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[hawk1701.livejournal.com]

Title: Remember Things So Well
Author: hawk1701 (as in NCC-1701-D-Enterprise)
Pairing: Hawk/ Arthur (who’s Arthur?-explanation below)
Rating: PG 13
Disclaimer: I own MASH!!! I own MASH!!! I own—*dragged away kicking and screaming* . . . *submits* . . . okay, okay . . . all persons and/or things related and/or pertaining to anything MASH are not mine, i don't own and/or hold any such rights.
Summary: Home for the weekend, young Hawk continues to hide his relationship with former lab partner and now boyfriend, Arthur. Made worse of course, when Arthur comes to visit, things just spin out of control from there . . .
Author's Notes: Okay, whilst writing another fic (No Olive Drab) I had to make up a prior relationship of Hawk’s, before Trapper, in medschool, and as it often happens, I got to writing, and it turned into a story. This character, Arthur, was never mentioned in MASH is purely my creation, but he fits in nicely with our young Hawkeye. Let me know if its too much of a stretch, I liked writing it, but as always, I greatly appreciate anything you have to say.

 

“So,” my father said, running the back of his sleeve across his forehead, “You and Arthur have been spending a lot of time together,” Glancing over at me, he caught his breath for a few moments. Since just talking was difficult enough for him, talking and actually looking at someone was only as frequent as it had to be. He picked up the limp young tree, gloved hand tight around its thin trunk as careful eyes scoped out the area of lawn we were standing in.

            “Yeah, well we are lab partners, Dad,” I said, leaning on the shovel I was holding.

            “Were lab partners, you mean,” he said, letting the sapling rest on the ground.

I was helping in the yard this weekend while I was home. Healthy patients start with healthy doctors, my Dad always said. While I was growing up, he was always in the yard. And as the years went by he only spent more and more time there. Not that he’d ever admit that it was Mom’s love of gardening that kept him doing it all these years.

            “We’re still in the same class,” I replied, shrugging my shoulders, squinting past the bright sun to look at my Dad. The lab section of the course was over for the semester, true. Didn’t surprise me Dad knew that.

During school I didn’t come home every weekend, but in the spring I was used to more frequent visits. With such a large yard spring cleaning was too much for my dad to do alone. And my school wasn’t that far from home. And sure, Arthur lived near here too. It was kind of a coincidence. Hardly anyone knew about Crabapple Cove and it was right in front of their noses.

And that was fine for my Dad. It’s all he ever wanted. But for me? I feel like there’s so much more out there. So much more than mowing lawns, walking along the same roads, drinking soda at the same soda shop every Saturday—I sighed, impatient, leaning more on the shovel, the blade sinking into the soil. Maybe someday I’ll want to come back here, it’s not that bad of a place, but until I’ve seen more, done more, I don’t want to stick around in my hometown. Everyone knew me here. There isn’t much room for change when all you are is a cardboard cut out that fits as it’s supposed to into the scenery of small-town life.  

I was twenty-three years old. I was in college, I’d moved out of the house, and my dad still treated me like I was a teenager. How could he be such a good doctor and be totally oblivious to his own son being grown up? I was still hoping one day he’d look at me and suddenly see that I was a grown man. Not that I was holding my breath.

            “His family . . .” my Dad said, brushing dirt from his gloves, “Has quiet a bit of money,”

            “I know,” I answered casually, jerking the shovel from the ground to move to the spot where we were going to put the tree, “I’ve been to his house,” Kicking the blade into the ground I was able to avoid eye-contact with my Dad.

I’d been to Arthur’s house. I’d met his parents. His mother’s a great cook. Arthur said she really liked me, said she felt bad I didn’t have a mother to look after me. So yeah, I’d been there lots of times. But I wasn’t about to tell my Dad necessarily all that I’d done there. After class Arthur and I would go back to his place. It somehow felt better to say we were working on homework. Like, on the floor of his bedroom, notebooks and text books scattered everywhere? Homework. Tangled in the sheets of his bed, backpacks thrown in a corner, unopened, door closed? Homework.

My Dad cleared his throat. I flickered my eyes up to him once but continued digging the hole, bare arms tanned from all the sun I’d been getting. The nervous lump in my throat was making it hard to breath. Why was Dad asking about Arthur?

“I know we don’t have the biggest house, son,” he said gruffly, making me look up, “And I can’t buy you all the supplies you need for school,” he inhaled deeply.

