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Aug. 14th, 2005 09:47 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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mash_slashTitle: Gone
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mijmeraar
Pairing: implied Trapper/Hawkeye
Rating: 13+
Disclaimer: It didn’t happen on the show so I made it up.
Summary: Hawkeye’s gone. B.J and Trapper meet. B.J finds affirmation. Sort of. Not really.
Notes: I’m afraid they might be OOC, slightly; unbeta’d; about 1,800 words.
Feedback: comments/criticisms will be much appreciated :)
--
B.J isn’t sure why he agreed to this. He still remembers the look in Peg’s eyes as she handed him his coat; disappointment was something she was rarely willing to show. Still, the letter had been specific; had been adamant. It is the very least he can do.
He knows how long it has been since leaving the 4077th; he knows right down to the minute. The few months after had been ignorant bliss; real food, real smiles – his family returned to him at last. Lying in bed at night, with Peg in his arms, and smelling the sweet aroma of home. And yet, he’d also left a family behind.
He closes his eyes at night and sees them there; shadows in the rolling hills of Korea. Memories of a time that will last on forever; not on the land, but in their hearts. Their shattered souls. They talk on the phone, they write letters; Charles even dropped by when he was visiting the area, which truly said something about the home they had made. Once.
B.J opens the door, to the modest little café he’d been instructed to. The bell jingles to alert the staff and B.J’s thoughts flood back to a still, martini glasses, and an eternal toast; to peace. They had been so sure then, that peace was all they had needed. That peace might solve their battles; they had ignored the sting of war, the pins that needled inside. They had drowned them out with useless gags and hero-trips. They wanted to save the world; they couldn’t save themselves.
B.J knows the man, though they have never met. He knows the man like children know Santa Claus or the Bogey Man under their bed. They don’t question the wild stories, the impossibilities, they just believe. B.J remembers all the stories; he remembers Hawkeye’s hushed tone’s as he recalled the days before B.J. He remembers pretending that it didn’t hurt.
Trapper John McIntyre, man of the moment, the master manipulator, married only by pen. My mate.
There’s a head of curly strawberry blonde hair, grey where death stole colour; B.J moves toward him instinctively and remembers all the jigsaw pieces. Batman and Robin, the dynamic duo; saviours of the soul. By day they stitched men back together, by night they did the same. When there were imaginary moments of harmony, they battled it out through women and dispossession. Their conflicts were historic; B.J knew them like he knew the wrinkles on his face.
“Macintyre?” B.J asks, and knows he is right before the man even turns his head.
“It’s Trapper. Please, sit.” It’s a small table by the farthest wall; the cloth is patched with red and white and a little flower vase sits between them. Hawkeye would grin and pinch Trapper’s cheek; ever the romantic.
“Coffee?”
“Any good?”
“Better then the Mess Tent.”
B.J smiles softly and nods. A waitress heads over when Trapper raises a hand, and takes their order away. B.J surveys the man before him; he almost feels like he should be proffering a napkin and asking Trapper to sign it. The twang in his voice, the curl of his lips and the bright blue of his eyes; a story that Hawkeye recited to him when the sky was black and Frank snored two cots away.
Hawkeye had never given away the ending; B.J had guessed, all the same.
“Not too late, I hope.”
“No.”
Trapper rests his hands on the table, then on his knees, and then back to the table again. B.J pretends not to see and smiles when the waitress returns. He takes his coffee.
“So, let’s not wait for the grass to grow. You wanted to talk about it.”
It. B.J knows there are very few words that can express what they have both been through. He knows they he has to try, though; they owe Hawkeye that much.
“And you didn’t?”
“Of course.”
Trapper takes a mouthful of coffee, sighs, puts the cup down and nearly spills it; his hands are shaking as if he’s preparing himself to cut through this. To save another life.
“We were together.” Trapper John was direct.
B.J didn’t have to be enlightened. He nods. “I know.”
“He told you?”
“In not so many words, sure.”
Trapper takes another mouthful of coffee. “And I never said goodbye.”
“Rings a bell.”
B.J had said goodbye. It had hurt to his very core, but he had done it, because it was what Hawkeye had needed. And he constantly fights the urge to take claim; he knew Hawkeye longer, he made more stories then Trapper, he hadn’t replaced anything – he had been new.
“Look, Trapper,” B.J sits up, leans on an elbow. “Are there questions? Are there answers? What are we doing here?”
“He’s gone. He’s dead.”
B.J feels those words as if for the first time. An icy cold lament seeps through his blood stream; he shudders despite the warm air.
B.J had been to the funeral, he had hugged his friends and shook Daniel’s hand and whispered I’ll miss you as Hawkeye was laid to rest. Then he went home and stayed away from it all; what he couldn’t see wouldn’t hurt him. Except it did, always, and the tears he shed left stains that he can’t scrub away.
