NEW FIC: "Marigold Wine" 2/? by Aura218

[aura218.livejournal.com]

Title: "Marigold Wine" part 2/?

Author: aura218

Pairing: Hawkeye/Trapper, Hawkeye/others

Genre: Drama, romance, longfic, postseries, 60s

Summary: In the 60s, Trapper visits his old army buddy at a hippie commune, where Hawkeye has retreated to find peace.

Rating: R/M

I brought this doll back from Tokyo to thank my proofreader and encourager Todash

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Read part one here

Trapper retreated to Hawkeye's little bedroom to unpack, but discovered that Hawkeye lived out of a blue footlocker and a constellation of mismatched hooks on the wall. Trapper shoved his suitcase into a corner and collapsed on the bed. He'd been traveling since nine that morning -- the four and a half hour drive to Farmington, the he had to wait the better part of the afternoon in the soda shop, tired and eating the worst burger he'd ever tasted, while that kid took his sweet time coming down the mountain on the terrible old Army surplus ATV. His knee ached where he's torn the ligament twenty-five years ago, and a bone-deep exhaustion was seeping into his bones even as his mind whirled.

Trapper found a novel to distract himself while Hawkeye "went out for dinner," whatever that meant. But his eyes wouldn't fix on the page. Trapper had to admit that Hawkeye's "free love" was tailor-made for a man who had never intended to settle down. Hawkeye loved to be loved, and loved to give it. But what did it mean to have an ex family, a former nephew, and a former . . . whatever -- a twenty-six year old man? Trapper repeatedly had to draw his curious mind away from involuntary lurid mental images. Okay, so his secretary was twenty-four. Was it any different that Hawkeye's twenty-year old was a guy? No. Be it either gender, sleeping with the young was nothing but trouble.

Trapper barely got past the first page of his book before the page blurred and reality drew far away. . . .

When he opened his eyes again, it was dark. Someone had shut the window. Trapper lay there still, appreciating the cloudy comfort of a feather bed, fingering the knots of the afghan. Something firm, round, and hot pressed against the small of his back. He poked it experimentally and it meowed. Ah. Probably not a bomb, baby, or tiny woman, the three things that would require he get up. A fire crackled beyond his curtain; as his eyes adjusted, he could discern the warm yellow glow on the ceiling.

A gurgle beside and below him. Trapper stilled. He knew that sleepy sound. If you played dead, they might not find you.

No go. Pierce's clever child sensed a woken adult the way a bear sniffs out meat in the wilderness. With true dread, Trapper listened to the howling rear up as he prayed that someone else would take care of it. He had never been fond of babies, not really. According to Louise, he wasn't fond of children at all.

It didn't take a moment for the curtain to be pulled aside and someone picked the kid up. Lena, by the delicate movements. Pink light shone behind his eyelids.

"Trapper," she said gently, sing-songing, like a mother would.

Trapper played dead, just in case.

"My new friend, dinner is ready."

Trapper sat up. "Okay."

 "I knew that would rouse him," Hawkeye called from without.

In the main room, Trapper stared, stunned. The cabin was transported. Candlelight flickered in tandem with the pinky glow from the fireplace. The table was heavy with lovely smelling foods: A braided bread, apples with honey, a green salad with a confetti of veggies, and stew that looked like squash with raisins. There was a bottle of wine on the table -- finally, some alcohol.

"Looks great," he said.

"Sit sit," Lena said.

Trapper sat next to Lena, reaching over to smooth the hair on Sunny's sleepy head. The baby grabbed a linen napkin and stuck it in his mouth. It looked like it had been a man's work shirt in a former life, cut and hemmed with a discordant fabric. Someone made the effort to do that, and wash them after each use, so there was less trash to fill up a landfill.

"Is there a kitchen hiding around here somewhere?" he said.

"This is what a community is for," Lena said.

Hawkeye, serving, said, "The stew went in the over that tried to kill you and we all pitch in at the bakery. Lena gave Grandma Pearl half of her second most enormous squash for the apples, and we traded Willow our blackberries for his salad greens."