“Dad,” I interrupted, “What are you talking about?”

“Just letting you know, son, money isn’t everything. It’s just things,”

I shook my head, taken aback, “You think I’m jealous of Arthur?”

My Dad stared stonily back at me, mouth a harsh straight line.

“Well I’m not,” I answered, almost laughing, “I’m not his friend because he’s rich,” My eyes only faltered slightly at the word friend.

“Good,” my Dad said, seeming satisfied, taking a breathe and nodding, “Finish that hole,”

I was relieved. For a terrifying moment I thought he’d suspected something. It would have been funny if it wasn’t for the panicked shaking over my shoulders and how hard I was gripping the shovel. I concentrated on digging the hole for the tree, the shaking eventually stopping as I worked.

I hadn’t told my Dad that Arthur was going to come pick me up soon. I figured I’d be done by then. I’d grab my things and leave for the weekend.

When I heard the sound of an engine coming down the road I stopped shoveling, casting my gaze to the horizon, breath labored. When I saw the car coming I rapidly continued working, lifting the last of the dirt from the hole, sweat dripping down my skin.

My Dad saw the car as he settled the tree in the hole. He raised a hand to his eye to see past the glare.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

“Arthur’s coming to pick me up,” I answered, not looking up.

“Humph,” he responded, kneeling down to pack the dirt around the trunk of the tree. I used the back of the shovel to smooth the dirt then stood up, leaning approvingly against the shovel.

“It looks good,” my Dad said, gloved hands resting on his hips.

“It does,” I said warmly, but I wasn’t looking at the tree.

Arthur pulled into our driveway, cutting the roaring engine at the end. I smiled, pushing sweaty hair from my forehead. Walking across the lawn, shovel in hand, I grinned as Arthur got out of the car and walked around the front to meet me. When he saw me his eyes quickly dropped from head to feet then back up. He bit his lower lip slightly, eyebrows raised, “Working hard?”

“Tree,” I said lamely, “Planted. Tree,” I jerked a thumb over my shoulder.

A warm breeze played through his blonde hair as he grinned in amusement, “Landscaping suits you,” he said, eyes meeting mine. They were a dark blue, almost navy. The way they absorbed light made him almost mysterious. But one thing Arthur wasn’t was mysterious. He had a smile for everyone, was the best student for most classes. But he didn’t play sports, for school anyway, so he wasn’t in the popular crowd. I hated the popular crowd, for valid reasons, they took all the good seats in the cafeteria, as well as their total disregard for lower life-forms such as myself—and Arthur hated them because ten of them barely equaled one of us in intelligence.

Shaking myself loose from his gaze I cleared my throat, “I’ve uh, gotta put this stuff away, and clean up a little bit, then I’ll be ready to go,”

            “Sure,” he said, hands in his pockets, “I know, I’m a little early,” I saw him look over my shoulder, “Hello, Mr. Pierce,”

            “Arthur,” my Dad answered, nodding at him before his gaze fell over Arthur’s shoulder to the car, “What a beauty,” he commented, “Can’t say I’ve seen anything like it,”

            “Thank you, sir,” Arthur replied, looking over at me, then out across the grass, “You’re yard looks wonderful, Mr. Pierce,”

            “It should,” my Dad said, “Spend enough time in it,” he looked at me, making me aware I’d been staring at Arthur. I forced my eyes to my Dad, “Couldn’t have done it without the help though,” he clapped a hand on my shoulder then turned, “I’m going to clean up, put the tools away, son,”

            “Come on,” I said to Arthur, “Won’t take long,”

            We set off across the lawn, my Dad toward the house. When he was out of sight Arthur smiled and slid his hand into mine, “You’re tan,”

            “Sun does that—I’m dirty too,”

            Arthur took his hand from mine quickly and looked at his palm now covered in dirt, “Just don’t touch the shirt,” he warned.

            “Scouts honor,”

            I picked up several other tools and walked with Arthur to the tool shed, swinging open the dusty doors. Walking inside I put the tools carefully away. Sun fell through the cracks in the wood, casting faded lines of light over the crowded contents of the shed, dust falling lazily through the air. Arthur watched me, somehow amused.

            “What?” I asked finally, turning to face him, inhaling deeply as I brushed dirt from my palms.

            He looked down at his feet, then looked back up at me shyly, “You working like this. You look good, Ben,” he smiled, “Really good,”

            He was still afraid to say things like that to me. We both were. But it felt good when we could. I moved closer to him. He closed his eyes, sighing as I brushed a lock of blonde hair from his forehead. The sun fell like gold over it.

