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[hawk1701.livejournal.com]

As promised,

Title: No Olive Drab
Author: hawk1701
Pairing: Hawk/Beej
Rating: 15+
Summary: After the episode "The Bus" when they all had to tell about their first loves. Hawk doesn't answer, not until Beej asks him later and things get a little complicated . . .

            “First time love conquered all,” he’d said, a smile spreading across his face so bright it could have lighten up half the eastern seaboard. The bus was cramped, dirty, caked with mud or blood, neither would have surprised me, and except for us everything else was still and dark. The bus had heaved its last breathe in this very spot and even though I can repair a severed aorta I can’t fix a car worth a damn. And Frank was getting on my nerves. He was always on my nerves, he could take up permanent residence there right next to the horrors of war—the illustrious Frank Burns. And Beej defended him. I can’t believe it but it just might be that he’s such a nice guy he’s even giving old Ferret Face a chance. 

            Potter had told his story of love conquering all. With all the wars Potter’d seen it was a wonder he was able to find the real thing when he did, then marry her. Call me crazy but it gave me hope, after all he’d been through he could still feel love. At least that wasn’t dead in him. And he was a real army man. Unlike the pretend army I was in. Not for the first time I knew I couldn’t have done what he’d done. I would have made a lousy solider, my hair looks terrible under a helmet.

            We were all supposed to tell these stories, to pass the time, to have fun, to keep our mind off certain doom. And Beej, that big knight in shinning khaki armor had proved chivalrous and called Frank over. He was sitting next to him. If I wasn’t so busy feeling sick to my stomach I might have made a few more comments about Frank’s story but was too tired and too hungry to waste the energy. And Beej was watching me. Not watching watching, just looking at me when he wasn’t looking somewhere else. For some reason when I looked at him I didn’t want to say the nasty things so much.

            When it was my turn everyone directed their attention to me. I didn’t even consider answering. I couldn’t tell a story because there really wasn’t one to tell. Not one that I’d tell in present company anyway. I’d avoided the question, a deflection I’ve become very good at by now, always a step ahead. Too many questions was a bad thing in this case. I might just start to take them seriously then we’d really be in trouble.

            I was just happy to make it off the bus alive. We went to the mess tent. Food. Glorious food. And no Frank. He’d gone to see Hot Lips. It didn’t matter, as long as he was away from me. So I could have BJ to myself, I heard myself think. We sat down. His arm was touching mine. I could have sighed out loud. After the nightmare of a trip we’d been on this dream was seeming a lot better already. Even the food looked good. It was hard to believe, especially for me, but at that moment, if only for a second, I was actually content in Korea. It’s a strong word, I know, and those kinds of words usually clash terribly with what I’m wearing—usually because whatever I’m wearing is covered in blood, but it fit for right now. Content as in mildly happy, slightly at ease, somewhat comfortable, at the bare minimum it was not being one step away from jumping off a cliff. It was just me, Beej, and whatever we were eating.

            Physical contact is an amazing thing. Without it, there’s no way of knowing if everything is all in your head or not, no connection, with it you’re not alone anymore. I felt grounded when Beej touched me. Everything felt more real. I didn’t feel a million miles away.

            And then he ruined it all.

            “You never answered my question,” he said, taking a bite of food, running the back of his hand over his mouth, glancing once up at me.

            “Blue,” I said, he raised his eyebrows, “No, red,” I took a sip of coffee, “Any color but olive drab’s my favorite color,”

            “Seriously Hawk, I mean about love,”

            “Please, not while I’m eating,”

            “Even Frank spilled the beans, you’ve gotta answer,”

            Make something up, think think think, my mind races.

            “Nothing could compare to Frank’s story,” I say with a simpering smile.

            “Who was she?” he asked grinning, turning enough where he sat so his arm moved away from mine. It felt cold without it, “Residency? Med school? If there’s too many just pick one lucky girl.