"I take my class blackberry hunting, they find all the little spots," Lena said.

"Seems involved," Trapper said. What he meant was, a whole lot of work just for one meal.

"It's an economy that respects everyone involved," Lena said. "There are no minimum wage employees, no corporate farms. We sustain ourselves."

"We eat most of our meals communally," Hawkeye said. "So it's less effort on any one person. But we wanted to have a special dinner for your first night."

"He wanted to throw you to the wolves," Lena said. And untied her blouse. Trapper looked away, quickly. Sunny expertly pulled the cloth down and there was her breast, pale and exposed. Wasn't Sunny too old for that now? Louise only did that for a month or two and had always in the back bedroom. Lena gracefully ate left-handed over her son's busy head.

"The wolves?" he said, concentrating on being sophisticated and less a letch than his natural tendency would lead him to be.

"You'll see," Hawkeye said. "There's a hootenanny tonight."

*

Hawkeye held up a ventilated coffee can with a candle in it to light their way to the 'hootenanny.' The night was glorious, fresh, clear, warm enough for t-shirts. The men wore sneakers, Lena wore a summer dress, and the baby wore a torn shirt diaper.

When the path opened to the compound where Trapper had first arrived, Hawkeye blew out the candle. In the dark, the place didn't look so dank and muddy, especially with the cheery Chinese lanterns lit up in the trees. The woods were green and blooming, especially in the compound.

Music drifted up from the long metal building, and Trapper had been partially right about the Frankenstein structure -- the top half of the front wall propped open to an awning. He could see dancing couples and a barrel of blessed beer. A gaggle of girls whooped it up on the porch as they approached. Hawkeye waved and Trapper gave his very nicest smile, knowing he still had that magic touch. Lena ran ahead to greet them like a girl.

"A word, Trap?" Hawkeye snagged at Trapper's shirt.

Trapper was led over to one side of what he was starting to think of as the "courtyard," a pebbled area near the tall statue, standing under the light of a green lantern hung in a huge oak tree.

"What's up?" Trapper said, already distracted by the music and crowd. This must be what 'come out of the woodwork' meant.

"I just wanted you to be up with things: this place isn't like our gin-soaked forget-me-please parties in the war."

Trapper indicated the one-year-old making an acrobatic escape from Hawkeye's chest-sling. "I noticed a few differences."

Hawkeye touched his arm. "It's just -- whatever idea I gave you about the place, there's a difference between free love and loose morals. There's rules. You can't just cozy up to some woman and go back to her cabin."

Trapper almost laughed aloud, despite Hawkeye's pleading expression -- perhaps because of those bleeding-heart puppy dog eyes. "Look, Hawk, what you're saying is sort of contrary to everything you've already told me."

"Trapper -- this is a society, it isn't summer camp. You don't know what's going on between people, who's emotionally connected to whom --"

Trapper put a hand up. "If you're saying that I should get to know a woman first because I don't know who she belongs to, then all right. I promise not to make a play for anyone tonight." He tossed off a sarcastic Boy Scout's salute. "Savvy?"

Hawkeye rubbed his forehead like he already had the hangover he was supposed to be enjoying getting tonight. "No one 'belongs to' anyone, you generational holdover. But if that's how you have to think about it . . ."

"Onward?" Trapper headed for the wine, women, and song.

"Just a second." His personal wet blanket snatched his arm with the speed of an 80-year-old oma.

Trapper groaned.

"Just, one more thing. I don't want you to think . . . which is to say -- "

"Hawkeye, you're blushing."

"You cut that out! Look, these people are the most open-minded and kind you'll ever meet, but that doesn't mean certain things are common to them. Not to a man."

Trapper blinked at him.

"Certain things," Hawkeye repeated.

Trapper groped for possibilities. "No cock fights?"

"Trapper," Hawkeye said, irritated. "You can't go hitting on men, either."

~*~