.

“It’s okay Stevie,” He told her. “You told me how your dad acted when he thought you were dating Michael. I don’t blame you for being nervous about it.”

“I’m sorry, I just know that he’ll throw a fit,” Stevie sighed. Hawkeye was about to lean in to kiss her when there was a knock on the door. Hawkeye rested his forehead against hers.

"Im gonna kill him," he whispered.

"What is it Radar?" Stevie asked, pulling away from Hawkeye to look at the door. She just knew it was Radar, and Hawkeye sometimes wondered if they were related and shared the same almost psychic abilities.

"Uh sirs, I mean sir and ma'am, I mean…" Radar was flustered and it made Stevie smile. "Colonel Blake wanted me to let you know that we have a visitor coming in. A general Samuel Holstead."

And there went Stevie’s smile.

"When Radar?" Hawkeye asked, seeing the blank stare on Stevie’s face.

"When what?"

"When is he supposed to be here?"

"Oh uh a few hours I guess. He didn't really say."

"Okay thank you," Hawkeye turned his attention to Stevie as Radar walked away from the door. "Hey, it's ok."

"He's going to try to get me to go back to Seoul," She told Hawkeye. "I just know it. He’s going to pull some damn strings of his and make me go back."

"Come on, let's go grab some food. You'll be so worried about what's on the plate you'll forget about that for a bit." He smiled and took her hand, leading her towards the mess tent.

"Hawkeye, I'm too nervous to eat," Stevie told him. He turned towards her and tilted her head up to look at him.

"It's all going to be okay," he told her, leaning down to place a kiss on her lips.

And that's when a Jeep sounded it's horn behind them. Stevie slowly turned around to look. And her fears were shown when none other than General Samuel Holstead was sitting in the Jeep with a Corporal Stevie knew as Gilby.

"Uh, general dad sir, I mean general Holstead," Stevie saluted him, and Hawkeye just waved.

"Captain, who is this?" Samuel asked, staring at the two behind his dark sunglasses.

"This is Captain Pierce, one of the surgeons." Stevie explained. Samuel directed all his staring to Hawkeye.

"Ah Captain Pierce. I've heard a lot about you. Disobedient, insubordinate…"

"Aw I'm so glad my qualities are being noticed," Hawkeye smirked.

"But you're a damn good doctor from what I’ve heard." Samuel added. He turned his gaze away from Hawkeye back to Stevie. "Captain Holstead?"

"Y-yes sir?"

"We need to talk. Alone."

****

Henry’s office was commandeered by Samuel as he marched into the hospital with Stevie. Henry had been in the middle of tying a new lure when the general came in and Henry had to make himself scarce. He waited in Radar’s office with him, and it just so happened that BJ and Trapper were passing through from post-op duty and decided to loiter around, and Hawkeye was waiting to send a telegraph to no one in particular.

"I agreed to send you away so you'd get over Sgt. McKagan!" Samuel yelled, easily being able to be heard through the doors.

"There was nothing between me and Michael!" Stevie yelled. “He was like a brother to me!”

"And now you're doing god knows what with him!"

"Hawkeye is a great guy dad!" Stevie defended.

"You two are in a war together! You see each other every day! It’s a relationship of convenience! But he’s just like any other GI. Once you get home and go your separate ways, you'll just be a fond memory when he's 50 or 60 that his wife won’t understand. I should know!"

"He's nothing like you!"

"That's your mother speaking right there!"

"I love him dad! And nothing is going to change that!"

Everyone in the office turned to look at Hawkeye, who had a satisfied smile on his face. But it didn't last long when the doors to Henry’s office burst open and Stevie came marching out.

"I'm not done with you!" Samuel yelled. Hawkeye didn't even stop to listen to Samuel's half-hearted apologies to Henry as Stevie ran from the office. He followed after Stevie.

"Stevie!" Hawkeye called out.

"Leave me alone!" Stevie cried. Hawkeye jogged to get in front of her and gently grabbed her arms to stop her.

"Stevie, it's ok," Hawkeye told her. Stevie sniffled.

"How much did you hear?" Stevie asked.

"Enough," Hawkeye told her. "Stevie, I love you too."

"Wait, what?" She looked up at him.

"I love you Stevie. I wanted to tell you, but I didn't want to scare you off, "

"Hawkeye…" she buried herself in his chest, making him smile. "I love you."

"Hey, why don't we go borrow one of Radar's animals and go curl up someplace. I know how much the guinea pigs make you smile."

"That sounds good," Stevie sniffled. Hawkeye and her headed over to Radar's animals and Stevie picked up Babette. "Should we leave a note?"

"Hmm," Hawkeye took the pen he had in his pocket, a piece of newspaper from the ground and wrote "gone to cheer up a friend. Be back before dinner" and tucked it into her cage.

With that, the three headed back to the Swamp, where BJ and Trapper were waiting, ready to cheer her up.

****

"Blake, do you have kids?" Samuel asked as he paced Henry’s office.

"Yeah but not Stevie’s age," Henry told him. Samuel sighed.

"I guess I'm going to be pulling rank," he told him. "I'll just make her go back to Seoul."

"But sir, she's our most competent nurse outside of Major Houlihan! And she's almost as good of a surgeon as ours!"

"I don't care," Samuel told him. Henry was about to argue when Radar opened the door.

"Uh, sir?" Radar spoke up.

"What is it Radar?" Henry asked.

"Choppers," he said before quickly leaving. Not long after was the announcement about wounded arriving.

"Guess you can see how much we need Stevie," Henry told Samuel before rushing out of his office.

#the generals daughter #mash #fanfiction #guns n roses #hawkeye pierce

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angryhausfrau-writes · 4 years ago

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Something Old and Something New: Chapter 11 - Pas de Deux

Peg comes down to breakfast – well it's more like brunch at this point - that next morning sans BJ. He'd stumbled in quite late last night. Or early this morning, if you want to split hairs. And even without a night of partying under his belt, he likes to sleep in.

So Peg has resigned herself to eating alone and then maybe reading the newspaper in the lovely little armchair next to the bay window in their hotel room. But then she spies Hawkeye and Trapper sitting at one of the little breakfast tables in the lobby.

Trapper takes the bite of French toast Hawkeye offers off his fork. “It's not as good as your dad's,” he says, after some consideration. “But it's still pretty good. Here, try my eggs Benedict.” Trapper holds out his own fork.

“Mmmm, that is good, Trap. I should have ordered something savory.”

“Here, you can have my sausage.” Trapper tips them onto Hawkeye's plate with a leer.

A leer Hawkeye returns.

“Am I interrupting if I join you gentlemen?” Peg asks. She'll butt out if they want, but she hopes they won't want her to. It's no fun to eat alone.

“Peg! Please, sit down.” Hawkeye's greeting is enthusiastic, and Trapper is getting up to pull out a chair for her.

“Are Margaret and Kat joining us? Or are they still sleeping in?”

Trapper and Hawkeye share a glance.

“The gals are off at some fancy spa deal with Honoria,” Trapper supplies. And Peg gets the feeling that that's only part of the story. But she won't pry into their private affairs.

“Speaking of plus ones, is BJ going to be joining us?”

“Oh, no,” Peg says with a laugh. “He's still recovering from last night – I don't expect to see him till at least one.”

“He always did like to sleep in on the weekends,” Hawkeye comments.

“And the week days too, I'm sure,” Peg chimes in.

“Yeah, those too. BJ used to read me the riot act every day for waking him up for morning rounds. Finally, Potter switched him to afternoon rounds just to get some peace around the place.”

Hawkeye pauses.

“Of course, that meant Charles had morning rounds, and he bellyached plenty for two people.”

“Charles? Complaining about something?” Trapper asks, pretending shock. “Never.”

Hawkeye laughs. “You're lucky you didn't know him back then, Trap. He's mellowed a surprising amount since Korea.”

“Yeah, I figure we all have.” Trapper sighs. “I know I wasn't at my best back then. And, God knows, neither were you.”

“Wow, thanks Trapper.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

Hawkeye looks at Trapper all soft and understanding. “Yeah, I do know what you mean.”

Peg clears her throat gently and both Hawkeye and Trapper's attention snaps back to her. “Was. Was BJ really so bad as all that, back in Korea? In terms of, I don't know, getting worked up about things?”