            “I could make a living doing this,” I said, moving my hand to hold his cheek, “Forget med-school,” His face was smooth. He’d just shaved.

            Leaning closer in the safety of the shed I looked from his eyes to his lips, pausing before brushing mine lightly against his. I tenderly kissed the warmth of them, pulling back as his hands came to rest on my arms. Arthur ran his fingers over my still hot skin, breath warm over my mouth as he met my eyes. His hair was messed up from the drive. Windows wide open, an arm out the window. Driving was serious business, he said, always serious.

Chest rising and falling heavier, Arthur’s hands tightened around my biceps. With a smile he moved a hand behind my head and caught my lips in his. Taking a clumsy step forward I forced him against the wall. His lips parted mine; our harsh breathe mingling in the dusty, sun-lined shed, our desperate hands urgently pulling each other closer.

He didn’t want his shirt dirty I remembered suddenly. I moved my hands so I could slide them up the bare skin under his shirt, a moan rising in the back of his throat. His kisses moved down my neck, his tongue licking at the salty sweat on my skin as his shaking hands ran down my back. How much could we do? I thought. How much time—I gasped, eyes rolling to the ceiling, Arthur’s hand moved between my legs. Couldn’t think anymore. What was I thinking about? I moaned loudly, then panicked, biting my lower lip fiercely to hold it back.

Arthur took my shoulders and turned so I was the one against the wall, his hands moving to undo my pants. Okay, I thought, okay, there’s time for this, there’ll have to be. Pants hit the dirty ground. Oh god, oh god, wait—NO! God, Dad could come out here! He could come—oh god, come . . . can’t stop this, can’t—no way am I—

“Arthur!” I gasped, back arching, his hands hard against my hips. Warmth. God, his tongue, gotten so good, so—I clapped a hand over my mouth as I came, eyes squeezed shut. My head fell back against the wall, trying to catch my breath. Arthur stood up and kissed me. I could taste myself on his lips. I caught my teeth on his lower lip as I roughly spun him around by the collar of his shirt, undoing buttons as fast as I could.

“Ben,” I heard him gasp, “Hurry,” he groaned, not just for himself but for the time limit we had before my Dad came looking for us. Okay, fast, I can do fast. Hand. Mouth. Tongue. Arthur pulled hard on my hair, shuddering so violently his knees almost gave away as he came. Stood up, fell into a hug, both catching our breath. His bare chest slowed under me, his hand ran soothingly over my back.

“Okay,” he said maybe ten times, then sighed, “That’s the last time we spend three days apart,”

I stood up, grinning, throwing him his shirt. His mouth dropped open when he saw the dirt that had unavoidably gotten all over it. Shaking his head he gave me a hard shove, almost knocking me over. I hit him back.

Straightening his hair and trying to paste on a serious face Arthur opened the door, taking a few steps outward before turning to hold the door, extending a hand with a small bow. I rolled my eyes and walked through the shed door, trying not to jump as his hand caught my ass on the way out. Of course when I saw my Dad coming across the lawn the smile disappeared from my face as fast as lightning.

“There you are,” my Dad said, stopping in his tracks, looking me up and down, “What the hell took you so long?”

“I was showing him the vegetable garden,” I said quickly. I didn’t let myself sigh. Quick thinking definitely had many advantages.

My dad, hair combed back, clean shirt, turned his eyes on Arthur then back to me. Panic gripped me. God, he’s a doctor. He knows physical signs of everything. He knows. Look at him! He knows!

“Didn’t know you were going to give him a tour,” my Dad said grumpily, “Just go on, go get cleaned up, son, I’ll show him the rest,”

My wide eyes turned to Arthur. He returned a pleading gaze at me. He didn’t want to be alone with my dad. But I couldn’t stop it. I pretty much ran to the house, taking the porch steps two at a time, trying not to think about the dirty handprints all over Arthur’s shirt, or about his flushed cheeks, sweaty hair, signs that must seem like neon lights to my dad.

Up to my room. My old room. Everything’s the same. But it’s not my room anymore. It’s a kid’s room. And I’m not a kid anymore. God, I’m not a kid. I felt a twisting in my stomach as I threw my shirt off, tossing my suitcase on the bed.

I’m—I’m—god, can’t even say it!

