(no subject)

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Hey,
I'm kinda nervous posting this here, it's the first story I've put up on this.

It's just a bit of fluffy angst, or angsty fluff whichever you prefer set as a tag to Dear Dad.



Trapper walked into the Swamp to find Hawkeye slumped in his cot, a letter sticking to the remains of the false beard. Shaking his head slightly at the sight, he started to pull the paper out from beneath the sleeping doctor’s adorable head. Adorable? Where had that come from? Of course, he would think that any man dressed as a scruffy Santa Claus, with a three day beard growth showing amid patches of glue was adorable, he told himself. At least when he looked so innocently rumpled. It wasn’t that it was Hawkeye at all.

His efforts at stealth letter removing were unsuccessful and with a muttered groan the sleeper awoke. As he sat up, bleary-eyed, it seemed to Trapper that he looked cuter than any man had any right to. And that meant that he was paying more attention to his best friends looks than any married man should. More and more though Trapper had found himself looking at Hawkeye over even the prettiest of the nurses. And when Hawkeye had been called to do field surgery he had spent the time pacing up and down outside Henry’s office and trying not to chew his fingernails down to nothing. But he would do that for any friend. It wasn’t anything sexual, Trapper was sure of that. They were bound to thin of each other. They worked together, ate together, showered together and slept toge . . . slept in the same tent. So he thought that Hawkeye was cute. It was just another symptom of war. This too shall pass.

Now Hawkeye was looking at him. “What is it, wounded?”

“No,” Trapper answered, pleased that his voice was steady “You were just trying to write a letter with your teeth.” He held out the paper and pen. Hawk took them

“Prevents writer’s cramp. You should try it.”

“I’ve got better things to do with my mouth.” Trapper said without thinking. Watching Hawkeye’s smirk, he tried hard not to think of those lips kissing him, tried to look like it was one of the girls he was picturing.

Hawkeye shifted over on the bed. Trapper sat down heavily beside him.

“What was it like?” he asked, changing the subject and immediately regretting it, seeing the look in Hawk’s eyes.

“Bad,” The other man answered after a moment. “Everyone was shooting at anything that moved and here was yours truly running around in a red suit. And the soldiers,” a heavy sigh “children, all of them.”

Trapper bit his lip, his body turned away from Hawkeye’s. He tried to think of some way that he could get that exhausted tone out of his friend’s voice, remove that deadened look from his eyes. Instinctively he inched closer and put an arm over Hawkeye’s shoulders and was surprised when the immediate response was a tight embrace that seemed to go on forever.

“Thanks Trap.” Hawkeye moved apart first. Trapper felt inexplicably bereft until the other doctor shifted into a comfortable position his chest leaning against Trapper’s back and shoulder. It felt natural, Hawkeye’s warm body pressed against his.

“You’re welcome,” he answered contentedly. Then, curious, “How come you’re still wearing that?” He indicated the suit.

“It’s not green.”

“Ah.” Trapper considered the answer for a moment. “But it is red.” he pointed out, thinking of the blood smeared on the shirt he was wearing, and the darker red patches he could see on the santa suit.

“Everything around here has to be one or the other.” Hawkeye observed.

Trapper was silent for a moment. “Maybe we should have a party where no-one’s allowed to wear red or green at all.”

Hawkeye looked at him. “Everyone would have to be naked.”

“I could live with that.” And he could, watching Hawkeye naked sounded like a lot of fun. Just a wartime thing of course, nothing more than that.

“Me too.” But his voice was still distant. There was a pause. “If you were home right now, what would you be doing?”

Trapper had been thinking of that all day. “Helping the girls unwrap their presents, chasing Louise around the tree with a sprig of mistletoe. Then later we’d go out for a walk, all wrapped up, hoping to see the snow fall.” He sighed, “I’d give anything to be there.”

Hawkeye shifted closer still, until his head was resting on Trapper’s shoulder. “I’d be at my Dad’s, drinking brandy and listening to all the well wishers asking why I’m not married yet.”

“What do you normally tell them?”

“That I just haven’t found Mr Right.”

Trapper laughed but stopped, noticing that Hawkeye wasn’t.

“We don’t even have a tree.” Hawkeye lamented.

“There’s one in the mess tent.” Trapper pointed out.

“Yeah, but Father Mulcahy decorated that. That was my favourite part of Christmas when I was a kid, decorating the tree.”

“How about we glue Frank to the floor and then we can decorate him? He’s always saying he should be decorated.”

“It’s a date.” Hawkeye’s grin seemed genuine for the first time that day and as he shifted round, Trapper found himself looking directly into Hawkeye’s eyes, merely inches away. “Hey, Trapper?”

“Yes?” his voice sounded unnatural and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Merry Christmas.” Hawkeye leaned forwards and Trapper John MacIntyre, unresisting found himself involved in the best first kiss of his life.

This too will pass. But perhaps it didn’t have to.