Hawkeye sighs. “I won't pretend that we didn't fight a whole bunch. But he never went off the deep end or anything.”

Not like Hawkeye himself had.

“Cuz of you and Erin, I think. He knew he'd get to come home to you both and I think that kept him from falling too far down, you know? Though there were days knowing the two of you were back stateside and he was stuck in Korea pushed him over the edge pretty good.”

Hawkeye knocks his shoulder into Trapper's.

“Remember when you got loaded and were going to run away back to Boston?”

Trapper shrugs. “Sure. And then you distracted me with old Ferret Face and stole my duffel bag. It was a dirty move, Hawk. I was so proud – once I'd sobered up.”

“Yeah, well BJ got a hare like that. He got real sloshed and mad as all hell that Radar got to go home.”

“You mean when his uncle Ed died and he went home on a bereavement ticket?” Trapper asks, scandalized. Sure they gave Radar a lot of shit, but he's family.

“Yeah. It, uh, it wasn't his proudest moment.”

Peg rejoins with, “No, that would be when he ran Major Burns's underwear up the flagpole.”

Hawkeye and Trapper raise their coffee cups in a silent salute.

“Anyway, he and Max were both pissed – in both senses of the word – and BJ was going to go AWOL. I tried to stop him, but with no ferretty distractions, I couldn't steal his bag. And he, uh, he really took it out on the still.”

And Peg has a feeling there's more to that story, too. But he'd apparently rather not get into the gritty details in public. Which, fair enough.

“Prolly the single greatest tragedy of the Korean war right there,” Trapper quips.

Hawkeye nods solemnly. “It truly was. I spent a whole twenty-four hours sober while we built a new one.”

He pauses.

“Though at least BJ stopped glaring over at it all the time. I was getting kind of sick of that, I'm not going to lie.”

Ah. Right. Because the still was something Hawkeye made with Trapper – a sign that Trapper had been there first.

“He's been working on that, lately,” Peg assures. “The jealousy of inanimate objects thing.”

“Sure,” says Trapper.

Hawkeye elbows him.

“Look, Peg. Regardless of BJ's newfound equanimity around glassware, I was planning on being out and about most of the day. Give him and Hawkeye a chance to catch up.”

She nods. “That's not a bad idea. I know BJ's been really looking forward to having a chance to talk, just the two of them.”

Hawkeye is now sporting a sort of deer in the headlights look. “What, is he breaking up with me?”

Trapper snorts. Kinda the opposite actually.

Peg gasps dramatically. “Never! Hawkeye, you're an absolute keeper.”

Hawkeye grins and blushes, a little shy suddenly. Peg's really nice. He can see why BJ's so fucking gone on her.

“Well, Peg, if you want someone to show you the sights, I'm more than willing. Assuming BJ don't mind us stepping out together.”

Peg laughs. “Depends where we're stepping, I'd imagine.”

“Don't worry. Cuz of having kids, the only places I know are museums and historical sites and other educational type stuff.”

“The botanical gardens are really nice,” Hawkeye supplies.

“I wouldn't know,” Trapper sniffs. “I never got to go.”

Hawkeye throws his hands up in exasperation. “Fine! Next time Charles gets married and asks us to help him find a suitable bride, you can go to the botanical gardens.”

“Thank you.”

Peg laughs at them. “I think the botanical gardens sound lovely.”

With that decided, they spend the rest of the morning chatting and drinking overpriced coffee and waiting for BJ to finally join them, the lazy bones.

Hawkeye is starting to feel like maybe Peg and Trapper know something he doesn't. He's had this suspicion since breakfast – and it's only grown as the day's gone on. And now he's home and he and Trapper are in their bedroom unpacking. And Trapper's pulling him close, kissing him deeper than is probably appropriate given that they have houseguests and Trapper's leaving with Peg in a few minutes.

But Hawkeye isn't particularly inclined to pull away, not when Trapper's got a big warm hand cupping the back of his head so gently. Not when he's broken the kiss but is still standing with his forehead pressed against Hawkeye's own, looking at him so warm and tender.

“Love you, Hawk.”

And now he knows something's up. Cuz it's not that Trapper never says it – it's just that he's an awful lot better at physical gestures. Tangible expressions of his love. Things like making Hawkeye food or holding him at night or any of the hundreds of other tiny moments every day that show how he feels.

But he also knows how important words are to Hawkeye.

So if he's saying this now, it's because he thinks Hawkeye needs to hear it. And that makes him nervous. Because, sure, things between Trapper and BJ have always been fraught. But with both Trapper and Peg clearing out to give the two of them some space, this feels like more than just Trapper not particularly wanting to be around the guy. It feels like there's something brewing on the horizon, and Hawkeye doesn't know what it is.

But Trapper isn't upset or scared or anything that actually warrants concern. In fact, he and Peg are treating this secret knowledge more like a surprise birthday party than a portent of impending doom. So he's probably fine.

“Love you too, Trap,” Hawkeye breathes into the space between them.

Trapper smiles softly, grips the back of his neck in a way that's firm, grounding, and pulls away a little. “Have a good time catching up with BJ this afternoon.” He presses a chaste kiss to Hawkeye's lips and then leaves the room, presumably to find Peg and head off to the botanical gardens.

So Hawkeye finishes unpacking his suitcase and then heads downstairs to find BJ. After all, they're supposed to be spending this afternoon alone together catching up. Trapper and Peg have both been very adamant about that.

Hawkeye comes downstairs to find BJ sitting on the sofa. He looks unsure. Nervous. So Hawkeye sits down next to him and picks up his knitting. He needs to do something to get rid of all of his own nervous energy.

The click of knitting needles is soothing.

Hawkeye knit so much in Korea that the sound was practically ingrained in BJ's mind, a constant soundtrack to his life. And hearing it again, now, takes BJ back to those long, boring afternoons in the Swamp when there was nothing worth doing around the MASH and he was pleasantly buzzed but not sloshed. When he and Hawkeye could just sit and be together

The mundanity of Hawkeye's chatter washing over him as he tells stories about work is another balm to BJ's nerves. Hawk's in the middle of some anecdote about a patient he and Letta had to deal with. And he looks so alight with joy, so warm and open and settled and happy. BJ can't stand it anymore, sitting next to Hawkeye when he's shining so brightly.

“I love you, Hawkeye.”

The confession just bursts out of him – totally beyond conscious thought. BJ claps a hand to his mouth but the damage has already been done. Hawkeye heard him. He can't take it back.

He's almost glad. It's over and done with - no more agonizing over how to tell him. But mostly, BJ just feels sick to his stomach.

“I love you too, BJ.”

Hawkeye sounds uncharacteristically small. Vulnerable.

He's looking at BJ with such wide-eyed surprise. And what may or may not be hopeless longing. BJ isn't sure that he isn't reading too much into that part of Hawkeye's expression. Because he can't feel the same way as BJ does, he just can't. BJ couldn't take it if he did.

“You're one of my best friends.”

And there it is. Proof that Hawkeye doesn't return his feelings. Proof that BJ is too late. But he needs Hawkeye to understand.

BJ reaches for Hawkeye's hand.

“No, Hawk. I love you. I'm in love with you.”

This is. This is a surprise.

Hawkeye is in genuine shock. After months and years of resigning himself to unrequited feelings, BJ loves him. Him.

And Trapper knew, the putz. Him and Peg both, given the way they've cleared out for the afternoon. Peg knows and is clearly ok with it, since BJ's here with him and she isn't.

That gives him the strength to reach out. To take BJ's offered hand and say, “I love you too, Beej,” with all the weight and warmth of three years of knowing it to be true.

BJ laughs. A tremulous little sound that doesn't do any kind of justice to the pure relieved joy he's feeling. And then he and Hawkeye are crashing together into a smothering embrace, Hawkeye practically crawling into BJ's lap and BJ holding him tight enough it feels like he's trying to pull them together into a single being, irrevocably joined.

And then they're kissing and BJ hasn't felt so joyously overwhelmed, so subsumed in another person since he and Peg got married.

“What do you think BJ and Hawkeye are up to right now?” Peg asks. They're alone in a small side room full of a sort of tropical ecosystem, but even so, she keeps her voice low and leans in towards Trapper from her perch on his gentlemanly arm.