I should change my shorts. Decided against it. No time. Started throwing things in my case. Grabbed some books from a shelf with the Lone Ranger and Silver gathering dust. A model airplane. Teddy-bear. I saw that my hands are shaking as I strode quickly to the bathroom, taking my toothpaste, tooth-brush and soap, throwing it back into my suitcase. Grabbing another shirt I go back to the bathroom and wash my face quickly. The faucet turned off and for a moment I stopped and faced myself in the mirror. I saw myself bite my lower lip, eyes red and rimmed with tears.

Say it, I thought to myself. Say it. I stared into the dark haired young man’s eyes. He licked his lips, opening his mouth but no words came out. My hands curled into fists. You can’t say it! I screamed at myself. You fucking just sucked another guy’s cock and you can’t say it!

I heard myself say, “I’m,” then my throat locked up and I turned away from my reflection, throwing the clean shirt on.

Running down the stairs I’ve ran down a million times, dragging my suitcase in one hand, I pushed out the front door, eyes out across the yard. Can’t see them. Shit. I went to his car and threw my suitcase through the open back window, wiping my palms down the sides of my pants. I don’t want to wait around. I want to get out of here. Out of this place. Away from my dad. I broke into a jog, sprinting across the lawn, looking for them. Not by the vegetables. Not by the corn. Suddenly I saw them and slowed to a walk, catching my breath. My dad was pointing toward a lilac bush that my mother had planted the year I was born.

“Ready,” I said, pushing my hair to the side with a deep breath. Met Arthur’s concerned eyes briefly.

My Dad let his arms fall to his side in acceptance, “Alright then, guess you should get going,” he looked at me with a nod, “Thanks for your help, son,”

“No problem,” I said, managing a smile, “Don’t expect free labor next time,” I laughed.

“If you won’t do it for free, maybe I could get your friend Arthur to do it,” he said, almost laughing, “Nice to see a boy so interested,”

“Anything’s possible,” I said, looking at Arthur skeptically, raising my eye brows in disbelief for effect.

My dad patted my shoulder, “Well, see you next time, son, study hard—you’re gonna save people’s lives one day,”

“Right,” I said. I’d heard it a hundred times. He seemed to know I’d end up doing something really important. That I’d make a difference. If he only knew. He wouldn’t think so highly of me if he’d been in the tool shed ten minutes ago.

Arthur and I walked back to his car. When we got in we waved to Dad on the porch. Arthur backed the car out of the driveway; one elbow raised on the back of the seat as he looked over his shoulder, but didn’t say a word until we’d gone at least a quarter mile from my house.

“Oh my god,” he said in one breath, both hands tight on the wheel.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“I can’t believe we made it out,”

“It’s just one man, two against one, what’s the matter with us?”

“He showed me every plant,”

“I’m so sorry,”

“I don’t really even like gardening. I had a cactus once. It died in a day,”

“Just keep driving,”

“I’m driving,”

I sank back in my seat, the wind from the open window wonderful against my face. I bit my lip in thought, the broken light from the clouds scattered across the blue sky passing through the windshield. All the adrenaline I’d worked up was gone. “We shouldn’t have done that,”

“I know,”

“We have to be smarter—we have to be sure it’s safe,”

“I know,”

“This is serious . . .”

The car’s engine hummed in the background. Arthur was just staring ahead. I turned my head to the side and watched the trees go by, the car speeding over the bumpy road, back toward school. Back toward school . . . to dorm life, professors, text books, nail-biting exams, and us. We were together all the time. But not together. I can’t hold his hand when we’re walking to class. I can’t take him for a pizza on Friday night. I can’t put an arm around him in the library. I can’t kiss him when he flunks a quiz. My mind wandered as we drove in silence.

“Ben,” Arthur said after awhile.

“Hm?” I turned my head to look at him.

“I . . .” he stopped, I noticed his knuckles are white on the steering wheel, “I don’t think I can do this,”

“What?”

“One of these times we’re going to get caught, Ben,”

“What happened to, ‘let’s be optimistic’?”

“Because we’re going to get caught!”

I said nothing. It felt like I’d just been punched in the stomach. Arthur looked over at me briefly before turning his eyes back to the road, his blue eyes darkened and afraid.

“We can learn to be more careful,” I managed to say.

“Ben,” he said carefully, “I can’t do this. I can’t. I can’t keep hiding,” his voice shook.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I can’t keep doing this,”

“So this is it?” I asked him, angry that he’d been too much of a coward to talk about this when he had to actually look at me, “It’s over?”