            I do my best to ignore the walls closing in on me, maybe I’ll suffocate before I get crushed. I take a bite of food, “I didn’t date around too much,” I said, not looking at him, “Flirting is one thing, dating—love, is another,”

            He waited, I looked over at him, away from the slop on my tray suddenly no longer appetizing. I didn’t let my eyes linger long. If I was at all smart I would’ve gotten up right then. I was back “home” now, no more than a hop and a skip away from the Swamp, the whole night ahead of me, just me and the still and our hangover we’d have together in the morning. But instead I was an idiot and stayed put. I looked at him. He looked so perfect, a wonderful human being, all warmth and compassion, waiting for me to talk, waiting for me to spill my guts about my first love. How could you lie to that face and still feel alright?

            “It was med school,” I said finally, gritting my teeth and lowering my eyes, “I . . . knew this person for a year or so, we were in a lot of the same classes but . . . we’d never really gotten together, officially,”

            “How come?”

            “That’s the thing about love, it works even when it’s just one person,”

            “So what happened?”

            “I decided that I had to first talk with the person or it wouldn’t work at all, so I . . . was their lab partner second year,” a smile spread across my face, “It was a big deal, I’d asked them, out loud and everything. I was so nervous I think I screwed up every lab we had together . . . this one time,” I laugh, rubbing a hand over the stubble on my cheek, “We were dissecting a pig’s heart. It was the grossest thing I’d seen at that point but I was trying to act so tough, to impress my partner. The damn thing starts beating out of nowhere! I jumped right into their arms, scared out of my wits, made worse of course when I realized I’d just offered to tango without their permission,”

            “And you weren’t anything more than lab partners?”

            “Wasn’t that romantic enough for you?” I ask, my fingers lacing together. He smiles, the son of a bitch actually cared. It wasn’t an act. He was a good person. It would have been easier if he just didn’t care. For BJ it probably hurt him not to do whatever he could. “Well I finally asked them out, on a date, and uh . . . well it—didn’t go well,”

            “Shot you down?”

            “Yeah . . . we were lab partners, sometimes more than that, but togetherness wasn’t really an option,”

            “What was her name?” Beej asks, leaning forward on his elbows with a sympathetic half-smile. I ran a hand through my hair, rubbing the back of my neck. The name? God, what was I doing? I wasn’t thinking! That bastard, with his cute grin, he’d make Macarthur spill all his deep dark secrets. I had to get outta here. I started to get up.

            “Hawk . . .” he grabs my elbow when I stand. I roll my eyes up to canvas ceiling. Where was the escape when every tent looked exactly alike, all within ten feet of each other, and only three miles from the front?

            “Beej I’m tired! It’s been a day from hell, let’s just get to bed,” Lifting one leg over the bench I’m stopped again when his hand tightens on the sleeve of my uniform.

            “Well she had a name didn’t she?”

            “No, she didn’t,” I lift my other leg, jerking my arm out of his grasp.

            “She didn’t have a name?” he asked, shrugging his shoulders.

            “Why do you care?” I demanded, “You’re married, the only romance that should interest you now is your own of the ‘to have and to hold’ persuasion,”

            “It wasn’t an unfair question,” he said calmly. Always so damn calm. “But now what you’re not answering; makes me curious why not,”

            “Curiosity is an admirable trait for a doctor but a lousy trait for a friend,”

            “Hawk what’s the matter? You act like it’s a big secret,”

            I stop, just stop, it’s in my character to keep talking even after my brain’s told me to shut up. Meanwhile I tried to ignore the overwhelming feeling that I was in the cross hairs. It didn’t help that he just kept looking up at me with that honest, sweet face, a friend, a good friend, probably the only thing standing between me and complete and utter madness, and I didn’t know what to say to him. Or not to say to him. Another lie? Every lie added up, lies hurt, they hurt you—they turn everything rotten inside you till you don’t know what’s what. I shrug my hands into my pockets as I take a deep breathe, just to keep them from shaking.

            I didn’t know what I wanted. I wanted to be honest with BJ. I wanted to tell the truth. But I didn’t want things to change; they were good where they were. Most of all I didn’t want him to hate me. Is that so bad? I wanted to tell the truth but couldn’t, and I wanted to lie but I couldn’t do that either. The fact that I was actually considering telling him this, something I didn’t talk about to anyone, something I hated almost as much as I hated the war—I think I’ll blame entirely on Frank. I dunno how but somehow it was his fault we were on that bus in the first place, it was his fault BJ had to ask that question, and his fault that I was so tired I could barely stay standing. If I wasn’t so tired I wouldn’t have said another word.

