Title; Game 22: Quiet.

Author: JMA

Email: thecrypt@iinet.net.au

Pairing: Hawkeye/Trapper, Trapper/Frank,

Classification: First chapter in Game 22 . series.

Summary: Trapper watches Frank.

Notes: Partly set during the episode O.R

Special Thanks: To the darling Beta's Anne Marsh and Amber

(minttown1). May can-can dancers make you happy.



Game 22
By JMA
***

Chapter 1: Quiet

Trapper was watching Frank. And for the very life of him couldn't figure out why.

He and Hawkeye were sitting in the Mess Tent after... well, to be honest, after nothing. The wounded had slowed to a mere drip and extreme boredom had settled over the camp like an itchy blanket. More than anything, the lulls tended to make Hawkeye a little crazy, something of negotiable value.

Perhaps it made him a little crazy too. Maybe that was why he was watching Frank.

Not really watching anything in particular, mind you. Just generally, like a nature program. Living Habits of the American Ferret in Korea. Although the way he was over Houlihan, it was more like Mating Habits of the American Ferret.

"What do you think she sees in him?" Hawkeye asked, finally noticing that Trapper was watching Frank and Hot-Lips rather than anything of interest. " I mean, she's not an unattractive woman..."

" I'd do `er" Trapper interjected.

"As would any man. And there are other Majors, even a Colonel." Hawkeye pushed some rehydrated mashed potato around. "But Frank! Why Frank?"

Trapper found himself actually considering it. Frank was married, so she had no hope of that. He wasn't of sufficient rank to advance her career.

"Maybe they like each other. Like minds and all that rot," he said.

"Nobody actually * likes* Frank! And don't tell me that a personality like his does anything to enhance those looks."

"Why Hawk," he chuckled, "You look like you do and you still don't do too bad for yourself."

Hawkeye laughed outright and slapped Trapper hard on the back. "You're the beauty and I'm the charm of this outfit. If all our good qualities combined in one person we'd be irresistible!"

"Yeah, and if all our bad ones combined together we'd be Frank!"

When they'd stopped laughing, and Hawkeye had moved on to tease Radar about the dangers of eating Mess Tent cuisine, Trapper found himself looking at Frank again.

Over the next few days he began to see... something. The wounded hit, and during a marathon O.R. session Frank tried to reach out to him with some stupid story about his past. Trapper was too tired to put up with it.

Then he saw it. It was quiet, subdued, but all the same there. Trapper wondered why he'd never seen it before.

***

Trapper carried Hawkeye from the O.R. to the Swamp despite his own sheer exhaustion. It was worth it to feel Hawkeye's face nuzzle gratefully into his neck. He put the sleeping doctor down as gently as he could, not quite ignoring the messages his body was sending him, telling him that he was getting too old for things like this.

Hawkeye was something else, some unknown quantity he had never encountered before. Sometimes it made Trapper uncomfortable, scared even. Hawkeye was, to Trapper at least, untouchable. Not that Trapper found him... attractive... or anything. He'd been attracted to men before, his eyes slid to Frank on their own accord and that quiet sexuality that was seeping from him, but Hawkeye was something else.

Frank. He almost laughed as he looked at Frank undressing in the corner. Prudely, considering the number of times they had showered together. Ferret-face, no-lips, whose beady eyes now glared at him from the opposite corner of the room.

"What are you looking at you, you pervert!"

Overtired and perhaps a little crazy, Trapper began to laugh silently, hysterically. When he finally calmed down there were tears in his eyes. Frank huffed.

"Frank," Trapper said softly, even though he didn't think he'd actually wake Hawkeye.

"Wouldn't you like to know!" Frank snapped back without fire. He carried the same weariness they all did, even the sleeping Hawkeye. Trapper ignored him.

"I think we did some good today."

Frank settled a little at that, looking slightly pleading as he did back when they were talking in the O.R. He nodded and pulled himself into bed.

"Frank..."

"Yes, McIntyre?"

Trapper sighed and the corner of his mouth twitched. "If ya want someone to talk to. I mean, if I'm not busy or with Hawkeye or anything."

He barely heard the soft "Thank you". It made him smile.

"Just as long as it's not tattling."

Tired, sad, pathetic, and grateful. Trapper wanted him. Because, just maybe, he could have him.



Chapter 2: Catch 22

Frank spent the waking hours of the next day trying to think of something, anything, to say to Trapper. It was harder than he thought it would be. Most of what he had to say fell under tattling. Tattling was something he did very well. At times like these he wished he could be more like Pierce and McIntyre, always able to strike up a conversation. With everyone except him that is.

Frank put it all down to a lack of practice. Pierce and McIntyre talked all day. They probably talked all through their childhoods too. Frank suspected he didn't really have a childhood, with Mother and Father dressing him in suits since infancy. He never had anyone to talk to. His brothers were always mean to him. His parents demanded that he should never be seen or heard. His only real friend, his best friend, was a boy from next door he used to do home schooling with. Arnold Radcliff home-schooled because he was teased out of the local primary school, and even he used to tease Frank.

Still, there should be something they could talk about.

"Corporal! What do you think you're doing?"

"I was just walking, sir" Radar O'Riley said as he scurried away.

"Next time watch where you're going!" Frank shouted after him, nearly tripping over Henry Blake as he did so.

"Next time heed your own advice Frank." Henry said. Frank pulled a face after him and purposely didn't salute.

Frank walked into the Officer's Club and thought of something to say to Trapper.

But Trapper was sitting with Hawkeye. Frank tried to get his attention, but to no avail. So instead he sat himself a respectable distance from Major Houlihan.

"Major," she said.

"Major," he said.

They sat a little closer and spoke to each other in quieted voices.

"Oh, Frank! You wouldn't believe the day I'm having. I'm so looking forward to seeing you tonight."

"Oh, Margaret! The anticipation!"

Margaret Houlihan ran her tongue enticingly over the mouth of the bottle and sucked suggestively on the straw. Over her shoulder Frank caught Trapper's eye. He made some excuse to Hawkeye and secretly motioned to the door, indicating Frank should follow him out when he left. Margaret's straw made a gurgling sound as she finished her drink.

"Margaret…"

"Yes Frank?"

"I have to go."

"What? Frank!"

Frank ignored her indignant squawk and left.

Trapper was waiting for him outside. They began to walk away.

"So, Frank," Trapper said conversationally, "you looked like you had something to say earlier?"

Frank nodded, went to speak, then said nothing. He tried again but completely forgot the brilliant conversation starter he had planned.

Trapper looked very amused. "What's the matter, Frank? Cat got your tongue?"

Frank shrugged and made a little whining noise. "I just forgot what I was going to say."

"It happens to me all the time," Trapper said. "How about I make conversation until you remember?"

"Ok."

"Alright." There was a moment's pause while Trapper tried to think of something to say to Frank, "Err, well… I saw you talking to Hotlips in the Officer's Club."

"I was not!" Frank defended.