“Yes.”
“And we were his … his everything; he said it. He told me.”
“Me too.”
Hawkeye had called many times, at all hours of the morning, with impetuous tales and declarations. He promised to visit often, he promised they would take weekends and go places no-one would find them. Hawkeye had always made promises to the ones he loved; he’d never gone through with them, either.
B.J had realised, as the calls kept on, that Hawkeye was a broken man from more than war. Hawkeye had lost Trapper to the before-life, to nuptials; and then had lost B.J to the very same. Hawkeye only had Daniel, which had once been enough, but not now. After everything. He had wanted them every minute; B.J had never promised that, could never give it.
He has to remind himself of that fact, every day.
“I was a weak son-of-a-bitch. I used Hawkeye, I used my wife. I used myself.” The image of Trapper – the hero – withers away; he has lost the fight, he is emotionally disfigured. There is no sparkle in his gaze; there is no hope for tomorrow. He’s beyond that, now, he’s without. “Did you two …”
“Do more then Rest and Relax in Tokyo?” B.J says contritely. Trapper nods into his coffee mug. “No, we didn’t.”
Trapper looks surprised; yet there’s great relief in his face. Apparently that meant something to him. “Never? Not even a-”
“Nothing. It wasn’t like that.”
“Hawkeye didn’t seem to think so.”
B.J holds Trapper’s gaze. Is he pointing the finger? Is B.J supposed to make everything alright? Hawkeye is gone; nothing would ever be alright. Ever again. But B.J has a daughter to raise, a wife to love, a family to support.
He will cry at night; he’ll shoulder his own burdens.
Trapper fiddles with the corner of a napkin. “He talked about you, all the time. He told me about so many things; about the pranks you pulled on Frank; about the lives you saved. On and away from the operating table. About his futile attempts to woo Hot Lips.”
The other man smiles and it goes no further then his thin, chapped lips.
“We loved each other.” B.J allows, with a nod. It was a simple four words; it was not a simple thing, it had never been.
“Do you think … I don’t know. That he would have been happy if I went to him? Or you went to him? Do you think anything would have made him truly happy?”
“No. I don’t. Nothing is ever going to make any of us happy.”
“Hawkeye made me happy; I made him happy.”
B.J runs a finger around the top of his mug. He can’t bear to make eye contact. He wasn’t sure what he had expected from this, but it wasn’t to heal Trapper’s heart ache. Or his own.
“Are you looking for redemption? Is that what you are after? Do you want me to tell you that you have to move on?”
“I … I don’t know what I’m after. I just knew that I had to meet you.”
B.J gulps the rest of his coffee; it’s lukewarm and disappointing. Much like this visit.
“What is that supposed to do? Are we supposed to be friends?”
Trapper shrugs. “Don’t you think he would have wanted it … don’t you think that could …”
“Bring him back?” B.J’s voice is harsh and unrelenting. He wanted to like this man; but this man isn’t the infamous Trapper John. This man isn’t Hawkeye ex-lover, nor his best friend, or the conqueror of his stories. Trapper John was just like B.J.
Nobody.
“I’m sorry, this is pointless.” B.J stands up and throws a few bills on the table. Trapper watches him with contempt; they have been here for such a trivial space of time. They haven’t tried; but they never knew how to, anyway.
“Dr. – B.J. We can’t just ignore this; we can’t just walk away from this. Do you think that is what Hawk would have done?”
B.J shrugged. “Probably not. But he’s dead. He’s gone. Remember?”
B.J knows that Trapper wants to punch him; some for the words and some just to make B.J feel his emptiness. B.J already knows that, he feels it every day; he just doesn’t think sitting with Trapper John and talking about the ‘what if’s and the ‘could have been’s is going to help him. Or his family.
He made that choice; he went home to his family and all those things he knew before he had been drafted to war. To Hawkeye. And never did he want Hawkeye to make the decisions he did; never did he want to live, knowing he would never see Hawkeye’s face again. Never hear that voice or feel that hand on his shoulder.
He loved – loves – Hawkeye Pierce. More then, less then or the same as Trapper, Carlye, every nurse from the 4077th. It was pointless. He spent the eternity of war wanting to go back to Mill Valley and Hawkeye never begrudged him that. Hawkeye never said ‘lets run away together’ and never expected more then B.J could give.
So B.J won’t give it, now that Hawkeye is dead. He’ll forever be apart; he’ll forever miss Hawkeye, forever mourn him. But he refuses to sit there in some unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people and wish.
He’ll remember the greatest man that ever lived, he’ll remember who that man was to him. Not who that man may have been.
Hawkeye can’t be anything, anymore. Nor can Trapper, or B.J himself.