            “First of all, it is a secret,” I say in barely audible voice. I can feel him watching me. “Secondly . . . it wasn’t a girl . . . “ I closed my eyes, for once my tongue was heavy in my mouth, I could barely get it to move, “His name was Arthur,”

            I’d said the words, they’d seemed to echo off the canvas walls. So I hadn’t imagined it. I’d really said it. Shock. Let’s just say I was glad he was sitting down. His eyes looked like he was falling really fast and I would have been too if I hadn’t already hit the bottom.

            “Arthur . . . as in a guy,” he said slowly, not looking at me, “So you’re . . . a homosexual?”

            “I didn’t think it was a good idea to say anything on the bus,”

            “No,” he said, dragging his eye from the floor like they were lead weighs, “No it wouldn’t . . .” he runs a hand over his mouth, “W-why didn’t you tell me,”

            “It’s not something you just tell people, or anyone, not unless you like social persecution and in our case a dishonorable discharge,”

            “I thought you wanted out,” he said.

            “I do, but I want a life after getting out,” I bit at my lip, my heart racing in my chest, “Most people nowadays don’t approve of gay people, at all,”

            BJ gets up. I hold my ground, eyeing him carefully. If he was going to attack me, get angry, he would have done it by now,

            “Who else knows?” he asks.

            “My dad,” I nodded, “And one girl I was watching a Clark Gable movie with and made the mistake of saying, ‘Wow, I wish he was single’,”

            BJ didn’t laugh, not even a smile. “All the nurses, the constant flirting . . .” he raises both hands in a helpless expression, “What did you do with them? Show them the town then call it a night?” I shrugged, looking down at my boots. “For Christ’s sake Hawk, this is a big deal!”

            “BJ,” I implored, “You can’t tell anyone,”

            “This isn’t just gossip, Hawk,” he pauses, then runs a hand over his hair, making it stand on end as he takes an exasperated breathe, “I didn’t know,”

            “I like to keep it to myself, you know, I love the army too much,”

            “What’s your Dad think?”

            “He never really said. His normal silence is hard to distinguish from angry silence. Or disappointed silence in this case, disgusted silence—“

            “Alright, I get the picture . . .” he gives me a sidelong look, brow creased in thought, “Have you ever had a . . . a . . . ”

            “A boyfriend?” I finished, watching him nod, “Uh, besides Arthur, uh . . . yeah, I was close to someone else,” I set my face but felt my eyes tear up just a little, “Trapper and I were . . . not that he’d ever, I mean—it probably meant more to me than to him,” I kept my eyes away from Beej, feeling utterly stupid for tearing up. I should be happy for him, I thought for the hundredth time. He got out of here. He got out.

            “Another thing I didn’t know,” Beej said, “I’m sorry,”

            “I miss him . . . worst part was not being able to say goodbye—I hate that, at least when you say bye you can easily remember the last time you saw them but . . . I’m not even sure when I last saw Trapper, I don’t know what I said, don’t know if I . . . ”

            I’m disturbed from my thoughts when Beej claps a hand over my shoulder, “I’m sure he feels the same way,”

            “Yeah, I can tell from all the bountiful letters he sent, it was real touching,”

            “Was it serious?”

            “It felt like it . . . I thought it was . . . but this is Korea,”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            “I dunno,” I sniff, running a hand over my eye, “I guess nothing really matters over here,”

            “That’s not true,” Beej said quietly, the weight of his hand soothing on my shoulder, “I didn’t know Trapper, but I know he must have cared about you. And he won’t forget you, this place will be hard to forget, for all of us,”

            “Beej,” I looked up at him, “I—I don’t—”

            “Don’t thank me, don’t tell me your sorry either,” he takes a deep breathe, “I’m only being nice now, wait till the truth sinks in,”

            “And what’s that?”

