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mash_slashTitle: things you never knew before
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mijmeraar
Pairing: Trapper/Spalding
Rating: 15+
AN: I was chatting withcaptain_lubey and mused over this pairing and she pretty much said, yep, do that. So I did. This is pretty much for my own indulgence, but if the pairing interests you, I hope you enjoy it. Words in italics are songs that actually featured on the show, and which Spalding performed.
[they got some saki and sashimi and some clean sheets, oh kimono, kimono]
It all begins with Tokyo and soldiers on from there. Hawkeye’s hands are apparently tied – and not in a good way, Trapper assures you – so you take his place on R’n’R, Trapper beside you in the jeep. You have clothes and money and the important things, the guitar, and you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, and pretend you don’t want to know. You pretend you’re not excited but you’re hands are so shaky you can’t find the right chords and you tell Trapper you don’t feel like playing because you don’t want to listen to him sing. He laughs, and it’s sweet like Geisha perfume and it’s hopeful like the Japanese horizon.
There’s bright lights and well kept people and an endless bounty of booze, much better than the Officer’s Club or the Swamp or Colonel Blake’s booze cabinet after a big win at Tuesday night poker. You thought, with Hawkeye not around, Trapper might have more to say and less to drink and you thought you’d peel away the outer shell, have him croon about his own heartaches. He just takes his whiskey gratefully, he just smiles a lot, he just makes you laugh with a few anecdotes; mostly on Frank Burns, on the justifiable injustices done to Frank Burns. You realise he’s a little mysterious and you know that you prefer it.
Trapper ignores the young girl giving him doe eyes across the room – you don’t blame her but you don’t like her either – and leads you out, back to the hotel, the whole time with his hand splayed out across the small of your back. It’s just walk, walk, march; no words and no more joking and as soon as the door is closed he has you backed against it. His hand is tucked in between your neck and jaw and he’s gentle at first, so you can both get your bearings, and then he’s opening his mouth against yours and you’re allowing the invasion and you’re feeling his tongue slip slide against yours and you’re feeling everything just disappear, just crumble away, and you both just tumble into bed.
There’s a slow, soothing beat playing in your head, while Trapper’s hands are on your body, bringing in the melody.
[now that we’re without them we can hardly stand ourselves]
You expect it to be over but it’s not and it will probably never be. You’re a hometown boy who will one day be married; who will become a family man with enough children to carry on after you’re gone. At war you’re nothing that can’t be summarised with a few numbers and a rank and so you say yes when he comes to you and you say no to the thoughts swirling about in your brain, the sad little songs you’ll never sing: he’s already a family man. There’s not a lot of talk and not a great deal of thinking, either; there’s just the supply tent, the VIP tent and all the dark corners and niches that aren’t already occupied with infidels. There’s just a desperate voice in your ear, burnt rough by the southern sun, and he’s saying, so good, Calvin, so right, as if trying to convince you. Trying to convince himself.
You write a few songs and you don’t say his name and he watches you while you perform them and his eyes say, I know, so that’s really enough. He has his arm around a nurse or his head on Hawkeye’s shoulder or his hand loose around a martini glass. His hand loose on his lunch tray or his towel or curled around his arms when he folds them defensively, when he’s being discreet. You like to look at his hands and you read them like sheet music and you imagine all the places they could go, should go, and how it would feel and how you would sound, and how sometimes you’d like to sit in the audience and just watch and just see it. Beauty in spite of this life.
You never say these things because Trapper doesn’t want to hear them, and Trapper already knows them anyway. When he gets his discharge papers he’s a show of emotions such as you’ve never known before; excitement and impatience and fear. He’s afraid because he’s leaving home and going back to unknowns. He’s afraid, you know, because he’s leaving Hawkeye, and he’s leaving without Hawkeye’s voice in his ear, without Hawkeye’s, you’re gonna be great, Trap, you deserve everything, Trap. He comes to you and doesn’t say much and says, it’s been great, Cal, hasn’t it been great? And you smile and then you laugh because that’s Trapper and Trapper likes to please. You spend your last time in the abandoned Swamp, locked together in Trapper’s cot, and when you are done he lets you stay and he lets you listen to his war stories.
You say, I’ll say goodbye to Hawkeye for you, and he shakes his head. No. No means, that’s not your business, and no means he can’t bear the thought.
[it’s a lousy little war, but we’d still love to see ya]
He didn’t mean for you to fall in love with him.
He didn’t mean for any of it and it’s okay, you forgive him, because this is war, and hearts are always first to break.
You sing farewell, let it dance along the Korean dust, watch it follow the chopper out, now that we’re without him, we can hardly stand ourselves.
