There's Nothing Like A...nother chapter

[hawkeyesmartini.livejournal.com]

More story. Woo, great fun. Or something.

Title : There’s Nothing Like A...//Part 3 - Buttinsky
Author: Hawkeye’s Martini <:3D~
Rating: PG15, perhaps R later on
Fandom: M*A*S*H
Pairing & Genre: Bit of Hawpper, romance/comedy
Feedback: Will make me v. happy
Archive: Bunch of LJs and my site, whenever I get around to updating it.
Email: hawkeyes1stmartini@yahoo.com

Warnings: Language, slash, bunch of arguing
Summary: The nurses are gone and the guys are desperate.

Disclaimers: M*A*S*H not mine. Hawkeye, Trapper not mine. Or I might shove them in a closet and hide the key. ^_^

A/N : Apologies to those who are seeing this more than once. Takes place during "There’s Nothing Like A Nurse". Also, I've changed history to make the word "bisexual" in use in 1951. Author's privelege. :P

<:3D~

There’s Nothing Like A Buttinsky (especially of the Ferret variety)

Hawkeye didn’t see Trapper for all of the next day, either. At first he was hurt and confused, but the more he thought about it, he decided that being hurt like that by his best friend pissed him off. So, while the pain and confusion was still there, floating around someplace, he kept it in check and continued being angry. He racked his brain trying to think of an explanation that would give Trap the benefit of the doubt – like he didn’t know what he was asking and it got too uncomfortable – but everything had been fine at first. Now the rat was avoiding him, avoiding any chance to be confronted about it. Hawkeye was in a sour mood all day.

He came back from a shift in the OR around midnight, ready for a leisurely conversation with the still. Frank was reading on his bunk while Trapper appeared to be doing some sort of crossword puzzle. He looked up, guilt all over his face when the other doctor slammed the Swamp door closed. Hawkeye positively glared at him, then went to his own bunk, pulling his boots off. He stood and went for the still, slamming everything he touched. Trapper winced slightly at every bang and clatter, and Frank noticed. He’d overheard something earlier, from two enlisted creeps who were talking about McIntyre asking Pierce to dance with him. That was all he knew, but from the way the two were acting towards each other now, he could certainly draw his own conclusions.

"Hawkeye..." Trapper began slowly. Hawkeye slammed the gin pitcher down and gave him a dark look. "Hey, don’t be mad." Trapper said, blinking.

"Go to hell."

"What?! What’d I do?"

"Don’t talk to me." Hawkeye grabbed the entire pitcher along with his glass and flopped down on his cot, his back turned.

"I’m sorry, okay?"

"No."

Trapper’s shoulders sagged and he dropped the newspaper down. "You’re that mad?"

"Fuck you."

"Fine, be mad. I didn’t think it was such a big deal."

Hawkeye turned around then, furious. "Wasn’t a big deal, Trapper? If you hated it so fucking much, why did you ask me?"

"I didn’t hate it Hawk, I just – "

"You set me up."

"What?"

"You were fucking teasing me, just like I thought. You think it hasn’t happened before? That’s why I didn’t want to. But no, I thought someone like my best friend wouldn’t do that!"

Silence. Frank wasn’t even pretending to read anymore, his head going back and forth looking at them like one would watch a tennis match. "Hawk..." Trapper tried again.

"Don’t talk to me." He turned again.

"Fine." Trapper threw his newspaper down off his cot and onto the floor, standing up. "Don’t let me tell you why, then. Be that way."

"Go to hell!" Hawkeye yelled after him again as he left. Trapper kept walking.

Frank then turned to look at Hawkeye, who was just staring down at his gin. "Are...you okay?" he ventured.

Hawkeye glared at him. "What do you care."

"I was just asking."

"Leave me alone, Frank. I’m not in the mood."

"All right, all right..." Frank trailed off and looked back down at his book. Unfortunately he looked back up again. "I heard something today." He announced after a few minutes.

"I’m happy for you."

"Don’t you wanna hear what I heard?"

Hawkeye let his head fall back in exasperation, but he sighed. "What’d you hear."

Frank sat forward on his bed as if he was going to divulge a great secret. "I heard," he began, "that last night in the Officers’ Club, McIntyre asked you to dance with him."

"Congratulations, you’re not deaf."

Frank blinked. He wasn’t sure if that was an admission or denial. "Did he? Ask you to dance with him?"

Hawkeye lifted a shoulder and let it drop. "I suppose it could be seen that way."

"What way do you see it?"

He shrugged again, gulping down his drink. "I dunno. He probably didn’t mean anything by it."

"Is that why you’re mad at him? You’re the one that likes men."

"Thanks for reminding me, I can’t see where I wrote it on the wall from here." Hawkeye rolled his eyes. "No, I’m not mad at him for that, Frank, something else. That’s none of your business." He added when the Major opened his pie-hole.

"All right, fine, you don’t have to tell me." Frank almost sang.

"I know I don’t!"

Pause. "But you can."

Hawkeye glared at him again, hating him, hating the man who’d snitch on his own mother. Hating him because of the offer he’d just made, hating him because it was so tempting. Who else was going to listen? The priest? Right. Margaret (who had only been allowed to stay after throwing the tantrum that beat all tantrums about having to leave) had post-op (and was happy about it) and Henry was probably sleeping, which wasn’t a good time to bother him with this drama. Hawkeye chewed on his bottom lip while Frank waited. He did want to tell...to express his outrage and confusion at Trapper’s smooth exit in the middle of ‘harmless’ dancing. He wanted to tell frank, so they could both be mad at Trapper. Maybe he should just start hanging out with Frank, that would show him.