He's really been a model date – considerate without crossing into too intimate. But there's something performative in it. Like he'd learned how to do this without attaching any real emotion to it. And maybe it's just because it's her – his lover's other lover's wife – and he doesn't have any feelings for her. But she does wonder what he'd be like a little less formal. Like he'd been this morning with her and Hawkeye.

He snorts. “Probably something disgustingly sentimental.” BJ seems like the kinda guy to get all soppy. And Hawkeye's been pining after him for a while.

“You don't think they're, um...”

“Having sex?”

“I was going to say screwing,” Peg says sheepishly.

Trapper laughs, apparently relaxing now that the elephant in the room has been acknowledged, so to speak.

“I dunno. Probably. It's not like either of them are blushing virgins.” Cuz while there is something very Normal Rockwell and apple pie about BJ, Trapper has it on good authority – read Sidney – that he's, quote, a raging volcano inside. Which bodes pretty well for Hawkeye getting railed this afternoon.

“BJ was, when we got married.” Peg smiles fondly. “He was so nervous on our wedding night. I had to do most of the, well, the directing.”

“No,” Trapper gasps in disbelief. “This the same guy practically eye-fucking Hawk across the table last night?”

“Oh, I corrupted him pretty quickly,” Peg says with a sly smile. “And I imagine Hawkeye will manage similarly, this side of things.”

“That doesn't bother you?”

Peg shrugs. “It did a little, at first. Mostly the idea that I wasn't enough for my husband – that there was someone else who knew parts of him that I can never know. But now that I've met Hawkeye... He's such a lovely man – funny and charming and kind. I can understand why BJ feels the way he does.”

Trapper laughs. “Yeah, he's definitely one of a kind. I think you either love him or he drives you nuts. Maybe both, some days.”

“You don't think he'd be interested in, well...” Peg trails off delicately.

Trapper understands what she's trying to say, fortunately.

“Probably not. Hawkeye made a rule not to get involved with married women.”

Which is probably a polite way of saying he isn't much interested in any woman. Because that rule obviously doesn't extend to married men.

Peg nods in understanding. “Just thought I'd ask.”

She looks around the room again.

“As lovely as this is, I think I'm done looking at vines.”

“Oh thank God.” Trapper sags in exaggerated relief. “I've seen enough jungle for a lifetime. I don't know what the hell Hawkeye was talking about, talking this place up.”

Peg laughs. “All right then, what else is there to do in this city?”

Trapper grins conspiratorially. “Wanna pretend to be posh, high society individuals for an afternoon? Cuz I know Honoria and the gals are doing afternoon tea at one of the fancy department stores. They'd prolly let us gatecrash.”

Peg grins back. “Lead on, then, Dr. McIntyre.”

They kill a couple enjoyable hours with the gals, pretending to be the cream of Boston high society. But Maggie and Kat start making noise about catching a train home. And Hawkeye and BJ oughtta have had plenty of time to bask in the afterglow by now. So Trapper figures he and Peg oughtta start making tracks towards home too. He's gotta get dinner finished up, anyway.

Peg watches as Hawkeye and Trapper move around the kitchen, orbiting each other with the ease of long familiarity. BJ was right about them acting married – although they're both much better in the kitchen than he is. The dinner they're putting together smells divine. And it's nice to be served and waited on for once – to be the one to sit at the dinner table while someone else cooks.

Peg takes BJ's hand and gives it a squeeze. She's so glad they've decided on this trip. And she hopes BJ's gotten as much out of the day as she has.

BJ sits next to Peg at the dinner table. He's still a little shaken from earlier. A little emotionally unbalanced.

And Peg is such a steady person. She's been such a rock through all of his agonizing and hoping and fearing of this moment. She's always kept a level head. And he knows she won't steer him wrong. He can trust her, even when he can't trust himself.

Holding her small, soft hand in his helps quiet the storm of emotions within him.

And so does the distraction of Hawkeye absolutely piling his plate with the ribs that have been slow cooking all afternoon. How is he going to eat all that? The Hawkeye he knows lived on gin and righteous fury.

“This is nothin,” Trapper tells him, obviously interpreting his bug-eyed incredulity. “Hawkeye once got thirty pounds of ribs sent from Chicago to Korea.”

“Yeah, but before I could enjoy any of them, we got called into a thirty-six hour OR shift.” Hawkeye shakes his head sadly. “War truly is hell.”

“Yeah, yeah. Quit griping. When we got outta surgery, I bribed Igor with some primo... reading material and a rack of ribs to heat 'em back up for us. And I got to eat maybe one rib outta the whole deal. For such a skinny guy, you sure can put it away”

“And I appreciated your sacrifice, Trap. That remains one of the best nights of my life.” Hawkeye's expression turns dreamy.

“Ouch,” Peg deadpans, looking sideways at Trapper.

“One of the best! I said one of the best.”

“Now that we're back stateside, maybe we oughtta visit Chicago sometime,” Trapper says, consideringly. “You can eat ribs and I could see if Ollie Jones wanted to go to a football game or something.”

“Who's Jones?” BJ asks. Presumably yet another doctor Hawkeye was friends with in Korea. But one who's name hadn't come up in any of the gossip he'd heard when he got to the 4077.

“A neurosurgeon who used to rotate through all the MASH units at the start of the war. Then the brass realized he was pretty useless at general surgery – and didn't have the tools at a field hospital to do anything more than drill burr holes and pray the kids survived the evac to Seoul or Tokyo, same as the rest of us. So he got transferred to Tokyo pretty quick, the lucky bastard.”

“Which was truly a shame,” Trapper adds. “Cuz he drove Frank nuts. And he was one hell of a football player.”

“You guys played football a lot?”

At Trapper's nod, BJ looks wistful. “I wish there'd been more games when I was at the 4077. About the only thing going was Father Mulcahy's weekly Catholics versus Protestants matchup – and that wasn't what I'd call a real game.”

Hawkeye laughs. “Like David going up against Goliath, but without the slingshot.”

“That's strange,” Trapper interjects. “We used to have pick up games all the time. Even had an inter-MASH league at one point. And the 4077 was scheduled to play the unit Ollie was at – we had to bribe him so we didn't get slaughtered.”

“I still think we had a fighting chance, even without bribery and back room deals,” Hawkeye argues. “With you and me and that one guy from the motor pool, we would have cleaned up.”

“With you, huh?” Trapper grins at Hawkeye fondly. “What's your sports experience, exactly?”

Hawkeye affects affront. “I'm one and oh against you, Trap. How dare you!”

“There were extenuating circumstances and you know it!”

Peg looks back and forth between Hawkeye and Trapper as they bicker. It's funny, seeing just how much of a couple they are. Just how much shared history is there.

“Come on, tell the whole story. You can't just leave us to guess at what happened,” she says, mock stern. “That's just rude.”

“Sorry, Peg,” the two chorus contritely. And she waves regally in acceptance of the apology. And also as a signal for them to get on with actually telling the story.

“When I was in undergrad,” Trapper starts off, “I was on the Dartmouth football team -”

“You were captain of the Dartmouth football team, you mean. Don't sell yourself short, Trap.” Hawkeye's making exaggerated eyes at him.

But Trapper just throws his hands up in frustration. “All right, fine. You tell the story, then.”

“When he was in undergrad,” Hawkeye begins with a cheeky grin, “Trapper was captain of the Dartmouth football team. And one fine Maine October day, they were scheduled to play Androscoggin – my alma mater. Unfortunately, there were several Androscoggin players too injured to play – or even show up to the game – so they needed a bench warmer to round out the team. Entre moi. I knew a couple guys on the team and had a free weekend, so I got to sit there and watch the game from the sidelines.”

“Watch the cheerleaders, you mean,” Trapper interjects.

“Hush, I'm telling the story. Anyway, a big old snow storm starts up and you can't see three feet in front of your face. This leads to another injured player for Androscoggin – and myself entering the game. It's down to the wire and Dartmouth is down by three points. Trapper throws a Hail Mary pass – but, in a show of athletic greatness never seen before or since – I intercepted the pass and won the game for Androscoggin.”