"Ah. Ok. Something else then…" There was another patch of silence. "Look, I've got an idea. How about later you and me…"

"Attention all personnel. Incoming wounded. We've got choppers on the upper and lower pads. Straight from the front lines to an operating table near you!"

"How about later we?" Frank prompted.

"Wounded, Frank!"

"Oh," he said.

**

Frank was back from his `meeting' with Houlihan early. They were both tired, and he just couldn't keep his mind on the, err, `task' in front of him.

He tried to open the door to the Swamp but found it lodged shut. He tried again, but succeeded only in rattling it a little.

"Pierce! McIntyre! I suggest you open this door immediately!" Frank rattled the front door of the Swamp again. It wasn't like he didn't know all about the poker games he was never invited to, so they didn't have to lock the door on him every time. It was his tent too.

"No, Frank. Go away."

Frank was about to yell something back at Hawkeye when the door opened. Trapper grinned and winked at him through the open doorway.

"Let him in. Frank's alright," he said, moving back to his seat and letting Frank through.

Frank's eyes widened a little. Trapper had * actually* told Hawkeye he was alright. He'd stood up for Frank. He smiled gratefully at Trapper, who smiled and shook his head in a gesture meant for himself rather than Frank.

"Frank's alright?" Hawkeye repeated, "Frank may be a lot of things; selfish, shallow, incompetent, incontinent, self-righteous and hypocritical. But he has never, never been alright!"

Frank gaped in outrage, looking once again for Trapper to back him up. Trapper, however, was busily laughing along with the rest of the poker players. Frank went to leave. Trapper moved his chair, blocking his way.

"Awww, give him a break Hawkeye. I want to get back to the poker."

"Trapp, I think you've been drinking too much," Hawkeye said, pouring them each another drink, "or not enough. You know, I could never figure out which one that was."

They ignored Frank and went back to their poker.

Twice! Twice an as many minutes Trapper had spoken up for him. To Hawkeye! Frank sat back down on his bunk. He nearly asked Trapper if he could join in but decided not to push his luck. Twice!

The next morning Frank caught up with Trapper in the compound while Hawkeye was on duty.

"So, err, about yesterday?"

"What about yesterday?"

"Before the wounded. You were about to suggest something."

"Was I?" Trapper shrugged, "Probably that we should talk more often." "Oh."

"Yeah."

Frank barely noticed that they were heading out of camp, behind Henry's office.

"So..." Frank tried to think of something to say. "How about them wounded!"

Trapper looked at him incredulously. Then smiled. "Yep, they were wounded alright."

The conversation, struggling, weak and malnourished as it was, died. Frank decided that they were going to have to face facts.

"Look McIntyre, stop trying to be my friend. I'm pretty sure this is just some little prank you and Pierce have come up with, so you can stop being so nice to me." He pursed his lips together, making them disappear.

Trapper sighed, although whether it was in frustration or relief that there was actual conversation was lost on Frank. "Frank, this is not a prank and it has nothing to do with Hawkeye."

"You're not saying that you actually like me. You hate me!"

"I don't * hate* you." Trapper seemed to be considering something. "I don't. But you're right. There is something more to it."

Frank shifted expectantly. Trapper seemed to be hesitating just a little bit more than usual. Frank knew it! He knew there'd be some sort of catch 22. Nobody *actually * liked him. Nobody really wanted to be around him, nobody really…

Trapper put his hands on either sides of Frank's face and kissed him.

Then he pulled away, looked nervous and walked off. It was another five minutes before Frank closed his mouth. He blinked his eyes twice and walked back to the camp.

"Oh," he said.



Chapter 3: Degeneration

"Those degenerates!"

Frank gave Margaret a whine of agreement that seemed to satisfy her. He hadn't been able to concentrate on anything since That Thing happened yesterday. That Thing, The Trapper Thing, when he was feeling adventurous he even referred to it as That Kiss Thing. Only to himself. After all, who else could he talk to?

"Can you believe it, Frank?" Margaret continued, automatically assuming Frank shared her outrage. "They get away with everything! But what can we do about it?"

That was the question. What could he do about it? He never asked for that type of behaviour to be directed towards him. He wasn't one of *those*, a….a powder-puff! If Frank had his way, Trapper would be on his way to a court-marshal under threat of a Blue Discharge.

Margaret glared across the mess tent. "There's no point going to Colonel Blake. Pierce and McIntyre have him wrapped around their little finger!"

Well that was true. If Frank went to Blake, Trapper would do *something* to get out of it, probably getting Pierce to back him up.

"I don't understand it, Frank, I really don't."

Neither did he. Trapper chased women relentlessly. He was married! Could it be possible that there was something about *him* that had overridden all that? Unlikely… but Frank couldn't help feel a desperate pull towards the other man. It just so happened that Trapper John McIntyre wanted him, of all people for no reason at all. Frank was disturbed and flattered in a way then left him wanting to prove to Trapper that he was worth it.

"I mean," Margaret sighed in frustration, "who would do that to a latrine?"

"Huh?" Latrine? Frank knew all about Hawkeye's latest prank on the camp latrine, he just forgot that that's what they were talking about.

"Are you listening to anything I'm saying?"

"Of course Margaret! Those two get away with everything and it's got to stop." Frank snivelled a little to cover. "One day someone's going to get hurt. As my wife used to say, it's all fun and games until someone looses an eye."

Margaret looked outraged. "Frank!" She stood up, slammed her tray dawn and marched out of the room.

"What did I say?" Frank's eyes followed her out of the door. Across the room Hawkeye and Trapper cheered them. Frank sniffed and followed her out.

"Margaret…?"

"Go away Frank!"

"Darling? What did I do?"

"Go ask your wife Frank. Since she has all the answers."

"Oh, my wife!" It occasionally slipped Frank's mind how touchy Margaret was on the subject of his wife. He didn't really understand why, it wasn't as if they had even met. Frank shook his head. Women confused him to no end. "I'm sorry darling. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

Margaret looked around to make absolutely certain that no one could see them. Then she walked seductively up to him and placed her hand on his arm. "I don't know Frank, can you think of anything?"

Frank smiled in a way he probably thought was inviting. Perhaps a night with her would take his mind off Trapper. Yes! It was exactly what he needed. The arms of a *woman* instead of the thought of Trapper's lips…

"Well? Frank?" Margaret was getting a little irritated at being repeatedly ignored.

Caught out again, Frank stumbled, "I… I was just thinking of all the things I could do." He leered and lowered his voice. " I'd start at your feet, my darling, and take each naughty little toe…"

"Attention all personnel. Incoming wounded! Pack your overnight bag, folks, this is gonna be a long one."

***

"…so I say to her. `Rita my darling, I name you Beauty Queen or Crab-apple Cove!'" Most of the O.R laughed. Except Frank.

"Can it, Pierce!" he snapped, "Can't you see some of us are trying to operate? Nurse! Where is my scalpel?"

"You never asked for one, Major."

"Don't talk back to your superior officer!"

"You know Frank, suction, only the military would consider you superior to anything." Hawkeye caught sight of a fragment he was chasing.