Because Hawkeye’s dead.
He’s gone.
Author:
mijmeraarPairing: implied Trapper/Hawkeye
Rating: 13+
Disclaimer: It didn’t happen on the show so I made it up.
Summary: Hawkeye’s gone. B.J and Trapper meet. B.J finds affirmation. Sort of. Not really.
Notes: I’m afraid they might be OOC, slightly; unbeta’d; about 1,800 words.
Feedback: comments/criticisms will be much appreciated :)
--
B.J isn’t sure why he agreed to this. He still remembers the look in Peg’s eyes as she handed him his coat; disappointment was something she was rarely willing to show. Still, the letter had been specific; had been adamant. It is the very least he can do.
He knows how long it has been since leaving the 4077th; he knows right down to the minute. The few months after had been ignorant bliss; real food, real smiles – his family returned to him at last. Lying in bed at night, with Peg in his arms, and smelling the sweet aroma of home. And yet, he’d also left a family behind.
He closes his eyes at night and sees them there; shadows in the rolling hills of Korea. Memories of a time that will last on forever; not on the land, but in their hearts. Their shattered souls. They talk on the phone, they write letters; Charles even dropped by when he was visiting the area, which truly said something about the home they had made. Once.
B.J opens the door, to the modest little café he’d been instructed to. The bell jingles to alert the staff and B.J’s thoughts flood back to a still, martini glasses, and an eternal toast; to peace. They had been so sure then, that peace was all they had needed. That peace might solve their battles; they had ignored the sting of war, the pins that needled inside. They had drowned them out with useless gags and hero-trips. They wanted to save the world; they couldn’t save themselves.
B.J knows the man, though they have never met. He knows the man like children know Santa Claus or the Bogey Man under their bed. They don’t question the wild stories, the impossibilities, they just believe. B.J remembers all the stories; he remembers Hawkeye’s hushed tone’s as he recalled the days before B.J. He remembers pretending that it didn’t hurt.
Trapper John McIntyre, man of the moment, the master manipulator, married only by pen. My mate.
There’s a head of curly strawberry blonde hair, grey where death stole colour; B.J moves toward him instinctively and remembers all the jigsaw pieces. Batman and Robin, the dynamic duo; saviours of the soul. By day they stitched men back together, by night they did the same. When there were imaginary moments of harmony, they battled it out through women and dispossession. Their conflicts were historic; B.J knew them like he knew the wrinkles on his face.
“Macintyre?” B.J asks, and knows he is right before the man even turns his head.
“It’s Trapper. Please, sit.” It’s a small table by the farthest wall; the cloth is patched with red and white and a little flower vase sits between them. Hawkeye would grin and pinch Trapper’s cheek; ever the romantic.
“Coffee?”
“Any good?”
“Better then the Mess Tent.”
B.J smiles softly and nods. A waitress heads over when Trapper raises a hand, and takes their order away. B.J surveys the man before him; he almost feels like he should be proffering a napkin and asking Trapper to sign it. The twang in his voice, the curl of his lips and the bright blue of his eyes; a story that Hawkeye recited to him when the sky was black and Frank snored two cots away.
Hawkeye had never given away the ending; B.J had guessed, all the same.
“Not too late, I hope.”
“No.”
Trapper rests his hands on the table, then on his knees, and then back to the table again. B.J pretends not to see and smiles when the waitress returns. He takes his coffee.
“So, let’s not wait for the grass to grow. You wanted to talk about it.”
It. B.J knows there are very few words that can express what they have both been through. He knows they he has to try, though; they owe Hawkeye that much.
“And you didn’t?”
“Of course.”
Trapper takes a mouthful of coffee, sighs, puts the cup down and nearly spills it; his hands are shaking as if he’s preparing himself to cut through this. To save another life.
“We were together.” Trapper John was direct.
B.J didn’t have to be enlightened. He nods. “I know.”
“He told you?”
“In not so many words, sure.”
Trapper takes another mouthful of coffee. “And I never said goodbye.”
“Rings a bell.”
B.J had said goodbye. It had hurt to his very core, but he had done it, because it was what Hawkeye had needed. And he constantly fights the urge to take claim; he knew Hawkeye longer, he made more stories then Trapper, he hadn’t replaced anything – he had been new.
“Look, Trapper,” B.J sits up, leans on an elbow. “Are there questions? Are there answers? What are we doing here?”
“He’s gone. He’s dead.”
B.J feels those words as if for the first time. An icy cold lament seeps through his blood stream; he shudders despite the warm air.
B.J had been to the funeral, he had hugged his friends and shook Daniel’s hand and whispered I’ll miss you as Hawkeye was laid to rest. Then he went home and stayed away from it all; what he couldn’t see wouldn’t hurt him. Except it did, always, and the tears he shed left stains that he can’t scrub away.