“And he's never let me forget it,” Trapper grouses. “Or played a game since.”

“Hah! I knew you were lying about having two varsity letters and a sports scholarship!” BJ feels retroactively vindicated.

Trapper snorts. “The only way he'd have two varsity letters is if he got pinned.”

“I did say I knew a couple guys on the football team,” Hawkeye says, tone full of innuendo. “But fine, I admit I must have gotten myself confused with someone else.”

“Someone who's a surgeon and who had two varsity letters and a football scholarship. Wonder who that could be,” Trapper deadpans.

“What else did you letter in?” BJ asks, curious despite himself.

“Boxing. And you?” Cuz BJ's pretty obviously a jock. And he's actually having a civil conversation with Trapper, so he's gonna encourage that whatever way he can. Even if it means reliving the glory days of college athletics...

“Football and crew.”

“Well,” Hawkeye says with a bit of a leer, “that explains the shoulders.”

“I was in the sailing club and I always liked to take my boat out during the rowing team practices,” Peg says, looking a little dreamy. “That's actually how BJ and I met.”

BJ buries his head in his hands. “C'mon, Peg, don't tell this story. It's embarrassing.”

But she just waves away his protests. Because the unthinkable has happened while he was otherwise engaged. Peg has become friends with Hawkeye and Trapper.

Which means he won't be able to get out of this.

Peg smiles sweetly at BJ. He's so incredibly screwed.

“One day, the rowing team was out for practice, and I had my sailboat out for a spin. And somehow, the crew boat capsized. So I come over to see if I can help fish any of them out of the ocean – because they were having a hell of a time getting their boat flipped back over and they were all just clinging to it like this was the Titanic or something.

“Anyway, I get over there and start hauling people out of the water. And when it gets to be BJ's turn, well, lets just say that the laws of physics were not on our side. There he is, six foot four and two hundred pounds of muscle and I'm barely half that – just heaving on his arm with my foot braced against the railing. And I think, well, I've just about got it, and the next thing I know - I'm in the drink.”

Peg laughs.

“And you know what BJ's reaction was when we both got rescued by the rest of the crew – still dripping wet and me mad as all hell? To ask me out on a date!”

“Did you say yes?” Hawkeye asks, with mischief gleaming in his eyes. BJ knows he's going to get shit for this for years.

“I did,” Peg says with a laugh.

“Because when else was she going to find a catch like that?” BJ asks, to general groaning and calls to make better puns.

“However,” Peg continues, “I did refuse to go on any water adjacent dates for the whole first year we were together, just in case.”

Hawkeye's joyful laugh rings out in the dining room. And Trapper's clearing the dinner dishes to make way for dessert. And the whole thing is just really, really nice. Homey. Comfortable.

Peg had honestly been worried about how all of this was going to go. Worried that BJ would get jealous, or that she would, or that Hawkeye would. Worried that they'd all rub each other the wrong way – that they wouldn't be able to spend time all together and instead have to split off into whatever pairs were currently fucking each other.

But instead they get a continuation of how the whole MASH table had felt. Like they're a family.

#mash #Piercintyre #something old and something new #chapter 11

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angryhausfrau-writes · 3 years ago

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You Fill Me Up - Chapter 3

Trapper blinks awake and is greeted by the sight of Hawkeye coming out of the bathroom, hair damp from a shower, in just his shorts and t-shirt. And the shirt is practically clinging to him. Outlining the sweet curve of his belly in a way the baggier shirts and scrubs he's usually covered up in don't.

And even though Trapper's seen Hawkeye naked regularly and recently, there's just something about it, something about the way the fabric pulls and clings, that's got Trapper's dick awake and paying attention.

“Fuck, you look good, Hawk,” Trapper says, coming up behind Hawkeye and practically draping himself over his shoulders.

His hands roam across Hawkeye's front, pinching at a nipple before sliding down across his stomach, lingering at the place where the waistband of his underwear folds under the push of his plump little belly. Trapper's panting into Hawkeye's neck by the time he gets his hands under that tight waistband and onto his cock. And his own cock is pressed against Hawkeye's ass, grinding slow and so fucking good.

Hawkeye's a little breathless when he says, “I look the same as I always do, Trapper.” But he manages to make himself disentangle from Trapper's arms (and hands. Fuck.) with more willpower than he knew he possessed. “And anyway, I've got a meeting with Charles this morning. I won't let you make me late.”

“It's New Years,” Trapper wheedles. “You know Chuck's gonna show up at least a half-hour late. And hungover.” He moves his hands to Hawkeye's hips. “We got time for a quickie.”

Hawkeye should get a medal for this, he really should. He pushes Trapper away, although his hands may linger just a little on Trapper's chest. He's only human after all. But he does make himself say, “How bout you make me breakfast and we'll see if there's time after.”

God, he's such a model of self restraint and responsibility.

“Fine, I'll go make breakfast.” Trapper steps back, gives Hawkeye a little space. But he does linger in the doorway to watch Hawkeye bend over to put on socks. It's one hell of a view, all right?

Hawkeye straightens up and palms at his cock. Fuck, he wishes they had time to fool around. But Charles isn't one to wait for anything. And there's a certain amount of delight to be gained – a certain amount of merciless teasing of the man allowed – if Hawkeye is the one who's early.

Hawkeye pulls on a shirt. And by the time he's done up all the fiddly little buttons, his erection has waned. He smooths his hands down the front of his shirt. It's been fitting a little differently lately, for reasons Hawkeye's not going to examine too closely right now. And it's like the ghost of Trapper's touch. Just enough to remind Hawkeye of what he turned down, but not enough to satisfy.

Hopefully it'll be a short meeting.

Trapper's at the stove making eggs, but he turns around, grinning, when Hawkeye's wolf-whistle breaks the morning stillness.

“You look like something outta a nudie mag, Trap,” Hawkeye teases, taking in Trapper's shorts and apron and nothing else.

“What kinda nudie mags are you reading?” Trapper teases back as he brings Hawkeye a plate of breakfast and a cup of coffee.

“Good Housekeeping.” Hawkeye takes a bite of eggs and moans. “Although this may be classified as great housekeeping.”

“Aw, you're just saying that cuz you're the one demanding breakfast instead of sex.” But Trapper smiles, pleased, into his own plate of eggs. It's nice when Hawkeye says how much he likes Trapper's looking after him.

It's even nicer when Hawkeye finishes his breakfast and leans back in his chair, hands clasped over his belly, the absolute picture of contentment and then he says, “Could I have a couple more eggs, Trapper?”

Hawkeye's not really hungry. But he's not really full either. And it's nice, sitting here in the bright, cozy kitchen, ignoring the icy dark outside the window, eating breakfast with Trapper. Hawkeye's not quite ready for that to end.

Plus, the view of Trapper's ass when he turns to the stove again is really pretty excellent.

Trapper practically leaps to his feet, eager to bring Hawkeye anything and everything he could possibly want. And there's something burning in the pit of his stomach at the excess, the decadence of Hawkeye being sated but still wanting more, just because.

“You want some more toast with that?” Trapper asks, nearly breathless.

“Please.”

Trapper does him one better and slides the remaining sausages onto the plate as well. There's really not enough for another meal and it would be silly to put them up.

And when Trapper turns around to face Hawkeye, to bring him the refilled plate, overflowing with food and, and love, Hawkeye grins up at him, big and bright and a little sly.

“Oh, Trapper. My perfect little wife.”

Trapper almost drops the plate and he's on his knees on the hard linoleum, curled around the white hot bolt of something in his stomach, eyes and mouth gaped to Hawkeye in stunned surprise.

“Hawkeye.”

He breaths it out like worship, like it's torture.

“Hawkeye, please...”

Trapper doesn't really know what he's asking for. Just knows Hawkeye's the only one who can give it to him.

Hawkeye holds out a hand, beckoning Trapper, welcoming him.

Trapper holds the plate on outstretched arms, like an offering. And he fucking crawls to Hawkeye, bony knees pressing sharp into the cold linoleum and it should be terrible. It should be humiliating. It should hurt. And it does hurt, in the same terrible twisting beautiful way loving Hawkeye always hurts. So real, so raw that Trapper feels his heart torn to shreds on the jagged bloody edge of it.