            “From now on I’m gonna have to shower with my clothes on,” I laugh, he moves toward the door of the mess tent with several long-legged strides, “So, buy you a drink sailor?”

            “Swamp?”

            “Swamp,”

            I’m always surprised how different places look by night. The camp, or as I almost never refer to it—home, looks ten times worse when the sun isn’t shinning. Even though I hate the color I’d much rather see green than black. Luckily nothing’s too far away. Though I’d sure like to be. BJ doesn’t say a word walking next to me. Another thing I’ve noticed about darkness is it’s usually a pretty safe time to look at people. I guess that seems pretty weird, I dunno. You can’t just go around staring at people. Even staring, like at a member of the same sex, can cause trouble I’d rather not have. So I did it in darkness. BJ has these long legs but still manages to be somewhat graceful. I dunno how he does it, especially when it looks like a stiff wind would blow him over. He was taller that Trapper. Trap was solid, warm, passionate . . . I fit perfectly curled up at his side, nose buried in his neck, legs tangled around his, arm secure over his chest as his ribs rose and fell slowly. Until Frank came in of course. Then Trap would jump away, back to his cot, maybe after a hasty kiss as we fought to keep it all a secret.

            It was perfect at times like that but the rest of the time, when we knew people would be watching it was always keeping our hands apart, not sitting too close, not looking too long, it was torture. Like that time in the shower. I almost laughed out loud. I’d be lying if I said it was the only close call we had but looking back it was hilarious. Its funny how at the time you can be completely terrified but find yourself laughing later on. Trap and I were seventeen hours in surgery, I blamed the hot water, the exhaustion, and Trap’s incredibly cute wet body, because ten minutes into the shower and we were all over each other. What started as an innocent soap fight turned into making out, the water running over us, feet slipping on the floor, and with the sound of Trap’s heavy breathing as well as the water running we couldn’t hear anyone coming. So when Frank walked in we were all suds and tangled limbs without a chance to get into separate stalls. We made some horrible excuse like I had soap in my eye and Frank believed us. I smiled. If there was one thing I liked about the man it was probably that he was so oblivious.

            And BJ . . . did he really mean it? Did he really not care? Was he just being nice now? I look up into the sky, the stars distant and dim, the cool night air blowing through my hair.

            “Halt! Who goes there?!” Klinger lunges out from behind the folds of a canvas tent.

            “Hi, Klinger,” I say.

            “Nah ah, password, or you’re not getting past me, buddy,”

            “Klinger, it’s us,”

            “No exceptions, sir,” he says, holding his gun steady in hands gloved in pink satin.

            “Alright, alright, Rita Hayworth, right?”

            “Wrong,”

            “What?” BJ scoffs, “That’s the password, it was yesterday anyway,”

            “It’s been changed, don’t look at me, I don’t control it,” he shrugs his shoulders.

            “Hay fever,” I offer, snapping my fingers.

            “No, that was the week before last weeks,” BJ corrects, taking a breath, “Okay, I think I got it—it’s coconuts, now come on Klinger, at ease before I pull rank on you,”

            “You wouldn’t dare,” he narrows his large dark eyes.

            “I just might tonight,” BJ says, he puts a hand on my shoulder, steering me around the Corporal.

            “I understand, sir,” Klinger says, throwing his fur collar over a shoulder, “You sirs have a good night together,”

            BJ stops in his tracks, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            Klinger rearranges the gun in his arms, chuckling, “It means have a good night,”

            “Something funny?” BJ has his arms at his sides, hands tightened into fists.

            “N-no,” Klinger, looks at me helplessly, I shake my head, “Just being nice, sir, didn’t mean nothing, in fact, forget I said it,”

            “Yeah,” BJ looks Klinger up and down, his face a mask of anger.

            I touch his arm. I don’t think he knew he’d gotten so close to Klinger. Or what he sounded like. When I touch him he jerks away, striding off toward the Swamp without a word or so much as a look.

            “What’s eating him?” Klinger asks me, the wind blowing a few wisps of feathers that were stuck in his hat over his face.