-end-
Author:
mijmeraarPairing: Trapper/Spalding
Rating: 15+
AN: I was chatting with
captain_lubey and mused over this pairing and she pretty much said, yep, do that. So I did. This is pretty much for my own indulgence, but if the pairing interests you, I hope you enjoy it. Words in italics are songs that actually featured on the show, and which Spalding performed.[they got some saki and sashimi and some clean sheets, oh kimono, kimono]
It all begins with Tokyo and soldiers on from there. Hawkeye’s hands are apparently tied – and not in a good way, Trapper assures you – so you take his place on R’n’R, Trapper beside you in the jeep. You have clothes and money and the important things, the guitar, and you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, and pretend you don’t want to know. You pretend you’re not excited but you’re hands are so shaky you can’t find the right chords and you tell Trapper you don’t feel like playing because you don’t want to listen to him sing. He laughs, and it’s sweet like Geisha perfume and it’s hopeful like the Japanese horizon.
There’s bright lights and well kept people and an endless bounty of booze, much better than the Officer’s Club or the Swamp or Colonel Blake’s booze cabinet after a big win at Tuesday night poker. You thought, with Hawkeye not around, Trapper might have more to say and less to drink and you thought you’d peel away the outer shell, have him croon about his own heartaches. He just takes his whiskey gratefully, he just smiles a lot, he just makes you laugh with a few anecdotes; mostly on Frank Burns, on the justifiable injustices done to Frank Burns. You realise he’s a little mysterious and you know that you prefer it.
Trapper ignores the young girl giving him doe eyes across the room – you don’t blame her but you don’t like her either – and leads you out, back to the hotel, the whole time with his hand splayed out across the small of your back. It’s just walk, walk, march; no words and no more joking and as soon as the door is closed he has you backed against it. His hand is tucked in between your neck and jaw and he’s gentle at first, so you can both get your bearings, and then he’s opening his mouth against yours and you’re allowing the invasion and you’re feeling his tongue slip slide against yours and you’re feeling everything just disappear, just crumble away, and you both just tumble into bed.
There’s a slow, soothing beat playing in your head, while Trapper’s hands are on your body, bringing in the melody.
[now that we’re without them we can hardly stand ourselves]
You expect it to be over but it’s not and it will probably never be. You’re a hometown boy who will one day be married; who will become a family man with enough children to carry on after you’re gone. At war you’re nothing that can’t be summarised with a few numbers and a rank and so you say yes when he comes to you and you say no to the thoughts swirling about in your brain, the sad little songs you’ll never sing: he’s already a family man. There’s not a lot of talk and not a great deal of thinking, either; there’s just the supply tent, the VIP tent and all the dark corners and niches that aren’t already occupied with infidels. There’s just a desperate voice in your ear, burnt rough by the southern sun, and he’s saying, so good, Calvin, so right, as if trying to convince you. Trying to convince himself.
You write a few songs and you don’t say his name and he watches you while you perform them and his eyes say, I know, so that’s really enough. He has his arm around a nurse or his head on Hawkeye’s shoulder or his hand loose around a martini glass. His hand loose on his lunch tray or his towel or curled around his arms when he folds them defensively, when he’s being discreet. You like to look at his hands and you read them like sheet music and you imagine all the places they could go, should go, and how it would feel and how you would sound, and how sometimes you’d like to sit in the audience and just watch and just see it. Beauty in spite of this life.
You never say these things because Trapper doesn’t want to hear them, and Trapper already knows them anyway. When he gets his discharge papers he’s a show of emotions such as you’ve never known before; excitement and impatience and fear. He’s afraid because he’s leaving home and going back to unknowns. He’s afraid, you know, because he’s leaving Hawkeye, and he’s leaving without Hawkeye’s voice in his ear, without Hawkeye’s, you’re gonna be great, Trap, you deserve everything, Trap. He comes to you and doesn’t say much and says, it’s been great, Cal, hasn’t it been great? And you smile and then you laugh because that’s Trapper and Trapper likes to please. You spend your last time in the abandoned Swamp, locked together in Trapper’s cot, and when you are done he lets you stay and he lets you listen to his war stories.
You say, I’ll say goodbye to Hawkeye for you, and he shakes his head. No. No means, that’s not your business, and no means he can’t bear the thought.
[it’s a lousy little war, but we’d still love to see ya]
He didn’t mean for you to fall in love with him.
He didn’t mean for any of it and it’s okay, you forgive him, because this is war, and hearts are always first to break.
You sing farewell, let it dance along the Korean dust, watch it follow the chopper out, now that we’re without him, we can hardly stand ourselves.
-end-
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-01-20 02:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-22 08:52 am (UTC)Thank you very much for the comments, I'm glad this served more of a purpose than me just projecting, hee. Glad you liked it.
no subject
Date: 2007-01-21 02:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-22 08:54 am (UTC)