He feels it so strong that he don't like to think about it, most of the time. Likes to let it live in the dark out of the way corners of his mind so he can focus on how nice and happy and fun all the things him and Hawkeye get to do, being together like they are. Even if they ain't really together.

But sometimes Hawkeye'll do or say something that makes Trapper want. That makes him start thinking about all the things he can't have but can't help wanting anyway.

And it hurts, knowing his feelings ain't reciprocated – can't be reciprocated. But Hawkeye reaches out to Trapper. Takes the plate, takes the offering. Pulls Trapper's tear-streaked face against the rough wool of his trouser-clad leg and lets him stay there, hidden and protected. And that's good enough, ain't it?

Hawkeye strokes his hand through Trapper's hair while he eats a bite of eggs with the other.

Trapper's reaction had surprised him a little. He'd meant the wife comment as a tease. Just a little good-natured dig at how much Trapper likes to do all the little domestic tasks around the house – something Hawkeye appreciates, of course. He can take care of himself well enough in the cooking and cleaning department, but he doesn't seem to have the same urge towards homemaking that Trapper does.

The comment had clearly meant something different to Trapper. Got him some kind of riled up. But there's also clearly some emotions in play, and Hawkeye doesn't really know what to do about that, other than soothing Trapper as best he can while Trapper's on the floor and he's eating breakfast one-handed.

See, Trapper's usually the one looking after Hawkeye. He's the strong one. He's the one letting Hawkeye lean on him.

Hawkeye's never really seen him like this before. Trapper doesn't really get emotional, unless it's about his wife and kids. And they're not in the picture anymore, so it's not something that's come up since Hawkeye's been living with him. And he's not sure what to do about it, about Trapper slumped on the kitchen floor, crying into Hawkeye's pant leg. He's honestly not even sure if they're sad tears or if Trapper's just overwhelmed.

Still, there's one way to find out. And nobody's ever accused Hawkeye of thinking through a plan – that's Trapper's job.

Hawkeye cups the back of Trapper's head, sweetly, gently. Says, “So fucking good for me, Trap. My sweet, pretty, perfect little wife.”

It's bullshit, is what it is. Even through the pure overwhelming want, the love that feels like heartbreak, Trapper knows that.

He ain't particularly sweet. And he sure as shit ain't pretty, especially now, with his face all gross snot teary and marked up from the outside seam of Hawkeye's trousers. And he really, really ain't perfect. Not with the kinda thoughts he's got in his head, even right now when he ain't sure what the fuck any of this means but with arousal simmering low in the base of his cock regardless.

It's enough to get him to raise his head from Hawkeye's leg, to look him in the eye when he says, “Wanna be, Hawk. For you.”

Cuz Trapper wants to be good. Wants to be sweet. Wants to be pretty even. But mostly, Trapper wants to be Hawkeye's wife. To have and to hold. In sickness and in health. Til death do them part.

And that's terrifying. But Hawkeye's looking down at Trapper like everything's gonna be ok.

Hawkeye keeps eating breakfast with Trapper sprawling at his feet, the side of his face pressed against his leg, now, as Trapper watches him eat. And that, at least, has become normal. Something to cling to in the turmoil of everything else that's happening right now. So he keeps eating breakfast. And Trapper keeps watching him.

In all honesty, he may have been a little over-ambitious in regards to seconds. But he doesn't want to say to Trapper – the Trapper with tear tracks drying on his face, still half sprawled on the floor like Hawkeye's the only thing keeping him propped up – doesn't want to say to that guy, “Hey, why don't you put this up for me?” And he doesn't want to get up himself.

It just doesn't feel like a moment that should be disturbed, is all. It doesn't have anything to do with being maybe a little too full to want to do anything but lean further back in his chair, trying to get as comfortable as possible, and rest one hand on the crest of his overfull stomach while the other pets at Trapper's hair.

Hawkeye's shifting around seems to knock Trapper out of the trance of watching Hawkeye eat. And he looks up at Hawkeye with eyes that are more focused, present, that they were before. And he's downright hawk-eyed when he takes in Hawkeye's overfull belly and slightly beached posture, his gaze sharp and knowing as it travels over Hawkeye's slightly straining shirt buttons.

Fuck, he looks good.

“Done with this?” Trapper's voice comes out a little gravely, both from being all snotty earlier and from how much he wouldn't mind sending Hawkeye off to his meeting with a little something to remember him by, but he's steady on his feet when he stands to take Hawkeye's plate to the sink.

“Yeah, if I eat any more I'll explode. And then you get to be the one to tell Charles why I'm not showing up to our meeting.”

Trapper laughs. “Don't know that he'd believe that excuse. But if you wanna play hooky that bad, I'll give it a shot.”

Hawkeye looks at his watch. “Nah, I should really get going. Don't want Charles to have to send out a search party. He'd gripe about having to venture into the slums for at least a week.”

Frankly, Hawkeye's a little glad it's time for him to go meet Charles. Trapper's looking like he wouldn't mind making good on his earlier promise of a quickie, but Hawkeye's not really sure what just happened here this morning and wants a little space. A little time for him and Trapper to get back to their normal routine after such a weird breakfast.

Fleeing to Charles's snide comments and well-meaning snobbery seems to be the best way of dealing with the situation. Certainly much better than talking about it.

Fortunately, Trapper's wiped his face clean. And he might be a little red and puffy-eyed, but his normal cocky grin is back and he lets Hawkeye go with a moderately heated kiss and a “Say hi to Chuck for me.” And then Hawkeye's out the door, into the biting January air, and away from the strangeness of the morning.

Trapper watches Hawkeye leave through the front curtains, absently straightening the medical journals and magazines they'd both left on the coffee table last night when bed and more enjoyable evening activities had beckoned. It's honestly a little bit of a relief that he's gone. As much as Trapper would've enjoyed getting his hands on Hawkeye this morning, he appreciates the time to get his head on straight after being sort of blindsided by whatever the fuck Hawkeye calling him his wife'd made him feel.

Somewhere between lovesick and too horny to think.

So Trapper does the breakfast dishes. And then, because he's a good little wife, he vacuums the living room and dusts the furniture. And if he thinks about how the frilly pink apron twirls around him while he does, if he thinks about being pretty for Hawkeye while he bends down to dust a low bookshelf, ass sticking out like the French maid in a porno he'd seen onetime in Henry's office. That ain't nobody's business but his.

Though a good wife, a pretty wife'd prolly be wearing something other than kinda baggy gray shorts for bending over seductively. Maybe some kinda lacy underwear. Stockings with garters. Little kitten heels.

Trapper rubs at the resurgence of his erection, which tents his apron pretty fucking obscenely.

There's nothing wrong with enjoying a little fantasy. But it might be a good idea to take this somewhere a little more private than the living room, even if the curtains are drawn.

Trapper makes it upstairs to the bedroom and strips naked, hand already around his cock, before he tumbles into bed and picks that little fantasy up where he'd left off. The wife's bent over, her ass all perky and sticking out of the back of her frilly little apron. And then the husband comes in and he's one of those sort of suburban type of guys, wearing pressed slacks and a sweater, pipe in his teeth. And he takes one look at those first-class legs, that sweet little ass, and his cock gets hard in those immaculately pressed trousers, sticking out hard and obvious in front of him.

Trapper pumps a hand over his own hard cock.

And then the husband comes up behind the wife. And he kinda presses himself against her, cock first.

And she lets out a little gasp, like she's surprised. But it ain't really a surprise. She knew this was gonna happen as soon as she'd put on the sexy underwear and the little apron.

And the husband knows it too. Knows she's teasing him. So he teases her a little, too. Puts his hands on her waist, right where the apron strings sit. But he don't undo them yet.

And she presses back into him, wanting it.

The husband brings his hands up to her tits, gives 'em a good fondle. And she ain't got a bra on. So he can get his hands right on her tits. Pinch at the nipples that stick up through the flimsy fabric of the apron.

Trapper fondles at his own tits. Pinches his own hard nipples, one hand slick-sticky from his cock. Fuck. He's gotta get this show moving or he's gonna come all over himself before any of the real good shit happens.