            “We did just come from the mess tent,” I say to Klinger, then follow BJ foot prints in the mud to the Swamp. When I get there he’s on his cot, unlacing his boots. I look over to the side and see Frank’s not there.

            “Where’s Frank?”

            “Three guesses,” he breathes, tugging a boot off, “But you only need one,”

            “Right,” I say, moving to the still, stepping easily through the clutter on the floor. I take two glasses, cool against my fingertips, glancing once at BJ before pouring the gin. I hand a glass to him. He takes it. Downs it in one gulp.

            “Well I guess that answers that question,” I say, pouring a drink for myself.

            “What?” he asks, acting oblivious.

            “Nothing,” I say, lying back on my bed, the glass settled on my chest. Tears stung my eyes. I ignored them. I took a drink, the gin burning down my throat. People say you can’t drown your sorrows in alcohol, but they’re wrong, it’s all I’ve ever done and it suits me fine. My problems weren’t going away anytime soon. No matter what I did, no matter how much I drank, no matter how much I wanted it to change, myself to change, it’d always be the same. No amount of wishing, no amount of pain, none of it made a difference. Gin made it easier. I tried, damn it, I tried to change. Believe me, please, I don’t want to be like this. I just am. Suddenly I remember Arthur. It seemed so long ago. First boy I’d kissed. I can’t remember being so happy and so miserable both at the same time.

            I realize time’s passed. How much I dunno. I shifted blurry eyes to the side to see the pitcher was empty. Empty. Did I drink that much? We drank that much. I move to sit up, putting my hands underneath me, pushing my feet over the side of the cot as the room spun a whole 360 degrees around. I moaned. 

            “Beej?” I ask, the sound echoing in my ears, finding it hard to focus.

            “Hum?” he’s on his cot, barely visible in the dark.

            “You okay?”

            “Yeah,”

            “Did you drink all this? I dunno if I did, maybe I did . . .”

            “What does it matter,” he says, sighing, “It’s gone now,”

            “You’re not mad . . . are you?” I ask, squinting my eyes, trying to make sense, if that was even possible.

            “Mad? No . . . upset, maybe . . . honestly, I feel really stupid . . . I’ve been sitting here, trying to figure out how I couldn’t have known . . . and how it must be for you . . . and, well . . . I wanna try something,”

            “Try what? I can’t move,”

            “Come’ere, just for a second,”

            “Whatdaya want?”

            “Just an idea,”

            “What idea?”

            “You could kiss me,”

            “What?”

            “I’m serious,”

            “No, I’m not gonna—why do you ask?”

            “You said you were . . . you know, doesn’t that mean you want to kiss me?”

            “Beej, it’s all I think about. You’re my moon and stars, my sunny day, my khaki prince,”

            “Well then, come’ere’fore I sober up,”

            “Srsly?”

            “Yeah, you must want to, I mean—you must be going nuts,”

            “We’re drunk, you’re drunk, you’re not thinking straight,”

            “S’funny you should say straight,”

            “That’s not funny, what’s funny is you actually losing your mind—I’d help you look for it if I ever find mine,”

            “Then why are you sitting next to me?”

            “Am I? Oh, so I am,”

            “Well, do it before I know I’m being stupid,”

“I want to,”

            “I won’t stop you,”

            I kiss him. He nearly falls backward on the cot, my lips stopping whatever words he was going to say next. I drink in his gin flavored lips, a hand on his cheek, my eyes squeezed closed. He has a hand on my arm, fingers tighten. I don’t know what I’m doing but I’m parting my lips, praying he’ll let me, gasping into his mouth when he doesn’t stop my tongue pushing past his teeth. The warm wetness of his tongue makes my whole body shudder. For one sweet moment he’s all I know, all I feel, hear, taste.

            I pull back. Through the thin folds of his shirt I feel a trembling over his shoulders. I try to catch my breathe, looking at him for a second, my delayed reaction time not needing the added input, lowering my eyes, “I’m sorry,”

            “Don’t be,” he says, licking his lips, for a second not looking at me. The darkness of the Swamp seemed overwhelming, a black blanket covering all light, with the whole camp sleeping around us. I wanted to kiss him again so badly. But I don’t think he wanted me to, it might have been too late already. He moves closer, folding a long leg under him. I watch him with uncertain eyes.