Henry sighed. He could just see it coming like a slow moving train reck. They'd been in here a long time and tempers were short enough as it was. "Guys, knock it off. That's an order." He sent a pleading look over to Trapper to help him diffuse the situation.

"So Hawk," Trapper said, "What do you think my chances of becoming a Beauty Queen are?"

Frank snorted in disgust. The corners of Trapper's lips twitched into a smile as he closed up his last patient.

"Well you're pretty," Hawkeye said, finishing up his own final casualty, "But I'm not sure how you'd go in the swim suit category."

"I'll have you know I look great in a bikini."

"You lousy degenerates!" Frank stormed into the scrub room. Hawkeye and Trapper followed him.

"I'm not arguing with you there, Trapper. You should see how the men look at you when you go swimming."

Trapper bristled. "What men?" he demanded.

Frank looked at him. He knew! He knew exactly what Trapper was covering when he made comments like this. He knew!

Hawkeye watched Ferret-face, not quite sure what to make of his expression. "Well, Trapp, there's Frank for a start. I'll have you know your bikini's drive him wild!"

Frank slammed out of the room, unaware of Margaret as he passed her. She huffed and demanded to know what that was all about. Trapper
shook his head.

"So Trapp, you up for a drink at The Swamp before bed?" Hawkeye asked.

"Nah," Trapper answered, "I've gotta talk to Frank about something first."

"You're talking to Frank on purpose?"

Trapper laughed. Margaret didn't seem to find it that funny.

***

"Frank. Wait up."

"McIntyre, I'm too tired for this. Go pick on someone else."

"Easy, Frank," Trapper said, finally catching up, "I'm friendly, remember?"

Frank crossed his arms and stared at him. "Yes. I remember."

That caught Trapper a little and, for some reason, made him smile.

"Frank..." Trapper rested his hand on Frank's forearm. Frank stiffened a little but didn't pull away, so Trapper left his hand there. "I'm sorry if I offended you. The very last thing I want is for you to hate me for it."

With a little pressure on Frank's forearm they began walking again, this time in the direction of the supply tent. When Trapper opened the door, Frank knew it was all over. He never really had a choice.

"Why, McIntyre?" Frank pleaded. "Why me?"

"I don't know Frank. Ya got this… thing. This quiet *thing*." It startled Frank a little. It was what Margaret told him. She also wanted him because she saw the potential for greatness. Perhaps Trapper…

"And you know, Frank, were both here. Each separated from his family. You and me." Trapper gave him a smile Frank had seen directed at various nurses. Trapper's smile. His hand moved up to the side of Frank's face. "Maybe we can help each other."

"It's wrong." Frank's voice was weak.

"No one will find out." Trapper moved a little closer.

"We'll get caught." Frank's eyes fluttered closed.

"No one will find out." Trapper was very close.

"Yes or no?" He never really had a choice.

Trapper kissed him. It wasn't like kissing a girl, but there was nothing Frank could pin down as being different. It just was. Frank kissed back. It was the only control he had over the situation, so he kissed back and moved his hands over Trapper's body.

Trapper broke away. "We should continue this later." Frank nodded. They walked back to The Swamp in silence. Hawkeye was already asleep. Trapper followed soon after. Frank lay awake for hours, trying to pinpoint just where his life went out of control.

He fell asleep.



Chapter 4: Games

It seemed sometimes to Frank that Korea was a place of opposites. Us and them, rain and drought, light and dark. Sometimes it was so busy that he felt like he was going to die from exhaustion. At other times, like now, it seemed like people were just as likely to die of boredom. To Frank, this was the worst. Worse even than the biting cold that was threatening the camp. And with Margaret in Tokyo he didn't even have anyone to complain to!

The boredom made people act funny, pull more pranks and drink too much. He almost whished the casualties would start coming in so people would stop fooling around.

But then, he was doing his own share of fooling around. Frank was starting to get used to this…thing he had with Trapper. It had only been a few days, but they had already moved beyond kiss to mild grope. He tried not to think about the anxious feeling he got whenever Trapper would want him around. He refused to analyse the relief-tinged disappointment he felt when Trapper preferred to go out drinking with Hawkeye instead.

Like tonight.

Frank settled down for a night alone. It didn't matter, he didn't need Trapper anyway. He had his bible and…

"So Frank, fancy seeing you here," Trapper stood in the doorway of The Swamp and… leered… at him. Frank gaped as Trapper made his way to Frank's bunk and sat down beside him. "I ditched Hawk at the O.C. Told him I had something better to do."

"Really?"

Trapper knelt on Frank's cot and kissed him. The nervous anxiety hit him again but he conceded that it was a good type of anxiousness.

"If I know Hawk, and I'd like to think I do," Trapper said, his hand resting on Frank's neck, "He'll meet up with some nurse and we…"

"…will have the whole night to ourselves," Frank finished. Trapper smiled benevolently.

"Why Frank! Whatever shall we do to pass the time?"

"Yo! Trapper? You in there?"

Trapper scrambled off Frank's cot as Hawkeye walked in to the tent.

Hawkeye cocked his head to one side and crumpled his brow. Frank swallowed nervously, sure that somehow Hawkeye knew what they were doing.

"Hey, Trapp, I thought you were coming to the Officer's Club?" Hawkeye swayed slightly and pointed out the door.

"You're drunk!" Frank shouted. Hawkeye seemed to register Frank's presence for the first time.

"Yes." Then he returned his attention to Trapper. "You coming?"

Trapper sighed, "Yeah. Later. I'll meet you there."

Hawkeye nodded, looking a little bemused. "Ok." Then he turned and walked out.

Trapper sat back on Fran's bed and began moving closer. "So much for all night," Frank said.

"Don't be sore, Frank. He's too drunk to remember me saying I'll meet him there." He began pawing at Frank again, only this time his hands edged around to the front of Frank's pants.

"Hey Trapp. Ugly John wants to know…"

Trapper and Frank flung off each other again as Hawkeye re-entered the tent.

"… if the poker game's still on for Saturday or if we were going to move it to Friday." Hawkeye stopped to look at Frank and Trapper who were now sitting next to each other. Trapper looked calm, if slightly annoyed. Frank looked like he was about to make a run for it.

"Hawkeye, I thought you were going to the Officer's Club?"

" I was. I am. I just had to ask, because I forgot today and I'd told Ugly John I'd give him an answer tonight." Somehow, through his drunken state, he'd picked up on some of the tension in the room. "What's going on?"

"What exactly are you insinuating!"

Trapper elbowed Frank sharply in the ribs and glared at him. Hawkeye looked from one to the other, but neither could be certain just how much he was taking in.

"I was just talking to Frank."

"About what?"

"I'll tell you later, Hawk. Tell Ugly John that it's still Saturday." Trapper reached into his back pocket and retrieved his wallet. "And go buy yourself another drink. And buy some lucky nurse one too."

Hawkeye took the money smiling. "You'll be in later? They're keeping the O.C. open all night tonight!"

