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[hermes-daughter.livejournal.com]

Er, hi! *waves* new girl. i am not a complete stranger to slash fandoms, or M*A*S*H slash, but i, for some reason, only churn out fics once in a blue moon. anyway, as an offering i thought i would post a fic i originally wrote for hashbash except i got the time difference wrong and was two hours out! the good thing about that though was a)i actually got a fic written, and b) i had a Hawkeye "i missed Trapper by ten lousy minutes" moment! which was fitting seeing as my fic was kinda based on that. anyway, fic offering below!



Title: Sanity
Author: Hermes Daughter
Rating: PG (barely: one sexual reference)
Challenge: #7 The Last Time
Warnings: none,
Disclaimer: well, according to one of my professors the audience interprets the characters in their own way, so everyone owns them! Unfortunately if I claim that, I could get a letter from some nasty lawyers, so I am in no way affiliated with any of the MASH franchise (except by being a fan).

Pairing: Trapper/Hawkeye, although you could read it as Trapper/anyone and just Hawkeye/Trapper friendship. BJ/Hawk friendship, although slash if you want too.
Author’s notes: I’ve left a lot deliberately vague. All up to the interpretation of the reader. and don't hold back! i like constructive critisism!

SANITY

The last time Trapper spoke to Hawkeye was the day his friend left for R&R in Tokyo. It had been a sunny day in Korea. One of those lazy ones, with no casualties. He remembered he wanted to curse at the weather. The news of Henry’s plane had shocked the camp into complete numbness. He’d been lounging in a deck chair, next to his best friend, almost asleep. Radar had approached eyes on his feet where they had been almost glued since news of Henry’s plane had been delivered. Since he’d had to deliver it.
“Hey kid.”
“Hi, um, Hawkeye your jeep is ready sir.”
When Hawk had first been offered the two weeks, they had originally lobbied Frank and Hotlips for Radar to go instead. Nothing doing, it was Hawkeye or no-one, so they backed down. In retrospect, though neither Trapper or Hawkeye would admit it if they were hung, drawn, quartered, poked with pins or subjected to the Spanish Inquisition, Frank and Hotlips were right not to allow Radar on his own at this time. Hawkeye stood up and stretched luxuriously.
“Ah jolly good, my chauffeur.”
He’d adopted that ridiculous British accent. Trapper remembered admiring the way his friend moved as he stretched. The line of his body. He’d gone inside to help him with his bags. Well, to laugh at him trying to carry them, then to pick up the heaviest one, toss it casually over one shoulder and start whistling.
“Show off.”
“Bitter”
They’d hugged before Hawk got into the jeep. No one looked twice (except Frank, but they didn’t really count him as a person). It was just Hawkeye and Trapper. It was what they did.
When the jeep drove off, and Hawkeye in it, Trapper felt something strange swirling around in his gut. Whatever it was, gut instinct, premonition, it didn’t matter. He dealt with it the way he always did. He turned around and headed for the still.


The last time Radar spoke to Trapper, it was the day he left. He’d spent most of it on the phone, trying to get hold of Hawkeye. But he knew it was hopeless. Hawkeye, in typical Hawkeye-in-Tokyo-on-R&R fashion, was uncontestable. Then Trapper was drunk. A lot. A lot a lot. By the time he was sober enough to hold a coherent conversation it was time for him to go home. Trapper cornered him in his office. Burns was out inspecting the base *cough* inspecting Major Houlighan *cough* and Radar was trying for what seemed like the thousandth time to contact Hawkeye.
“Radar, you had any luck yet kid?”
“Sorry sir, he doesn’t seem to be at any of the usual places.” Trapper had looked hung-over, tired, and sad.
“Do you want me to try again?” he picked up the receiver, Trapper replaced it.
“Naw, if you haven’t gotten him by now, your not gonna get him by the time I leave.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I really wanted to see him though.”
“Did you leave a note? I could keep it safe in case Major Burns, well…”
“No. Thanks Radar, but…leaving a note…saying goodbye it’s just…” Radar understood. The last goodbye he had received had been Henry and, well, he understood the captain’s reluctance to commit to a goodbye. It seemed too final now.
“Would you, uh, give him something for me Radar?”
“Of course sir, anything! You two were together for so long, it’ll be weird you two not being together.” He put out his hand. Trapper grabbed it and before Radar could think had kissed him. He felt the stubble on the older mans cheek graze his slightly softer one. Lips pressed firmly just before his ear. Then the captain pulled away, and turned the grip on his hand into a firm handshake. The other hand clucked him under the chin, so he met Trapper’s eyes.
“Look after y’self kid.” It was gruff. He blinked a few times, then released the corporal and strode out the door. Not looking back.
After a few minutes, Radar sat down and resumed his fruitless task. He was still calling when he heard the jeep drive off.