The husband unsnaps the wife's garters and pulls the sexy underwear down. She steps outta it and then bends over against the bookshelf again. Her legs are spread like a fucking invitation and the husband steps between them. He's got his cock out and it's big and hard and he kinda rubs it against her ass. The wife moans for it and she's got her head bowed and all her long blond hair is falling across her arms and shoulders and she's still got the fucking apron on.

God, she's so fucking wet for it. Her clit's swollen and red, like a little cock.

Trapper imagines it bigger and bigger, until it's a real cock, tenting the front of her apron. Trapper fists his own cock and it's not enough.

He rolls over, until his raw tits are rubbing off on the bedspread and he shoves a pillow between his thighs. He's gotta do laundry later anyway. And this way he can trace the rim of his asshole with spit slick fingers, just barely pressing in, cuz he was dumb and didn't grab any slick for what he thought was gonna be a quick jerk-off session and nothing else.

The husband's pressing into his wife, too, a long slow push into her dripping cunt. She rocks back against him, as Trapper rocks back against his own fingers.

The husband grips his wife by her hips, right over the garter belt. And then he's fucking her hard enough she rocks into the bookcase, her arms straining to hold her up and she moans wetly into her bicep. The husband's suddenly shed the sweater and he's in shirtsleeves and he's got a little paunch like Hawkeye's got and it curves round and soft against the front of his shirt, pressing against the wife's ass as she rocks back against his thrusts, making it jiggle a little, like firm set Jello.

Trapper rocks against the pillow between his thighs, imagining it's that paunch. And he's got the knuckle of one finger grinding against his hole, imagining it's that hot, hard cock. And it's almost, almost enough.

The husband's picking up the pace again, just really giving it to the wife. And she's moaning on every thrust, pushing back against it and it's just the sound of flesh on flesh and the husband's ragged breath.

The bookcase teeters and then they're sitting on a bed, the wife in the husband's lap, apron gone, cock standing up hard and red from under the garter belt, her firm tits heaving as she's pulled up and down on the husband's cock, his big hands around her tiny, firm waist as he gasps into her shoulder. And she's got her head thrown back in ecstasy but Trapper knows it's him being railed on Hawkeye's cock and he comes all over the pillow right as the wife comes all over her abs and tits and garter belt.

Huh.

That's about the only thought Trapper's capable of after cumming his guts out to whatever weird fantasy scenario that was. But he makes himself stand on jelly legs and strip the bed before the pillow gets stained.

A load of laundry and a shower later, he's feeling nothing but the relaxed lethargy of a good orgasm. Thinking about shit can wait, he's got other things to do today.

Like buying Hawkeye some new pants. Cuz that's another thing they ain't really thinking about it seems - the fact Hawkeye's put on more weight. And it don't really look like it's gonna slow down anytime soon. Not if he's gonna start eating two breakfasts.

Which Trapper ain't exactly complaining about.

He's not trying to be secretive or nothing, by not talking about it. Not sneaking nothing past Hawkeye. Not pushing anything on Hawkeye he don't ask for. Usually enthusiastically.

Hell, Hawkeye's the one asking for seconds and desserts and everything. All Trapper's doing is being pretty vocal about his appreciation for Hawkeye and his body and his own appreciation for Trapper's food.

But how the fuck do you have a bigger conversation than that? Hey, Hawk. I think it's pretty sexy that you keep eating all the food I make for you and that you're getting kinda a belly on account of it.

Yeah, no. Cuz Hawkeye doesn't like talking about emotions on the best days - though to be fair, neither does Trapper. And Hawkeye likes declarations of commitment and love even less.

And that's what this is to Trapper, him taking care of Hawkeye like this. Love and commitment and a meaningful relationship. So it's just easier to go to the department store and buy Hawkeye new pants and wait for him to bring it up if he wants to.

Trapper browses through the men's department and picks out Hawkeye some new trousers a couple sizes up from the ones he's wearing now. They're a size bigger than Trapper wears, and in a style that's meant to fasten above the waist as opposed to right on it. Cuz Hawkeye's belly seems to be getting bigger lower down on his hips, but there's still a round curve of it starting from a little below his tits. Especially when he's full.

And he's full a lot.

Trapper wants him to be comfortable, is all. And he bets the style'll be flattering on him. Better than the pinching waistband he has to fasten lower on his hips to accommodate the little bit of belly that's already too big to fit under it at his waist.

Although he can admit to himself - if only to himself - that he'll miss Hawkeye unbuttoning his pants after a particularly big meal, the sign that Trapper's outdone himself on dinner and dessert, it's a sacrifice he's willing to make. It's his job to look after Hawkeye. And he's going to do as good a job as Hawkeye'll let him.

It's not a completely altruistic trip, though. Trapper hadn't meant for it to be anything but him running this errand, but he's heading towards the nearest checkout clerk and it takes him past the women's intimates department. And it ain't appropriate, but his eye catches on some filmy, lacy underwear on display and he's just gonna take a peak at it. Completely innocently – he ain't a creep. Well, he is, but not in this instance.

But then there's a too chipper salesgirl asking if he needs any help with anything.

And before he knows it, he's made up a story about wanting to buy something nice for his wife. Him just home from Korea and them having something of a second honeymoon and all.

She looks at him, too knowing for as young a kid as she looks.

“Ok, fine. It's mostly for me,” Trapper admits.

The salesgirls laughs. If only she knew.

“That don't mean I can't get her something she'd like, though.” Trapper's warming to the wife excuse. “She deserves to have something pretty, you know?”

The girl nods seriously. “Well, let's find her something nice then. What colors does she like to wear?”

Trapper blushes a little. It ain't like the underwear's gonna be worn with enough that color coordination's an issue. “Pink. She likes real light pink.” The color of the apron Hawkeye'd bought him for Christmas.

“Hmmm.” The salesgirl looks thoughtful, hand to her chin and brow furrowed like this is a bigger deal than Trapper really thinks it is. But he appreciates the help enough to put up with amateur dramatics.

Not that he ain't used to dramatics, living with Hawkeye for so many years.

She sorts through the underwear with the kind of gravitas he's not sure he could muster. Finally, she holds up a pair of underwear. “How about these?”

They're dark green satin and black lace. Trapper touches them carefully, reverently. They're slippery smooth fabric and scratchy lace and he imagines how they'd feel...

He blushes again. “They. They look great.” His throat's tight. Awkward like he ain't been around women's underwear since high school. Though this is kinda new territory for him, so he thinks it can be excuses. “I'll take 'em.”

The salesgirl grins. “Wonderful choice, sir. And would your wife like anything else?”

The “Anything actually meant for your wife” is implied so strongly, Trapper feels bad for his imaginary wife for a moment.

“Perhaps some jewelry? We have some lovely earrings in pale pink. Flowers in a gold setting – both clip-on and post styles.”

She leads trapper to the jewelry counter by his elbow. And despite the fact she barely comes up to his shoulder, he doubts he could shake her if he wanted to.

Trapper peruses the earrings. And they are very pretty – small, pale pink flowers on gold backing. Demure, almost. Not like the bigger, showier costume pieces that take up a lot of the display case.

He can't imagine wearing anything like that. Not without knowing how Hawkeye's gonna feel about this whole thing. Not without knowing how he's gonna feel about the whole thing.

“They're real nice,” Trapper assures the salesgirl. “But I prolly wanna talk to the wife before I go buying her jewelry. She – I don't wanna buy her something she won't like, you know?”

The salesgirl nods, appeased.

Trapper looks around a little more, and his eye catches on the perfume department. That. That might be something he could try.

“What about perfume? Maybe just a little bottle to see if she'd like it, you know?”

Perfume's something Trapper's a lot more comfortable with. Louise'd worn perfume and he'd always liked how it'd smelled on her. Or when it'd gotten on his shirt collar after a night of dancing, to mingle with his own cologne.

Yeah, Trapper thinks he could buy some perfume.

The salesgirl smiles. “Sure thing, mister.” And he knows it's just her trying to upsell him like she's prolly been told to do. But she's been helpful and he don't really mind the guidance. Cuz sure, he'd been married, but that don't mean he knows everything about this kinda stuff.

And her cheeky irreverence is kinda fun. Reminds him of Margaret a little, now that she doesn't hate him or Hawkeye no more – and now that she's got her knickers outta that military knot.