"Yes, I will. Now go get yourself a nurse!"

"Yes sir!" Hawkeye mock saluted as he was leaving.

Trapper turned his grin on Frank. "I thought he'd never leave."

Frank manoeuvred out of his embrace. "What if he comes back?"

"He won't."

"But what if…"

"Shhh."

Frank kept one eye on the door as Trapper pushed him onto his back, effectively pinning him. Was it possible that, on a subconscious level, Hawkeye knew about them and was trying to keep them apart?

When his hand slipped under Frank's shirt, Trapper found he had regained Frank's attention. He kept eye contact as he unbuttoned Frank's pants and slipped his hand inside the waistband. Frank flinched back. Trapper's hand began to fondle him firmly.

"McIntyre, I'm not sure…"

"Do you want me to stop? I will." He kept moving his hand. Frank said nothing. "Do you want me to stop?"

Frank shook his head.

Trapper was now stroking Frank's erect cock, rubbing himself on Frank's leg. He pushed Frank's pants down until the puddled around his boots.

"Touch me."

Frank, shaking slightly, began unbuttoning Trapper's pants. Trapper moved his hands away, giving Frank greater access. Frank recoiled at first when he felt Trapper's cock . He had never touched another man like this before. Trapper was so like him yet so different that Frank was momentarily unsure of what to do. He looked to Trapper for guidance but Trapper's eyes were closed. Frank tightened his hand around it and moved. It jerked in response. He had done this! He smiled and started to build up a rhythm, wondering if he should push Trapper's pants down as Trapper had done to him.

"Stop!" Frank froze; terrified he had done something wrong. Then, above the pounding of his heart in his ears he heard a voice outside.

Trapper was of him in an instant, flinging a random piece of clothing to cover Frank's waist and legs as he dove belly-down onto his own cot. Seconds later Hawkeye walked back into The Swamp.

"I thought you were going to the Officer's Club, Hawkeye!"

"I did!" he said, fixing himself a martini, "I had a drink and I found a nurse but she left. I just wanted to see what was holding you up?"

Trapper groaned and smacked his head into his pillow. Neither Hawkeye nor Frank saw him snake his hand down and do up his fly.

Hawkeye sat down in one of the chairs on his and Trapper's side of the room.

Frank looked down and realized with horror that the garment covering his waist, the one that stood between himself and a Blue Discharge, was Hawkeye's red robe.

"Well," Trapper said, standing up, "if you'll excuse me, I have to visit the little boy's room. You two play nice `till I get back."

Frank's mouth dropped open. Hawkeye said, "Yes dad," and continued drinking.

They sat in silence for a while. Hawkeye ignored Frank while Frank reached under Hawkeye's red robe and began to pull up his pants.

"You know, Frank…"

Frank almost dropped his pants.

"… you really ought to get out more. I mean, there's a whole camp outside this tent!"

Frank did up his fly.

"You're drunk, Pierce!"

"I thought we'd covered this already?" Hawkeye finished his drink. "There's no need to be catty, Frank. I'm just trying to have a nice friendly conversation and… Is that my robe?"

"What? This?" Frank picked up Hawkeye's robe off his now clothed lap. "McIntyre threw it at me."

He chucked it across to Hawkeye, who held on to it like a child's dearest toy. "Don't touch my robe, Frank."

"I thought I told you two to play nice?" Frank didn't know whether to glare at Trapper or smile in relief. His face settled on an expression that made him look like an angry mouse.

"I was,' Hawkeye protested, "but he touched my robe!"

"And what do you have to say to that, Frank?"

"You threw it at me!'

"Oh yeah." Trapper smiled, then shrugged. "Sorry Hawkeye."

Frank's expression upgraded itself from angry mouse to furious ferret.

Trapper kept smiling. "How about we *all* go down to the Officer's Club for a drink."

"You know, I was just telling Frank he ought to get out more. The most he ever gets to see of this camp is the inside of here and Hot-Lips' tent."

"Pierce!"

Hawkeye ignored him. "Just think of all the scenery he's missing out on. There's the latrine, the Mess Tent and the Officer's Club…"

"C'mon Hawkeye, lets just go. You coming Frank?" There was something about the way Trapper looked at Frank that made him think he had
something planned. Frank went with them.


****

They were there about an hour before Trapper motioned to the door. This was a ritual Frank was familiar with. He waited a few minutes outside before Trapper emerged from the O.C. As they walked back towards the Swamp, he felt Trapper's arms around his waist.

He leaned in an whispered, "So how about it, Frank, you up for round two?"

Frank's answer was assumed.

Inside he could taste the alcohol on Trapper's breath as they kissed. It took him a few seconds to realize that he was being quickly and efficiently undressed.

"Stop."

Suddenly, where there were warm hands and a hungry mouth there was nothing but air. Trapper stood a few feet away, watching.

"You said stop, Frank. I stopped. I told you I would."

Frank had asked him to stop. Deep down he never really believed that if he asked Trapper would do it. But he did. Frank could stop this at any time. It was a mixed blessing; with the control came the accountability. If he didn't stop it, it would mean he wanted it.

Trapper turned away.

"No," Frank said weakly, "What I meant was that… was that we should stop and block the door. Just in case he decides to come back."

It sounded like feeble pleading, even to Frank. But feeble pleading was something he knew.

"Good idea," Trapper said softly. He nudged a crate full of Hawkeye's belongings in front of the door. Frank barely breathed. He knew he wouldn't be able to stop this again of his own volition.

Slower this time, Trapper resumed undressing Frank. Frank followed his lead, adding kisses on to the bare flesh that was exposed as Trapper's clothes were peeled away. They each took off their own shoes, sitting side be side and saying nothing.

Then Trapper ran his fingers over Frank's face, skimming his thumb over his Adam's Apple, his hand brushing a trail that ended at Frank's cock. He stroked him into hardness.

"Turn around," Trapper said.

Frank's eyes widened, his heart jumped and his breath caught painfully in his throat. His mind shouted `stop this' even as he turned over. He could stop this. He would not.

His breath was unsteady as he felt Trapper's hands on his back. Occasionally, perhaps by accident, Trapper's cock brushed against him. Frank had never been this frightened, this excited, in his life.

And then it was gone, all of it. Once again Trapper was replaced by air.

"I didn't…" Frank began.

"I'm not goin' anywhere." Frank felt something cool and liquid drip down the crevice of his arse. He flinched.

"Easy, Frank. It's important stuff, this." Frank felt Trapper's finger follow the trail left by what he hoped was some of the medical lubricant. "Relax. I'll show you how Doctors should be taught to do prostate exams."

Frank didn't laugh. He knew what it felt like for someone to put there fingers *there*, he was a doctor after all. He braced himself for the inevitable breach.

For the most part he couldn't tell what was going on. Instead of a painful intrusion, more lubricant was added, followed by a smaller digit. It still hurt, but not as much as his monthly physical. He still couldn't figure out why someone would do this on purpose. He was stretched carefully, silently, until he was certain that there were multiple fingers inside him.