            “You don’t have to say that,” I whisper, my whole body shaking around me, “I know it was just—” his lips find mine in the dark, the cot creeks as he leans closer to me. I should have pushed him away. Shouldn’t I have? If it was wrong I didn’t care, I couldn’t think of anything right then, I couldn’t keep my hands from reaching out to him or my mouth from opening for him. I wanted him, damn it, I wanted him more than anything. Touch me, I thought, god touch me. I wrapped my arms around him as one of his hands ran through my hair. His other hand moved down, down my chest, I kissed him harder, over my stomach, between my legs, stroking my cock through my pants. I broke off the kiss, my eyes rolling back in my head, biting my lip past my harsh breathe. His breathe is hot against my cheek, the bed protests as my hips start to move against his hand. I kiss his neck, licking the soft skin, my hands finding skin under his shirt. Hot skin, warm metal of his dog tags, the pounding of his heart against his ribcage, under a thin layer of skin. Another wet kiss, I can’t help moaning, squirming as his hand undoes my belt, legs opening, my cock throbbing. His hand touches me through my boxers, my back arches. The cot creeks and squeaks, Beej is pushing me down into the rumbled sheets, his hips almost touch mine. His hand! His hand is still—I gasp—

            “Coconuts! Coconuts! The password is coconut you crazy!”

            Footsteps. We jerk apart. Our eyes meet in the dark.

            Frank.

            BJ rolled off of me, tumbling to the floor with a gasp of pain. He frantically tugs his shirt down where I’d pushed it up, over his broad chest, flat belly. He looks up at me from the side of the bed, eyes panicked. I get up, two strides to my own cot, he jumps back into his bed just as the door opens. I push sweaty hair out of my flushed face, rubbing the back of my hand hurriedly over my mouth. 

            “Ever heard of a light?” Frank spits, “Degenerates,”

            He flicks the lamp on by his bed, I exchange a panicked glance with BJ, then look at Frank. He eyes us both with tiny, suspicious eyes.

            “What are you guys up to?” he wonders, “I’m not stupid you two, I know you were doing something . . .”

            “Frank—” I try.

            “Ah ha! For once at a loss for words, huh smarty? What about you Hunnicutt, anything to say? If this man hasn’t completely corrupted you already that is,” he scoffed, shaking his head as he shuffled to the stove, throwing a piece of wood in. He stops, sniffing the air like a big ferret, “You two are drunk—again! The way you guys drink you might as well be fish! Disgusting,”

            “If we’d known you’d be home early we would have saved you a glass,” I offered, my blanket secure over my pants I didn’t have the time to buckle. To my right BJ’s head fell in his hands.

            “Ha!” Frank laughed, brushes his hands together, “Like I would ever drink with you. I’m always in ship-shape condition, never drunk,” he straightens his shirt after giving me one last snicker, then goes to sit on his bed. It squeaks under his weight as he throws an ankle over his knee, starting to tug at his laces. He stops, mouth screwed shut, staring at me, “You look guilty, Pierce . . . what did you do?” he looks from side to side, “If you put a pork chop in my pillow again, so help me I’ll . . .”

            “Who, me?” I point at my chest, “That’s a waste of a perfectly good pork chop, Frank, after a day you can use it as an oven mitt,”

            “Oh I’m sure,” he says, “You know Pierce, maybe you wouldn’t hate this place so much if you didn’t find a million things to complain about,”

            “What’s not to hate?” I moan, putting a hand to my aching head.

            “Is there a pork chop in here or not?” he demands, throwing his last boot on the floor than standing up, “Am I supposed to believe that you two were actually just sleeping?”

            “What were you doing?” I ask, the tent swaying slightly where I sat.

            He glares, “None of your business, Pierce,”

            “I’m glad, g’night Frank,” I roll over in bed. I hear him laugh. Climb in bed. But I didn’t fell like sleeping. I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to talk to Beej. God, how could we leave it like this? I need to talk to him . . . needed . . . everything turns black and it all disappears.