Speaking of Margaret, Trapper thinks his imaginary wife would probably be a little bit like her. Tough, but still all woman. Though he draws the line at military themed perfumery.

“Something kinda feminine and flowery,” Trapper tells the girl. “But maybe with a little va-va-voom. For datenight, you know?”

She comes back with a perfume that smells like iris and something dark, sexy. It's something Trapper can imagine himself wearing, like the underwear. Feminine, but with something deeper, muskier, more primal underneath.

“I'll take it,” he says. Decisive. Like this ain't a big deal at all. Like he's buying it for a wife, instead of himself.

The salesgirl smiles as she rings him up. Tells him she hopes his wife appreciates the gifts.

“I'm sure she will,” Trapper says under his breath as he leaves the checkout counter. He hopes it's true.

When Trapper gets home Hawkeye's still out with Charles so he washes Hawkeye's new pants in a second load of laundry. And he washes the underwear by hand, feeling it slide slippery smooth through his hands and some warm feeling of anticipation blooming low in his guts. Lets it air dry over the shower curtain rod. And when it's dry, he wraps it around the perfume bottle and shoves it in the back of his side of his and Hawkeye's shared underwear drawer. Something to think about later, on a day when there ain't already been so much strangeness.

The pants he hangs in their shared closet, between his and Hawkeye's clothes, for whenever Hawkeye wants them.

#piercentyre #weight gain #you fill me up #chapter 3 #there's some weird gender stuff in this chapter #that i don't really know how to tag?#trapper really likes being hawkeye's wife #and has a fantasy about it #and buys some women's underwear

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angryhausfrau-writes · 4 years ago

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You Can’t Cross the Same River Twice - Chapter 18

“Hey Trapper, BJ's going to be on the East Coast for some talk at Johns Hopkins in a couple weeks. He wants to come up for a visit the first weekend in May – that ok with you?”

Trapper shrugs. “Fine by me. I work that Saturday, but he ain't here to see me.”

“Still, I'd like the two of you to meet. And Charles will want to see BJ – even if he won't admit it.”

“Wanna hold a poker game? That's what we usually do for 4077 reunions.” Trapper is pretty sure BJ plays – he could hardly have made it over a year in the Swamp without learning.

Hawkeye's grin turns sharp. “I'll book the back room – you just make sure Charles brings his checkbook.”

“Why? You got another clinic needs funding?”

“A little extra endowment never hurt anybody.” Hawkeye leers at Trapper's crotch.

“God, Hawkeye, you're such a fucking size queen,” Trapper teases.

“And it's all your fault, Big John.” Hawkeye strokes Trapper through his pants and the discussion of BJ's impending visit gets tabled for a while.

One extremely satisfactory sexual encounter later, Trapper returns to the topic at hand.

“You still planning to bunk with me during BJ's visit? Or do you and him wanna have a little slumber party?”

Hawkeye laughs. “As much as I might like to play spin the bottle with BJ, it would be a terrible idea. He's married married. And I won't fuck that up, no matter how I feel about him – or his muscles or his stupid mustache.”

“You still love him, though. And for more than just the mustache.” Hawkeye had been pretty open about carrying a torch for the guy, even if nothing ever came of it.

Hawkeye sighs. “Yeah, I do. But BJ's in relationships for the long haul; he wouldn't be interested in a casual fling. I guess that rubbed off on me, even if – tragically – no other part of him did. And I could never move to California – I don't meet the required levels of tanned jockishness – so it looks like you're stuck with me, Trapper.”

“I've never been so grateful for your pasty unathleticism,” Trapper teases. Then he cups Hawkeye's face. “And I'm glad you and BJ have this chance to meet up.”

Hawkeye smiles. “Me too. I've really missed the guy.”

BJ gets to Hawkeye's house late enough that everything seems molasses stretched and slightly unreal – or that could just be the couple drinks he had at the airport bar between flights, or the couple drinks he had on each flight, or... The point is, when Hawkeye opens the door – before BJ even has a chance to ring the bell, so he must have been waiting up for him – BJ can hardly believe this moment is real. But there Hawkeye is, framed in the glow of the doorway, wearing pajamas and a very familiar robe, looking a little tired but relaxed and happy in a way BJ's never seen before, not even on R&R. Looking so beautifully, perfectly real.

Then Hawkeye smiles at him, soft and warm – and before BJ can even register his own actions, he's hugging Hawkeye right there on the doorstep, clutching at him desperately.

Hawkeye hugs him back, laughs softly in BJ's ear, and says, “It's nice to see you too, Beej.” Then he pulls back a little. “C'mon, let's get inside. We've given the neighbors enough of a show.”

BJ follows Hawkeye into the house, barely registering anything beyond the man in front of him. He's missed Hawkeye so much, jumping at the first chance to see him again, no matter that Boston wasn't really close to Baltimore at all. And now that he's here, BJ just enjoys soaking up the sight of Hawkeye – happy and safe and happy – saving up the image for when he gets back home.

But now Hawkeye's saying something, so BJ struggles back to awareness.

“... sure you're tired after such a long trip and we have plenty of time to catch up tomorrow. I'll show you where you're sleeping.”

BJ is led up the stairs and into a bedroom – Hawkeye's judging by the nick-knacks on the dresser – and that makes BJ wonder where exactly Hawkeye is sleeping since he leaves the room after saying goodnight. But that mystery goes unsolved. BJ is tired enough – and buzzed enough – that he's barely under the covers before he falls asleep.

BJ wakes up late the next morning – nearly noon according to the clock on the side table – and he could kick himself for missing out on so much time with Hawkeye. But he's awake now, and can start to make up for it.

BJ rushes downstairs to find Hawkeye – an apology for sleeping in already halfway out – but Hawkeye just smiles.

“Morning, BJ. I can see that liking to sleep in wasn't just a Korea thing. Want some breakfast?” Hawkeye checks his watch. “Or brunch, I suppose.”

“I could eat. And I wouldn't say no to a cup of coffee, either.”

BJ follows Hawkeye into the cheerful, tidy kitchen of his cheerful, tidy house and sits down at the little table while Hawkeye stands at the stove and it's all so weird. Weird seeing Hawkeye in a house that looks like it could have come right from a spread in Better Homes and Gardens. Weird watching as Hawkeye cooks breakfast and sets the table and generally acts like he's some paragon of domesticity.

BJ's attempt to reconcile this strange new version of Hawkeye is interrupted by his sliding a plate and mug BJ's direction before sitting across from him at the table with his own food. Hawkeye's just sitting there, drinking his coffee like all of this is normal. Like he isn't the half-wild prankster of the 4077 who used to leave his dirty socks everywhere.

BJ searches desperately for a topic of conversation that doesn't start with “What the hell happened to you?” but it's Hawkeye who gets the conversation going.

“I see you shaved the mustache,” Hawkeye says, a teasing glint in his eye. “Peg put her foot down about it?”

BJ laughs, relieved they're back on familiar ground. “Pretty much. And there's not much point to sticking it to the army when you're a civilian.”

“Very true.” Hawkeye pauses to eat a bite of eggs - happily without smelling them first. “Although the habit of not saluting has stuck with me.”

“Not much use for it in a medical context – even if some of the doctors I worked for during residency would have probably loved it.” Some of them had been almost as authoritarian as Frank Burns.

Hawkeye smiles. “I don't know, the kids would probably be amused by a salute. I've had at least three come through who want to be pirates when they grow up – though that's a different branch of the service entirely.”

And they spend the next few hours shooting the shit about work and and family. It's nice; familiar. Give BJ a glass of terrible gin and he could be back in the Swamp.

That's another weird thing – the lack of alcohol. If this were Korea, they'd both be three sheets to the wind by now. BJ doesn't even see a liquor cabinet in the house.

But even with all the differences, BJ has a great time catching up with Hawkeye – and catching Hawkeye up on his own life. Not that he hasn't spent every letter telling Hawkeye all about Peg and Erin, but it's different doing it in person. He can see Hawkeye's expressions, hear his laugh, feel him sitting pressed up against his side.

Then Trapper John comes home. And all of Hawkeye's attention is suddenly focused on him.

“You're home late. Tough day at the office, dear?”