Frank had the slight suspicion that the stretching was for Trapper's comfort rather than his own. The whole thing seemed to him to be a little unpleasant.

Trapper brushed lazily past Frank's prostate, making his cock react slightly. This was ok, Frank decided as Trapper's fingers found a rhythm. It wasn't great, but he would do it if it would make Trapper happy.

But soon the finger's were gone, and Frank felt an unexpected *emptiness* that left him wanting them back.

Then it felt as if someone was trying to impale him on a large tree. It was happening slowly but it still knocked the wind out of him. His eyes watered. There couldn't possibly be *more*! But it kept coming and Frank's muscled tightened in protest. He heard a gasp of pain from Trapper.

"Christ, Frank! Relax, for both our sakes."

Frank let out a long breath and tried to relax, each exhalation enticing that*thing* inside him even further.

The most unusual sensation as Trapper pulled out a little. It hurt less when he pushed forward again, somehow going even deeper. There was a small sting that Frank ignored as he *felt* the thrust and withdrawal pulling at his body.

One of Trapper's hands was guiding Frank's waist while the other was distractedly pulling at Frank's cock. After some time, Frank couldn't
tell how long, Trapper pulled out of him. Frank collapsed onto his cot, glad and sorry it was over. He fell asleep soon after, and didn't feel Trapper leave.

***

The pounding on the door woke Frank up, and he watched as Trapper got up, in his shorts, from his own bed to answer it.

"Jeez Hawkeye! Some of us are trying to sleep here." Trapper nudged the crate that was blocking the door away with his foot.

"I couldn't get in," Hawkeye practically shouted when he got inside. Clearly he had only stopped drinking quite recently. "The stupid door was jammed or something."

"Keep it down Hawkeye, you don't want to interrupt No-Lips' beauty sleep."

Frank pretended to be asleep.

"Where'd you go?" Hawkeye asked.

"Found a nurse. Frank was asleep when I got in. You?"

Hawkeye, who was attempting to remove his boots without first untying them, said, "Nothing much. Had some strange conversation with Radar about listening to things you're not supposed to. Or knowing things you're not s'posed to listen to. Or…"

"Here, Hawkeye." Trapper knelt down and removed Hawkeye's shoes for him. Frank watched with half-closed eyes as a surge of jealousy washed through him. He told himself he was being ridiculous, but it stayed with him well into sleep.

***

Frank slipped out of his bunk early the next morning, waking neither Trapper nor Hawkeye as he left. He eyed the shower tent as he passed it, knowing he should shower after what had happened, knowing that he should want to. But he didn't want to face his body just yet. Not yet.

He walked down to the rusty river as he often did when he just needed to think. With its dirt banks and unpleasant brown colour it wasn't a favourite spot for couples. Most people preferred the hills over past the minefield, which at least offered something in the way of scenery. The only people who ever came down to the river were the occasional native Korean and Frank.

Frank wasn't looking for scenery. The monotony of dirt banks and dirty water was enough for him to think by. He paced a 200 meter stretch, between two trees, considered sitting down, but didn't. Instead he turned and started walking again in long, measured strides.

There was some discomfort in this, although less than if he decided to sit. But the ache of his muscles, the sharp tinge of the tear Trapper had left *just there* offered a perverse comfort. A physical memory of what he did, what they had done. It had been real.

Frank chewed his fingernails as he walked. He went over every moment, every smallest detail he could remember. He couldn't quite get his head around it. They had actually done *it*, he was now a… a sodomite! A small whimper escaped him then. Frank faltered a little in his step, his mind reeling from what he internally called `the awful truth'. He'd gone past the line that bounded what was good and clean and safe and he hated himself.

But not nearly as much as he thought he would. Frank went back to the camp, towards the shower tent.



Chapter 5: Discovery

He knew it was a bad idea.

"McIntyre! It's broad daylight!" Frank hissed.

Trapper barely slowed his assault on Frank's clothing. "Yes Frank. You're very observant."

Never actually telling him to stop, Frank tried to push Trapper's hands away from his fly. "Someone might come in and see us!"

Trapper put one hand on Frank's neck, his thumb resting on his Adam's apple. It was a gesture that Trapper was fond of. It made Frank nervous. Then Trapper smiled that smile, the one Frank secretly called his Hunter smile. It was usually directed at something he wanted and it unnerved and excited Frank to have it directed at him.

"It's ok," Trapper said, "Nobody's gonna come in here. Hawkeye's just started a shift and you and I are meant to be sleeping. Calm down. Everything's gonna be fine."

Frank made few further gestures of refusal before caving, as they both knew he would. He was self-conscious as Trapper removed both their clothes. Before had been at night and it seemed to Frank that certain activities belonged in the darkness. Daylight was just too clean, too innocent, too real. Trapper stood back a little to look at him and Frank had to fight the urge to cover himself.

Trapper's hand returned to Frank's throat. His other hand skimmed Frank's body, landing on his hip.

"Frank…" Trapper whispered, kissing his way from one ear to another. Frank made a noise that, like all his noises, Trapper took as a `yes'. More kisses. "Have you ever given a blow-job?"

Frank pulled back slightly, startled. He gaped. Trapper laughed softly.

"What?" Trapper moved closer again and resumed his kisses. "It's not like you haven't done far, far worse." He moved his hand from Frank's hip to the cleft of his arse for emphasis.

It was true; Frank couldn't deny it. In for a penny, in for a pound. But this… this was just … it was just… Trapper waited.

"I… I don't know what to do."

Trapper smiled. "It's ok. It's easy." Trapper guided Frank down to his knees while seating himself on the edge of the cot. "Just watch the teeth."

"Can I take my shoes off first?"

Trapper laughed. Both men removed their shoes and slid off their pants. Frank's hands trembled.

Frank placed his hand on the base of Trapper's cock and gave him one last pleading look before lowering his mouth. He wanted to be good, to make Trapper happy. To make him keep Trapper with him. But he had no idea what to do. Margaret always refused to do it for him and he never really had the nerve to ask his wife. The only ones he'd ever had were from Tokyo girls he hired, whose hands and mouths performed miracles he doubted he'd ever be able to replicate.

He licked the tip, trying not to taste too much. There was no way he'd be able to fit the whole thing into his mouth, Frank could see that. It made him uncomfortable to think that not too long ago he'd had all of it inside him. So Frank tried something else. He ran his tongue over the shaft, occasionally stopping to suckle.

Trapper made no noise, no motions of encouragement. But then, he made no noises of pain or discomfort either, so Frank assumed he wasn't doing anything wrong; he just wasn't doing anything right. He tried suckling a little harder, this time using his hands to stimulate the base, moving his fingers in semi-rhythmical patterns. A few more licks and sucks and Frank decided to return to the tip.