“It can’t be over, Ben!” he yelled, then sighed, trying to keep his voice normal,“It never started. We’re not breaking up because we aren’t—shit,” he shook his head, “Ben it’s not like you’re my boyfriend,”

“That’s just semantics, Arthur,” I said sharply, “Christ,” I sat straight up, “Would you pull over the damn car!”

He jerked the wheel to the right, slamming on the breaks, jerking to a stop.

Turning to the side in his seat he fixed me with a stubborn stare, the dark of his eyes almost reflecting the dieing light of the clouding sky. I stared back at him, attempting to maintain my resolve and remain cohesive at the same time, “Alright, you can’t, but we can make it work if you want to—the can’t isn’t the important part,” he stared back at me. I paused, frowned, “You do want to, right?”

“I mean what I said, Ben. It doesn’t matter if I want to—I’m about a hundred times over the amount of times a rational person would tell themselves to quit, I just—” he closed his eyes in frustration, “I gave into it. I shouldn’t have. It should be different than this, I should be different,”

I felt the tears return to my eyes, I glared past them, not wanting to cry. This was ridiculous. How could he just say this, out of no where? Taking an even breath I looked up at him, “You can’t tell me you’ve been with me all this time, done what we’ve done, and not fell something, anything, for me. I don’t give a damn what you’re thinking, frankly I’m thinking them too, but damn it Arthur, I can love you even though you’re a guy—I have, I do, I can’t just stop seeing you and pretend none of this ever happened, how can you—”

“I’m going to drive you back. We’ll see each other in classes. But other than that . . . I’m not—” he rubbed a hand up and down his arm, “I’m not living like this. I’m not going to let myself feel this way. I can ignore it. I can get a wife, have a family, have a normal life,”

“Stop—”

“People hate people like . . . like this. They hate them. I don’t want to be hated. I want what everyone else has,”

“So what happens when you get married and realize you have to be a husband in more ways than by wearing a wedding ring? You’ll be doing the same thing!”

“What am I supposed to do, Ben?” he insisted, “Stay with you? Move in together after we graduate? What happens when we do get old enough to get married? What happens when your father wonders why you haven’t met a nice girl and settled down? Don’t you think he’d noticed you’d been with me, another man, for all this time?”

“Don’t bring my dad into this, Arthur,”

“You were just as terrified as I was that he might find out!”

“Not like that I didn’t want him to!”

“So you’ll wait to tell him, like you always said. Till when?”

“You’re not exactly running off to tell your folks!”

“I’m not going to,” he said firmly, “Ben, just listen,”

In the sudden silence I found myself sitting there, staring at him. He looked down, taking my hand, holding it a moment before saying, “I can’t . . . and it’s not because I don’t care about you—because I do. It’s because I’m scared,”

“I get scared too you know. I’m not exactly shouting this to the world if you haven’t noticed—for some reason you think this is easier for me—it’s not,” I looked down at our hands held together, “I hate this,”

“Ben, I’m trying to be realistic about this,”

I looked up, “Realistic? You’re talking about living in a fantasy, Arthur!”

“You’re making this harder than it has to be!” Arthur retorted, “I’m an idiot for thinking I could have a reasonable conversation with you!”  

I tried catching his gaze but he wasn’t looking at me. “Arthur,” I said, voice quieter, “Of course this is hard,” I said, tears stinging my eyes, “We’re not just lab partners,” my throat tightened, “It’s been . . . long enough that I can’t imagine not seeing you all the time. I know you. I need you. I-I love you,”

“Ben . . .” he tried. He didn’t want to hear it.

“You are an idiot,” I said, leaning forward with a deep breath, kissing him suddenly. Pleading, urgent, hand on his face. His mouth fell open reluctantly, an arm went around me. But a moment later he pulled back. Fell back against his seat. Shook his head.

“I’ll take you back,” he said quietly, hand moving to turn the car back on. The engine roared to life. He lifted both hands to the wheel then looked over at me, eyes reflecting tears of his own, “And you know I love you too,”

Back on the road. He gains speed then sighs, trees and fields a blur to either side of us, “But it’s over, Ben,”

He didn’t say sorry. Nothing else. It wouldn’t have helped. And back at school, when anyone asked me what was wrong I couldn’t say why. I couldn’t say a word. I did hate it. I hated myself. More than anything after that I knew I never wanted to go through that again.

Ever.