“Like you wouldn't believe. Ten minutes before I'm scheduled to leave, a guy comes in with half his guts hanging out. I wasn't gonna leave that to Dobbs – he'd let the guy bleed out while he deliberated over what stitch to use – so I stayed late. And then I went to the gym and Brian wanted to go a few rounds, so I got outta there late too. Sorry for the hold up - I'll get started on dinner in a minute.”

Then Trapper catches sight of BJ. “Hi BJ, nice to finally meet you after all of Hawkeye's stories.”

They shake hands.

“I've heard a lot about you too, Trapper.” Boy has he ever. First from everyone at the 4077 while in Korea and now from Hawkeye, who could hardly go ten minutes without mentioning something Trapper thought or said or did. Not that BJ was counting.

Trapper grins at Hawkeye. “You telling tales out of school, Hawk?”

“I would never!” Hawkeye exclaims. “Now why don't you go make us dinner and we can all tell embarrassing stories about each other and Charles. Mostly Charles.”

So they all troop into the kitchen to chat while Trapper cooks. And BJ is struck again by how weirdly domestic it all is. Trapper John McIntyre – inveterate womanizer and gin guzzler – is putting a roast in the oven while wearing an apron and Hawkeye is treating this like it's a normal occurrence.

BJ feels like he's been transported into some bizarre alternate universe.

But Trapper does offer him a real drink, finally. And they're apparently all going to a poker game with Charles later, so that's familiar ground at least. And dinner is good. The food is great, actually – better than some of the stuff Peg had made when they'd first gotten married.

And BJ's liquored up enough that conversation with Trapper isn't stilted, even though Hawkeye seems to be focusing more on eating than talking – another difference from Korea. It helps that Trapper's asking BJ about his experience building that first ever defibrillator in Korea – the topic of his talk at Johns Hopkins. BJ rehashes his lecture and Trapper asks insightful questions about ways to refine the device – more than some of the doctors at his lecture had been able to manage. It's obvious the man is a skilled surgeon – as much as it burns BJ to admit it.

But Trapper doesn't rub it in BJ's face or anything. Just listens to BJ's answers and then says, “I'm excited to see how it develops from here – anything that keeps us ER docs from having to do open heart massages is worth a whole lotta accolades in my book.”

“And how does Peg feel about your new found notoriety?” Hawkeye finally chimes in. “You told me she liked the quiet life – and now you're published in the AMA and on the lecture circuit. You've really hit the big time.”

BJ laughs. “She's been pretty happy despite all the hoopla. I didn't want to tell you about this until it was settled, Hawk, but I've been asked to take up a research and teaching position at Stanford. I guess all those AMA articles got the dean's attention.” BJ can't help but sound a little proud of that. It's a big accomplishment for a guy just out of residency.

Then BJ breaks out into a wide grin. “It'll mean I'm home nights and weekends. And since Peg's expecting again, she's all for that.”

“BJ! Congratulations! On two counts.” Hawkeye wraps him in a hug.

Trapper offers his own congratulations and then asks after Erin and they spend a while swapping kid pictures, and that's pretty nice. They'll probably never be best friends, but BJ can get along with Trapper if that's what it takes to see Hawkeye. It's pretty obvious they're close friends what with how they're sitting pressed up against one another on the couch as they all have coffee and dessert.

It's not like BJ expected any different – Hawkeye always invaded BJ's personal space. But it's a little strange to look at it from the outside, to see Hawkeye practically sitting in Trapper's lap as he turns to talk to BJ. To see Hawkeye lean back against Trapper's chest and to see Trapper reshape his own body to fit Hawkeye.

Had they – had Hawkeye and BJ looked like that when they sat together? Had BJ smiled at Hawkeye like that – so soft and warm and... BJ doesn't know. He may have had too much to drink.

Fortunately, they head off to the bar soon enough. And Charles joins them for a poker game and it's a good distraction from BJ's thoughts about Hawkeye and Trapper and Hawkeye-and-Trapper.

The game is fun, and it's nice to catch up with his other former Swamp-mate. But Charles is still the same pompous windbag from Korea – even if his infatuation with his new girlfriend seems to have softened him somewhat. So BJ isn't too disgruntled when Hawkeye starts yawning ostentatiously and they head back to the house and bed.

BJ is a lot more disgruntled when they get home and the mystery of where Hawkeye is sleeping gets solved. Because it turns out that he's sleeping in Trapper's room. Trapper's room with one bed. Trapper's room with one bed with Trapper also in it.

And now BJ is back to thinking about how close they were sitting on the couch earlier. How close they probably are now – laying together in bed. BJ can imagine it in excruciating detail – Hawkeye's head resting on Trapper's chest, their legs tangled together, Hawkeye whispering a soft goodnight into Trapper's BJ's Trapper's skin.

“Goddammit,” BJ whispers as he scrubs at his eyes. As if that could make the image go away.

He lays awake for a long time, staring blindly at the ceiling.

BJ wakes up to a door closing somewhere in the house. Hawkeye and Trapper are clearly awake, so BJ stumbles out of Hawkeye's room and down the stairs. He pauses at the entrance to the kitchen – just out of sight of Trapper, who's lounging against the counter, grinning at a laughing Hawkeye.

BJ is still haunted by the image of Hawkeye and Trapper sleeping together and it's maybe bleeding into how he sees their interactions now. Surely Trapper's gaze isn't that heated. Surely Hawkeye doesn't mean to angle his body so invitingly. But BJ doesn't know. And he needs to know, needs to understand what's going on here between Hawkeye and Trapper – between Hawkeye and himself – so he watches.

Watches as Hawkeye and Trapper dance around one another in the kitchen as they get breakfast ready. Watches as Trapper directs Hawkeye out of his way with a hand on his hip or the small of his back. Watches as Hawkeye pops a grape into Trapper's mouth.

And BJ is even more confused. Because they're all things that he and Hawkeye have done – or close to, anyway. But seeing things from the outside, it all just looks so intimate. Like husband and wife. And that makes BJ wonder how he and Hawkeye had looked doing those kinds of things.

There's a sharp twist of anxiety in BJ's guts and he can't think about this anymore. So he makes some noise to announce his presence before joining Hawkeye and Trapper in the kitchen. And Hawkeye and Trapper don't change their behavior any when BJ's walks in, so there must not be any deeper meaning behind it.

It's a relief, really it is.

They eat breakfast – the famous Pierce family French toast, according to Hawkeye – and that's normal enough. BJ no longer feels like he's going to hurl, at any rate. Then they spend more time chatting in the living room, a knitting Hawkeye sandwiched between BJ and Trapper.

BJ is almost glad of Trapper's presence today – he's not feeling all that capable of conversation this morning, too caught up in his own thoughts. Too busy counting up the intimate moments between Trapper and Hawkeye – and comparing them to moments he and Hawkeye have shared. Too busy trying to figure out what it all means.

And then it's time to say goodbye. BJ doesn't let himself feel self conscious when he wraps Hawkeye in a clinging hug. He misses him already.

But that's a little sappy, so all BJ says is, “Goodbye, Hawk. Thanks for letting me come visit – and if you're ever on the West Coast, don't be a stranger.”

“Bye, BJ.” Hawkeye smiles warmly at him and it's like standing in the sun. “Thanks for stopping by; it was good to see you.”

It's an easier goodbye than Korea, but not by much. BJ leaves Boston with an awful lot of questions and no answers.

“That visit everything you hoped for?”

Hawkeye's looking a little wistfully at the door. But he smiles as he looks back at Trapper. “Yeah, it was. Don't get me wrong, I would have liked to know what was eating him at the end there, but he seems happy. Like Korea didn't completely fuck him up. And that's a relief.”

“It's good to know at least one of us could go back home and pick his life back up where he left it.” BJ obviously loved the hell out of both his kid and his wife and Trapper's glad they're making it work. “Not that I don't like how things ended up for me. For us.”

“I like how things ended up for us too.” Then Hawkeye's gaze turns heated. “And as nice as it was to see BJ again, I'm a little glad he's gone.”

Trapper comes up to Hawkeye, cupping his face with a hand. “Yeah? You got something you wanna do just the two of us?”

“Oh, Trapper, I have a list.”

#mash #piercintyre #fanfic archive #you can't cross the same river twice #chapter 18

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