Frank circled his tongue around it, careful to avoid the opaque, pooling liquid that he was certain he didn't want to taste. Still no words or moans from Trapper, but his breathing was louder than before. Frank took this as encouragement and closed his mouth over the head of Trapper's cock, continuing moving his hand as he did so. Nothing too rushed, just a lazy exploration. Frank was worried about his teeth, the only real instruction he'd gotten from Trapper. His jaw began to ache, but he wasn't going to stop until Trapper said he could.

He was relieved and anxious when Trapper pushed him away. "Did I do it wrong?"

Trapper's response was to pull him up onto the cot and turn him so that he was on his hands and knees with his back towards Trapper.

"Not at all, Frank," he said as he nipped and kissed Frank's back. Frank trembled a little, knowing what was coming. He didn't know if he was ready for that again. Behind him Trapper was opening his bottle of unscented massage oil.

Trapper's slicked fingers entered him with more urgency but less pain than the last, the first, time they had done this. They brushed across his prostate, causing a reaction within him that Frank loved and hated. In for a penny… Frank propped himself on one elbow and reached in between his legs to his own cock which had not been hard until now. He concentrated on his hand rather than the feeling of Trapper entering him, of the pain when that tiny scar re-opened. Trapper was a ruthless lover, hard and uncompromising. It was so far removed from anything else Frank had ever experienced. Not the feigned pleasure from his Tokyo girls, not the dutiful, disdainful acquiescence from his wife or Margaret's demanding yet reassuring caresses. It was Frank who came.

Trapper just…stopped, as he had before. He rolled off Frank, who had, by this time collapsed onto the mattress. Frank didn't question it, not sure he really wanted to know. Instead he prepared to go back to his own bunk.

"Stay."

Frank didn't question that either. He was surprised and happy and he did as he was told, lying back into the wet patch and waited for Trapper to decide whether to hold him or not. Trapper lay down beside him on the narrow cot with one arm on Frank's chest.

"Not for long, but stay for a little while."

Neither of them intended to fall asleep like that.

***

"Oh my god."

Hawkeye stared at Frank, who stared back.

"Pierce… what are you…"

"Oh my god!"

Trapper woke up to see Hawkeye standing in front of his cot, his expression full of confusion and horror. Frank was still on his cot, still naked, but now he was sitting and clearly on the brink of panic.

Hawkeye started to shake his head. "This is not happening" he said, and ran out of the tent.

Frank panicked. "He's going to Colonel Blake! We're going to be court-martialled! What will my wife say? What…."

"Shut up Frank!" Trapper snapped, pulling on his trousers. "You stay here. I'll go deal with Hawkeye!"

Trapper pulled on his shirt and scanned the compound for Hawkeye. He hoped Frank was wrong, that Hawkeye wasn't with Henry. He spotted Hawkeye over the other side of the compound, by the mess tent.

Hawkeye was sitting on the ground, *sprawled* in the dirt. His legs were spread and bent, his elbows were between his knees, his hands on either side of his nose. It exaggerated his already lanky form to absurd proportions.

"Hawkeye…"

"You…you…" Hawkeye was rocking slightly.

"I'm sorry," Trapper said, although he wasn't sorry for doing it. He just never wanted to hurt Hawkeye. It was clear his friend was in shock. Hawkeye looked at him as though just realising something.

"You fucked him…"

"Hawkeye…"

Trapper looked around. People were starting to notice them.

"You f…"

"Can we not do this in the middle of the compound." Trapper grabbed Hawkeye by the arm and pulled him out of the dirt. Hawkeye, still in too much shock to register the precariousness of his best friend's situation, kept talking at him as they made their way behind Henry's office.

"I don't understand I just don't understand," he said, "You're married!"

"That hasn't stopped me before"

" Yes, but with *women * Trapp! I've seen you. You chase anything with breasts. You, you…" Hawkeye ran out of words and just looked at Trapper as if to say `help me', his arms, like his words, floundering at his side. Trapper was starting to get annoyed.

"Jeez Hawk, you're the last person I woulda picked as being a homophobe." He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow to make a point.

"What? No! I'm not, I'm not…" once again Hawkeye struggled to find the words, "I'm not. I'm just surprised, that's all."

Hawkeye calmed down a little. He paced to work off energy.

"So, you err, like men now. Ok. Ok." He scratched the back of his neck absently, "Which is probably a good thing. I mean, more nurses for me."

"I still like women, Hawk."

"Oh, you mean you haven't decided?"

"No!" Trapper sighed in frustration, "I like both."

Hawkeye nodded, not sure if he really got it. "You like both. Men, women and… Frank?"

Trapper laughed, "Believe it or not, he falls under the `Men' category."

"But Frank?"

Trapper laughed again.

"Frank? " Hawkeye tried again. Something irrational inside him said that if he could just get Trapper to realise it was *Frank* that he was fooling around with everything would go back to normal. "Trapper, I'm willing to accept the whole `I like men' thing, but not Frank."

The annoyance that began to creep back into Trapper's shoulders went unnoticed by Hawkeye.

"You know there are other homosexual men around. Ones that aren't Frank."

"Hawkeye..."

Hawkeye's pace quickened as he thought. "What about George! He was homosexual. Why don't you…"

"Because I'm not attracted to George!"

Hawkeye stopped pacing. "But you're attracted to Frank? Ferret-Face? The lipless, chinless wonder?"

Trapper put his hand on his friend's arm and hissed, "Not so loud! You want the whole camp to hear you?"

Both men looked around to make sure they weren't being overheard before Hawkeye continued, "Look Trapper, you really think it's a good idea to do this with Frank?" He raised his hand to block off any argument. "Hear me out here. He's not a good person. I'm not even sure he is a person. Certainly not the type of person you have a relationship with."

Trapper softened. Hawkeye really did care for him. He just had an arse-about way of showing it sometimes.

"Don't worry Hawk. It's not a relationship. It's not like I'm in love with the guy."

"You're not?" Hawkeye said then pulled a face, "You mean this is just physical?"

"It's..." They began walking back to into camp and towards The Swamp, "I don't really know. It's… He's got this *quiet* thing."

"Very quiet."

"You ok with this?"

Hawkeye stopped for a few moments, let out a breath and said, "Yeah. I think so."

They walked a little further until he stopped again.

"You know I'm not…um," he gestured between himself and Trapper as if to indicate the difference between them.

Trapper smiled at him, perhaps a little sadly, "Yeah Hawkeye, I didn't think you were." He opened the door to The Swamp. "Anyway, you're not my type."

"Yes," Hawkeye said, "I have a chin."

Inside, Frank was dressed and huddled on his bunk in obvious distress. When Hawkeye entered he stood up and immediately began to defend himself.

"I'll have you know that I was tricked into it! It was all McIntyre's fault. It was rape!"

"You see!" Hawkeye turned to Trapper, "He's a weasel. He's only looking out for himself. And at your expense!"

"Hawkeye!" Trapper shot him a warning glare and walked over to Frank, placing his hands on the distressed man's shoulders. "Frank, calm down, it's ok. Hawk's ok with it. We're not in trouble."

"We're not?"

"No Frank."

"It's ok?"