"Just forget it." He sighed.

"All ri-ight." Frank leaned back, hands on his stomach.

"Don’t sing at me like that."

"What ever you sa-ay."

"Knock it off, Frank! Just leave me alone! I’m not bothering you!"

"I will if you just tell me why you’re mad at McIntyre."

"None of your business."

"Fine."

Hawkeye clenched his jaw but said nothing, instead he poured another drink. It was quiet for a long while after, and Frank got more and more restless, fidgeting instead of running his mouth. Annoying as both activities were, Hawkeye supposed he preferred the fidgeting to anything he might ask.

"Pierce..."

Ah, crap.

"What, Frank."

"What did you mean when you said McIntyre was teasing you?"

"He put his hand infront of my face and said ‘not touching, can’t get mad’. Then he played the Shadow game."

"Oh, how do you play that?" Frank looked interested.

"Oh, how do you play that?"

"I don’t know, that’s why I asked you."

"I don’t know, that’s why I asked you."

"You did not, I asked you."

"You did not, I asked you."

"Stop repeating me!"

"Stop repeating me!"

"Pierce! You are an idiot!"

"Frank, you’re the idiot. That’s how you play Shadow."

"Oh." Pause. "He made you mad doing that?"

"No, I just said that to shut you up."

"Well, it didn’t work!"

"Shame."

"C’mon...you can tell me, I won’t tell anyone!"

"Everyone who believes that, stand on your head."

"I won’t! I haven’t told anyone about you being halfway homosexual!" Frank shouted. He preferred saying that to "bisexual" because it made it sound worse than he suspected it really was. (The word ‘bisexual’ having been invented the previous year.)

"That’s only because I’d tell about you and Margaret, otherwise I’m sure you woulda come in here with a Bible in one hand and several MPs in the other. Why don’t you just leave me be, Frank. I don’t want to talk about it. It’s none of your business."

"Did you do something to him? Provoke him?"

"No! I didn’t do anything! I even said ‘no’ at first."

"To dance with him?"

"Uh huh."

"Then why did you?"

Hawkeye sighed and shrugged. "It’s not like I can with anyone else, just the girls, and they’re not here. He said he was serious."

"How come you’re mad?

"Because you keep asking stupid questions. I’m not talking to you any more! Leave me alone, I’m going to sleep."

"Well, if you give me an answer I’ll quit."

"Goat cheese."

"What?"

"Your answer."

"I won’t stop asking till you tell me. Or maybe someone else knows."

"I doubt it."

"What about those two that were talking about it that I overheard?"

"What were they saying?"

"Don’t you wanna know who it was?"

"I couldn’t care less."

Frank snorted. "They were saying McIntyre asked you to dance with him."

"...And?"

"And...that’s it! Then you did."

"Did they say anything about him suddenly having to leave, just walking out and leaving me there for everyone to laugh at?"

Pause. "No."

"Well then," Hawkeye carefully poured another drink. "I guess they didn’t know."

Frank appeared to be contemplating. "Is that why you’re mad at him, he ditched you?"

"If I give you a cigar, will you shut up?"

"No."

Hawkeye hesitated, then gave him a hard look. "You said you wouldn’t go around telling everyone, Frank. If you keep your word it’ll get more people to trust you."

"Well, the only one I’d tell is – "

"Not even Major Houlihan."

"Aw, but – "

"Fine, tell everyone, I don’t care. See if I ever tell you anything ever again." He set the martini glass on the table and settled down, rearranging his pillows.

"Does McIntyre know why you’re mad at him?"

"...he should."

"I don’t think he does."

"I don’t care. He should know, and if he doesn’t, it’s not my problem."

"You know who you sound like?"

"Me, I hope."

"No, you sound like my wife."

"Don’t expect me to act like her."

"You are, though. You’re angry at him, but you won’t say why, you just expect him to know. You sound like a woman. Have you thought about why he left?"

"I’ve tried, and I can’t think of a damn thing, except that he didn’t know what he was really asking and it got weird so he just left me standing there."

"Me, me, me, all you ever talk about is yourself. Maybe he’s got a really good reason. Or just any reason. Maybe he did get uncomfortable. No, it’s not your fault, but it’s not his either. He can’t help what’s comfortable and what’s not."

"I never said...oh, what do you know?" Hawkeye glared again. It seemed to be his favourite look lately. "I want to be pissed off at him, lemme be."

"You just can’t stand being wrong."

"Can you stand with both of your legs glued to your cot?"

"Unlikely."

"Then unless you want to try it, I suggest you blow. Leave. Me. Alone."

"I was here first!"

"Fine, then I’ll leave." He said in exasperation, throwing his blanket back and grabbing his boots.

"You go ahead and leave, Mr. I-Can’t-Stand-Being-Wrong."

Hawkeye didn’t look up as he laced his boots, scanning his vocabulary for a really good comeback. Just as he was going to say something about obviously being able to stand and therefore not being wrong, the door opened and Trapper stepped in. They looked at each other a moment, not sure what to say.

"I was just leaving," Hawkeye mumbled, dropping his eyes.

"I’ll leave with you." Trapper said softly.

"You just got here."

"Well, then, I’ll re-leave." he reached behind him and opened the door. "C’mon. Buy ya a drink." He offered. Hawkeye just looked at him, a shadow of a angry stare still on his face. "Hawk..." Trapper said.

Hawkeye hovered in his boots for a second longer, then reached down for his jacket and walked out of the Swamp, ignoring the looking of triumph on Frank’s face. Although it surely wouldn’t last for long, as, hey, it’s Frank.

<:3D~