mash_slash | A fic and a question (Reply)

First off, a fic I wrote earlier this week. Hawkeye meets up with Trapper after the war and is shocked to find how much things have changed between them.

A month after his move to Boston, he finds himself thumbing through a phonebook muttering under his breath, "McIntyre, John."

The phone feels cold, impersonal, the buttons strangely resistant under his nimble fingers.

One ring. Two. Then a woman's voice, "hello?"

"Uh…hi. Is Tr…John there?" he asks, wondering if this is a good idea.

"No, he's at work. Can I take a message?" Louise's voice is pleasant, friendly, welcoming. This was what Trapper had come home to. Why he had forgotten him in the dust.

"Tell him…no, I'll just call back. Thanks." He slams down the receiver, trying to blot out the sudden banging of his heartbeat.

*********

A week later they meet up, in a dark smoky bar. Trapper is all grins, pretending no time has passed, nothing has changed. Hawkeye can only stare, find himself wondering who this man is who talks so carelessly of women, seems so flippant. He finds himself wondering if he'd be that way, had he only come home sooner, seen less. Not met the serious man with the crazy mustache.

"Buy you a drink soldier?" Trapper asks, all along eyeing the woman at the end of the bar.

Flinch. "No. Somehow when I got back, alcohol no longer seemed appealing. Guess I drank my fill during my stay in hell." Hawkeye tries to joke. But it's true. He doesn't drink anymore. Except when it's late at night, and he's scared to sleep because of the nightmares waiting on the other side, the sea of blood. Then he finds himself frantically digging through the cupboards for the bottle of gin that can make him forget.

"How are the kids?"

"They're great. Really great. Becky's destined to be a basketball star. They're great."

"And Louise?"

He looks away a second - a flash of shame across the eyes. "She's amazing. Took me back with open arms. Made me whole again. Don't know what I'd do without her."

But after the awkward good-byes, before which Korea had been carefully unmentioned, Hawkeye looks over his shoulder as he opens the door. He sees Trapper heading towards the woman at the end of the bar, wedding ring carefully slipping into his pocket as he pastes on a disarming grin.

************

"I met up with Trapper last night."

"Oh." There is a hint of something in the voice on the phone. Jealousy? Worry? Surprise? "Was it just like old times?"

"Yes. And no. Beej, you remember how Frank was always warning you against my influence? I think you may have influenced me more. He hasn't changed one bit."

"And you have." It isn't a question.

"I suppose. I listened to him talk about how great his wife, his girls were and then 10 minutes later try to ask out a woman at the end of the bar. That never bothered me in Korea. Somehow here, now, it was different. The callousness, the womanizing, god even the alcoholism bothered me. Have I changed so much that this used to be me, and now I can't stand it?"

***************

Despite it all, they continue to meet, every few months. It becomes a tradition. Trapper offers a drink that is always refused. Hawkeye pointedly ignores the constantly changing secretaries on his shoulder, the girls he picks up afterwards. They talk almost like strangers about the weather, about Trapper's family. But never about Korea, never about surgery. And they pretend that whatever they had still exists, the intimacy acted out by men who look the same as they once did, but no longer recognize each other. They call each other "Trapper" and "Hawkeye" though more and more others are calling them "John" and "Ben."

****************

One day Trapper is late. Hawkeye is ready to give up when the man stumbles in, disheveled and without the usual girl on his arm.

They claim the normal booth, Trapper hanging his head, hiding exhausted blood-shot eyes.

"Louise kicked me out. Got sick of all the girls. She knew, god, she knew. Why did I do it?"

And Hawkeye resumes his old role, takes the man home. Piece by piece puts him back together, helps him restart a life. They meet more frequently, talking about what they have now. Still awkward, but adjusted to it. And Trapper drinks more as Hawkeye finds himself fumbling for the gin bottle less and less often.

*****************

And years later, when both men have gone grey and white but still should have many years to look forward to, Hawkeye finds himself in a hospital room, at his friend's bedside.

Trapper's liver has given in to the alcohol long before his body is due to stop running. A body can't survive without a liver, both doctors know it. And Trapper is a poor transplant candidate. It's only a matter of time.

And so Hawkeye finds himself once more supporting the man and staying by him in his final days. There have already been visits, from his ex-wife and his daughters. The first chillier then the second. And now he is alone with the bitter, divorced old man who'd had it all and threw it away in alcohol and girls.

So used to the sound, neither doctor notices the hum of the machinery keeping the curly haired one alive just a little longer.

Trapper's eyes flutter open, looking around desperately.

Hawkeye leans forward, grabbing his friend's hand. "I'm here. It's okay."

"Hawkeye?" eyes blink in recognition. "You never left me. I don't deserve you. Don't deserve your friendship or your loyalty or your support," Trapper whispers, pain in his voice. "But I'm glad to have had you. I wouldn't have made it in Korea without you. The way you cared for everyone, the way you could be defiant and laugh in the face of death. You held all of us up." It is the first time either mentions the war since reuniting. Hawkeye finds a lump forming in his throat, and a nightmare in the back of his mind.

"Just doing my job," he mutters, smiling at his friend, ignoring the effort it takes.

"I just wanted to tell you, before it's too late. Thanks. For everything."

"Anytime. You did the same for me."

"And Hawkeye?"

"What?"

"Good-bye."

His eyes close. Minutes later the beeping slowly stops, turning to a flat whine. Unthinking, Hawkeye reaches for the man's wrist, knowing he'll find no gentle throbbing.

*************

He makes it back somehow and stumbles straight for the hidden gin bottle, only to find it dusty and long empty. In desperation, he reaches for the phone, his fingers dialing the number without prompting.

"He's gone Beej. Just slipped away."

"I'm sorry Hawk." And he is sorry. But more for Hawkeye's pain then the death of a man he's never really met, only heard stories that he hasn't particularly cared for.

"I hated him for so long. For just leaving me, abandoning me to Korea. Not even saying good-bye."

"I know." But I was there. You weren't alone.

"He said good-bye Beej. Finally, after all these years, he said it. And I realized I don't hate him anymore. Haven't in a long time. But I just realized it."

"I know." You stopped hating him as soon as you accepted me.

"Too much alcohol and too many women. Liver failure at 60. That could have been me Beej. Would have been me if I'd gone home when he did. If I hadn't met you. If I hadn't seen too many years of war." A silence. "Did I just blame Korea for extending my life?"

A quick laugh. "I'd rather you blame me."

And just as suddenly, there are soft sobs.

"Hawk? Do you need anything? Do you need me to fly out there?"

"No. I'll be okay." The sudden click of the hung-up phone resonates in BJ's ear.

BJ looks at the phone for a minute, considering. Then he picks it up, dials the travel agent. "I need the soonest possible flight to Boston."

***************************

And a question: I assume some of you out there have experience with fanfiction.net. Does anyone have any recommendations, postive or negative for joining that site?