The last time Frank Burns spoke to his tent mate, McIntyre, it was two minutes before he left the swamp forever, for the jeep to take him home. He’d just come back from the colonel’s office, *his* office he kept reminding himself. And when he didn’t, Margaret did. Frank himself had just come back from an important meeting with his second in command. Which meant that Margaret talked at him and Frank made agreement noises every once in a while. It had been quite productive.
McIntyre had strode in without even a ‘how’s it going Frank?” not that he’d expected that of course. He sniffed and returned to his bible. At one time he’d thought they could be friends. But he was leaving. Too late.
McIntyre was still facing his bed. Arms either side of his bags, head bowed. Frank looked up, he was not the most astute of human beings, but he noticed that his shoulders were shaking. McIntyre was crying?
“McIntyre?” he was shocked. The other man cleared his throat, scrubbed at his eyes and straitened. “Yes Frank?” When he looked at Frank the message was loud and clear. ‘Mention this and die and long, slow and painful death.’ Since Frank was a coward, he amended what he was originally going to say.
“Um, have a good trip. It…won’t be the same without you.”
“Thanks ferret-face, it won’t be the same without you either.”
Frank glared. Well he didn’t have to be so mean! McIntyre started for the door, and then stopped.
“Frank? Keep Hawk sane for me, K?”
“What!” Frank was even too shocked to protest the inappropriateness of asking him for a favor. “Hawkeye hates me! You hate me! How am I going to keep him sane! He’s insane anyway!”
“I don’t hate you Frank. We just don’t get on. Just, keep being you, y’know? The annoying little right-wing gimp you always are? Keep him sane?” and with that, he was gone.
In years to come, Frank looked back on the exchange and grumbled.
“Yeah, ask me to keep Hawkeye sane! Who kept me sane?”


The last time Margaret saw Trapper, all she remembered was a friendly wave, and that irrepressible grin that she found so hard to resist. She didn’t speak to him. She’d been very busy, and he was too far away, or too drunk, to even give her the time of day. He waved though. She always regretted that she didn’t speak to him. Didn’t run up to the jeep. She didn’t know she’d never get another chance. The jeep started. She found herself wondering if he’d ever gotten in contact with Hawkeye, following the jeep drive past her. Then he suddenly got his driver to stop. Stood up in the jeep very decidedly. And very solemnly, saluted her. Of all her memories of Trapper, that one stood out the most.


The last time Louise McIntyre spoke to her husband was a week after he’d returned to the states. The first few days were spent mainly with Kathy and Becky. They were so excited to have their father back again that it took up all their free time just keeping up with them. Not that Trapper minded at all. She could still see him in her mind. Alternating Kathy and Becky in swinging them round the garden in what they’d dubbed the ‘airplane game’, even though Becky was a little too old and heavy for such games now, it didn’t deter them at all. Nor did it deter him from sneaking up on her from behind; involving her in the game while the girls whooped and hollered. It was the last time they’d been together as a family. That night, their first intimate one since he’d returned, he’d said somebody else’s name. Her heart froze. That night she packed his bags and told him to leave. He never came back.

She never did meet that somebody else. She doesn’t want to. If she does, she might have to start blaming herself, instead of them.


The last time Hawkeye spoke to Trapper it was years after the war ended, and another one was under-way. New fresh faced soldiers. New doctors and nurses. Same old senseless waste. He’d finally decided to confront some old demons. He’d looked up Louise McIntyre. Instead he’d gotten his friends eldest daughter. It was her who told her where to find her father, his friend. He took BJ with him. BJ, being the good friend he was, left them to speak privately. Hawkeye sat down next to his old friend, comrade, old love. Even if they’d never said it out loud. Done anything to incriminating. Trapper was his old love. He began to speak.


The first time BJ Hunnicutt spoke to Trapper, he was sitting next to Hawkeye on a small, grassy hill. BJ went over to them and held out a hand, helping his friend Hawkeye to his feet. Hawkeye turned to Trapper. “I was mad at you after you left. That you didn’t say goodbye or leave a note. I should’ve known better. You were never one for the sentimental goodbye. You said goodbye to me beyond words. I’m sorry I never realized that till now. Goodbye Trapper.” Hawkeye left the hill, but BJ lingered.
Finally he smiled. “I’ll look after him, I promise. I’ll keep him sane.” Then he, too, left the hill to join his friend. Arms around each others waist, they left the cemetery.


Unseen, Trapper watched them go. He smiled too. “You’d better.” He whispered. Before he disappeared. Creating only a gentle breeze, which swayed the fresh bouquet of daisy’s placed with care at the foot of his grave.

THE END.