“Yes.”
“And we were his … his everything; he said it. He told me.”
“Me too.”
Hawkeye had called many times, at all hours of the morning, with impetuous tales and declarations. He promised to visit often, he promised they would take weekends and go places no-one would find them. Hawkeye had always made promises to the ones he loved; he’d never gone through with them, either.
B.J had realised, as the calls kept on, that Hawkeye was a broken man from more than war. Hawkeye had lost Trapper to the before-life, to nuptials; and then had lost B.J to the very same. Hawkeye only had Daniel, which had once been enough, but not now. After everything. He had wanted them every minute; B.J had never promised that, could never give it.
He has to remind himself of that fact, every day.
“I was a weak son-of-a-bitch. I used Hawkeye, I used my wife. I used myself.” The image of Trapper – the hero – withers away; he has lost the fight, he is emotionally disfigured. There is no sparkle in his gaze; there is no hope for tomorrow. He’s beyond that, now, he’s without. “Did you two …”
“Do more then Rest and Relax in Tokyo?” B.J says contritely. Trapper nods into his coffee mug. “No, we didn’t.”
Trapper looks surprised; yet there’s great relief in his face. Apparently that meant something to him. “Never? Not even a-”
“Nothing. It wasn’t like that.”
“Hawkeye didn’t seem to think so.”
B.J holds Trapper’s gaze. Is he pointing the finger? Is B.J supposed to make everything alright? Hawkeye is gone; nothing would ever be alright. Ever again. But B.J has a daughter to raise, a wife to love, a family to support.
He will cry at night; he’ll shoulder his own burdens.
Trapper fiddles with the corner of a napkin. “He talked about you, all the time. He told me about so many things; about the pranks you pulled on Frank; about the lives you saved. On and away from the operating table. About his futile attempts to woo Hot Lips.”
The other man smiles and it goes no further then his thin, chapped lips.
“We loved each other.” B.J allows, with a nod. It was a simple four words; it was not a simple thing, it had never been.
“Do you think … I don’t know. That he would have been happy if I went to him? Or you went to him? Do you think anything would have made him truly happy?”
“No. I don’t. Nothing is ever going to make any of us happy.”
“Hawkeye made me happy; I made him happy.”
B.J runs a finger around the top of his mug. He can’t bear to make eye contact. He wasn’t sure what he had expected from this, but it wasn’t to heal Trapper’s heart ache. Or his own.
“Are you looking for redemption? Is that what you are after? Do you want me to tell you that you have to move on?”
“I … I don’t know what I’m after. I just knew that I had to meet you.”
B.J gulps the rest of his coffee; it’s lukewarm and disappointing. Much like this visit.
“What is that supposed to do? Are we supposed to be friends?”
Trapper shrugs. “Don’t you think he would have wanted it … don’t you think that could …”
“Bring him back?” B.J’s voice is harsh and unrelenting. He wanted to like this man; but this man isn’t the infamous Trapper John. This man isn’t Hawkeye ex-lover, nor his best friend, or the conqueror of his stories. Trapper John was just like B.J.
Nobody.
“I’m sorry, this is pointless.” B.J stands up and throws a few bills on the table. Trapper watches him with contempt; they have been here for such a trivial space of time. They haven’t tried; but they never knew how to, anyway.
“Dr. – B.J. We can’t just ignore this; we can’t just walk away from this. Do you think that is what Hawk would have done?”
B.J shrugged. “Probably not. But he’s dead. He’s gone. Remember?”
B.J knows that Trapper wants to punch him; some for the words and some just to make B.J feel his emptiness. B.J already knows that, he feels it every day; he just doesn’t think sitting with Trapper John and talking about the ‘what if’s and the ‘could have been’s is going to help him. Or his family.
He made that choice; he went home to his family and all those things he knew before he had been drafted to war. To Hawkeye. And never did he want Hawkeye to make the decisions he did; never did he want to live, knowing he would never see Hawkeye’s face again. Never hear that voice or feel that hand on his shoulder.
He loved – loves – Hawkeye Pierce. More then, less then or the same as Trapper, Carlye, every nurse from the 4077th. It was pointless. He spent the eternity of war wanting to go back to Mill Valley and Hawkeye never begrudged him that. Hawkeye never said ‘lets run away together’ and never expected more then B.J could give.
So B.J won’t give it, now that Hawkeye is dead. He’ll forever be apart; he’ll forever miss Hawkeye, forever mourn him. But he refuses to sit there in some unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people and wish.
He’ll remember the greatest man that ever lived, he’ll remember who that man was to him. Not who that man may have been.
Hawkeye can’t be anything, anymore. Nor can Trapper, or B.J himself.
Because Hawkeye’s dead.
He’s gone.
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