"Yes Frank."

"Well, it least that's settled," Hawkeye sat down and poured two glasses of gin, handing one to Trapper, "Trapp's a big boy who can make his own mistakes." He took a sip. "You will not believe how much I've needed that drink."

Trapper smiled. Things were looking up.

"Attention all personnel. Incoming wounded. Both shifts to report to the O.R. on the double. This is not a drill. I repeat. This is not a drill."

"When is it ever a drill?" Hawkeye shouted as he rushed towards the O.R.

It was about as up as it was ever going to get in Korea.



Chapter 6: Sublimation and Transferrance

Up to his elbows in another man's intestines, Hawkeye reflected that his life was vivisected by the words `incoming wounded'. No matter what happened outside the O.R. it was cut in half by those two words.

In here it was blood and guts and shrapnel. The words sounded poetic, compared to the reality in which he was immersed. He wasn't ready for `incoming wounded'. But `incoming wounded' didn't care that he just found out his best friend was…

"Can someone get me some tweezers here? I think I've got it."

Barely a few feet away, his best friend whom he thought he knew, swore and tossed something in a pan that clinked. The kid in front of him, the kid whose life was in his hands didn't know… what Hawkeye knew.

He tried not to think about it too much. He had a patient to work on and it shouldn't matter too much. He'd always considered himself open minded, rational and …damn it!

"Can I get some suction here! I can't see what the hell I'm doing!"

He shouldn't have snapped. He'd nicked a vein he should've seen a mile away. If he wasn't careful this kid didn't have a chance in hell of living through this. Hawkeye had to calm down. After all, there was nothing not to be calm about. He never was a closed minded bigot.

"Anyone know what happened to these kids?" Henry asked. There had been no jokes in the O.R., and he had the feeling that it was going to be one of those `serious' sessions. "This guy's a real mess."

"Word is that there was an ambush, sir," Klinger answered, bringing in a new wounded soldier to Hawkeye's table. "Apparently someone higher up knew about it but they didn't get the word out in time. Did I mention that I hate the army?"

"Gee whiz! Sometimes I wish those `high ups' would spend a day down here for a change. Sponge."

"Henry, that means they'd have to see people as people. Instead of numbers." Trapper asked a nurse to close as he looked over at Frank's table. "You need a hand there, Frank?"

"Why do you guys always assume I need help? I'll have you know that…"

"Doctor?"

"What?!"

"His blood pressure just dropped. It doesn't look good."

"Shoot!"

Trapper was over at Frank's side in an instant. Still caught up in their own patients, Hawkeye and Henry could only watch as Frank and Trapper struggled to keep the man alive. A hidden shell fragment, one anyone could have missed, had nicked a major artery causing the lower abdominal cavity, where Frank had not been operating, to fill with blood. It could have happened to anyone.

The man, whose name they learned later was a Timothy Birch, a Captain, lived. But it was a close one.

"God damn it Frank! Next time you need help, ask for it! Your incompetence is gonna get people killed!" Hawkeye yelled, startling everybody.

"But…"

"Jeez Hawk! It wasn't Frank's fault. It coulda happened to anyone. It coulda happened to you!"

Hawkeye seemed to get angrier. "Sure, Trapper, defend him. Just excuse the fact that this excuse for a doctor is endangering people's lives, because it's Frank!"

"Hawkeye!" Trapper yelled. Things weren't said.

"Look, guys…" Henry stepped in. He had a feeling there was something more going on than met the eye. "Hawkeye, why don't you go outside and cool off for a bit. We can handle things in here for a few minutes."

"Frank nearly kills someone and I get time-out?"

"Please Hawk?" Henry pleaded.

"Fine!"

He sat outside on a stack of crates, refusing to acknowledge that his little outburst had nothing to do with Frank's patient. That would make him as closed minded as Frank… That made him do a double take. Recent events meant the even Frank wasn't as closed-minded as Frank. Nothing was how it should be. Hawkeye blamed Korea.

"Hawkeye?"

"What is it Radar?"

Radar scurried outside and sat near Hawkeye. It was obvious the kid was wary and a little worried.

"I was just a little worried about you, sir."

Hawkeye smiled. At least Radar was still Radar.

"Did you an' Captain McIntyre have a fight? I know it's none of my business, but… I dunno. Maybe you might like someone to talk to about
it."

Radar fidgeted a bit while Hawkeye considered.

"A fight…" Hawkeye said, "Yeah. No. Not a fight. I don't know. Maybe he's different…maybe I'm different."

Radar listened.

"Maybe I'm losing him."

"Sir?"

Hawkeye just shrugged. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps he was afraid of losing Trapper. To Frank? What Frank had from Trapper wasn't exactly something he wanted. To his own hidden prejudices? If he kept this up then that was all too likely.

"Well, sir, the way I see it is that you and Capt'n McIntyre are best friends. You're like…" Radar's mind skipped over the word `brothers'. "…like family even. Sometimes you're like the same person."

Yeah, Hawkeye thought, he's like my right arm.

"So, um, whatever's changed can't have changed that much, can it?"

Hawkeye stared at Radar for a moment, wondering if he *knew*. It was entirely possible, just the same as when he knew when the choppers were coming. Hawkeye dismissed the idea and hoped he was right to do so. Radar just seemed too innocent for something like this.

"I mean, he's still Trapper isn't he?"

Hawkeye nodded. It would have been so much easier if Frank was a nurse, just another nurse. Not that, now he was really thinking about it, Hawkeye could see the difference. So he was a man? So what? So he was Frank? So what? It didn't mean anything would have to change.

"You know, kid…" Hawkeye said, putting his arm around Radar's shoulder and heading back inside, "You're right. Thinking about becoming a psychiatrist?"

Radar blushed and shook his head. "Ma says I'm good with this kinda thing. I always do this when Aunt Jean and Uncle Albert fight."

Trapper raised an eyebrow at him when he walked back into the O.R. Hawkeye smiled and nodded.

Frank scowled.



Chater 7: Rosie's Bar.

"I don't know why he always picks on me, Margaret."

Frank was sulking in Margaret's tent. He'd gone straight there as soon as he got out of the O.R and hadn't come out since. It wasn't like the thing with the patient was even his fault.

"He's just jealous, Frank"

"Jealous?"

"Yes, because you're a better doctor." She smiled reassuringly at him. "And a Major!"

Frank nodded. Yeah, he was probably jealous. Jealous of him and Trapper! Frank's mouth parted a little in surprise. Did that mean that Hawkeye was...? He didn't really think so, but you never knew these days. The irony, if that was actually the case, wasn't lost on Frank. He wanted Trapper's friendship, which Hawkeye had. Hawkeye wanted, might want ... what Frank had.

"Oh Margaret!"

He laid his head on her shoulder and she made noises of comfort.

He wished he could just tell her everything. She really was his best friend but he knew it would be the end of everything if he did that. He really did love her. It scared him that it wasn't enough. He...thought...she cared about him but that was never enough either.

"They just don't understand the stress I'm under. Nobody does..." Margaret gave him a look. Frank amended. It wouldn't do to have her think he was keeping something from her. "…except you, my darling."

"My poor baby," she said while petting his head, "Maybe you and I should spend tomorrow night in? See if we can de-stress you a little."

Frank's breath whistled out his nose. His first thought was of whether or not Trapper would want him around tonight. He hadn't said anything, but… Frank's eyes narrowed a little in defiance.

"That would be wonderful."

But then again, if he wasn't with Trapper then Hawkeye would be. But Trapper didn't want Hawkeye…did he? And anyway, Hawkeye wasn't interested… It wasn't paranoia, Frank told himself, he was just wary.

The light had changed and it reminded him that he no longer measured the days by the coming and going of the sun but by whose shift it was and the ebb and flow of casualties. The sun was just coming up Margaret would take care of him tonight.

***

Frank had a little sleep before his afternoon shift. He hated the way the nurses looked at him when he came on and the smart-aleck company clerk and the *freak* who dressed in women's clothes. They were all a disgrace to the army. They were a disgrace to America!

His own small voice inside his head told him that he was a disgrace now; he had let them corrupt him. He quieted that voice by yelling at a nurse.

"Give her a break, Frank."

Frank snapped around to glare at Hawkeye. "You're late, mister! You should have been here to relieve me ten minutes ago!"

"So I slept in."

Frank shoved his clipboard into Hawkeye's chest and went to storm out.

"Wait, Frank. I…" Hawkeye caught himself on the verge of apologising to Frank. He wasn't doing this for Frank's benefit. "What are you doing tonight?"

Frank gave him a look full of apprehension and suspicion. Hawkeye shifted from one foot to another and reminded himself that his friendship with Trapper was worth this.

"Trapp and I are going over to Rosie's and I wanted to know if you wanted to come." There, he'd said it. "Why? You don't want me there."

Hawkeye huffed. "Yeah, but Trapper probably does." Frank's nose twitched. "Look Frank, give me a break. I'm trying to make an effort here!"

Frank lost a battle with an impending sneer. So Hawkeye was making an effort, eh? Well far be it for him to stand in the way. Especially if it made Hawkeye as uncomfortable as it obviously would. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, combining with his sneer in what he was sure was an intimidating way.

"Sure," he said.

His perfect exit was marred somewhat when Margaret slapped him in the face.

She wouldn't, couldn't understand why it was more important for him to go with Hawkeye and Trapper than spend the night with her. It was about showing Hawkeye that it was him that Trapper chose. She would be mad at him for a few days but he'd buy her something nice to make it up to her. Make her understand that he still needed her. He did.

***

Given a choice between Rosie's and the Officer's Club, Frank would pick the O.C. any day. That was at least army. Rosie's Bar was dirty and rough and the bar staff were so… native. As he entered Frank found himself wishing for the comfort and familiarity of American army issue tables and khaki green. Something to help forget where he was.

This discomfort, this feeling of being in alien territory didn't ease up when he saw Hawkeye and Trapper at one of the far tables. Hawkeye waved him over as Trapper sat there looking a little confused.

"Frank," Trapper said, "What are you doing here?"

Frank looked wildly at Hawkeye. He thought Trapper knew, that he had wanted him there.

"I invited him. I thought… um." Hawkeye's hands flittered around him, their flutter explaining his good intention, his confusion and his embarrassment. Trapper smiled at him with an affection that made Frank want to kill them both.

"Why don't you sit down Frank." Trapper's smile at him was more amused than anything else. Frank sat down stiffly, unable to relax, unable to contribute successfully to the conversation.

Hawkeye could tell that Trapper was appreciating his effort, even if Frank didn't. It was worth it. If it meant that he and Trapper could still be friends, he would not yell at Frank every time he made a stupid comment. And he ignored it when Trapper's hand slipped under the table and Frank squeaked.

He drank a lot, drowning the little pang of jealousy that he acknowledged was because he was used to being the sole beneficiary of Trapper's attention.

Frank drank a lot too. It gave him something to do with his hands and mouth and took his mind off the fact that if someone were to look under the table right now they'd be in a lot of trouble. He couldn't believe Trapper sometimes. And in front of Hawkeye!

Trapper watched his best friend and his…Frank, as they each got pickled. He had to relieve Henry in the oh-so-very-early hours of the morning and he considered himself a better doctor than to rock up drunk. He spent most of his time distracting Hawkeye from Frank. Frank was at the giggling stage of drunk. Drunken Frank was a playful Frank and drunken Hawkeye had very little tolerance for drunken Frank.

Hawkeye slipped off to thank Radar for helping him out but ended up with the feeling that the kid was hiding something from him. He went to tell Trapper his theory on the matter when he noticed that Trapper and Frank were gone.

He stumbled back to the Swamp, stopping once at the request of his stomach, which was revolting. He giggled; his stomach was revolting… and revolting! A revolution! Perhaps that last whisky had been a little unnecessary.

He was still giggling when he sat down on his bunk and began talking to Trapper. He noted, absently, that his friend had a blanket over a bundle on his lap. They had been mid way through a rather one-sided conversation when it dawned on him that the legs sticking out of the blanket weren't Trapper's. It set him off giggling again. Trapper caught the wicked glint in Hawkeye's eye mere seconds before his friend opened his mouth.

Hawkeye winked at Trapper. "Jeez Frank! Can you not slurp so loud? We're trying to talk." Trapper's mouth dropped open.

Then he heard it.

Quite possibly the whole camp heard it.

It was the loudest, longest, wettest, most disgusting slurp in the history of mankind.

Trapper lost it. Tears rolled down his cheek as he struggled for breath. The lump underneath his blanket also shook with not-so-silent sniggers. Hawkeye managed to gather himself together enough to choke out "That's disgusting!" before falling back into his cot under the weight of his own laughter.

"I'll leave you guys to it, shall I?" Hawkeye kicked off his shoes and sidled into bed. As an afterthought he added, "Don't be too noisy."

He was drunk and they were quiet.

But he wasn't as ok with it as he wished he was.



Chapter 8:

They were at it again when he got back to The Swamp.

Not that he could blame them, really. The last week or so they had severe casualties coupled with shelling from their own team. Hawkeye admitted that when any free time became available he hoarded Trapper's attention, so it was entirely possible that Frank and Trapper hadn't so much as spoken to each other in days.

It seemed as though they were making up for lost time. Both men were almost half naked on Frank's bunk when Hawkeye came in.

"Jeez you guys! I could have been anybody coming in here!"

"In this weather? At this time of night?" Trapper stopped to talk to Hawkeye. Frank was pinned under his hips, tangled up in his own t-shirt. "The only person likely to come in is you, Hawk."

"And here I am."

"We can stop if ya want. Move it over to the Supply Room..."

Hawkeye sat on his cot and raised one hand. "Nah, you have more chance of getting caught in there than if you decided to make out in the middle of the compound. No, you kids go ahead. I'm just going to read for a bit."

"You mean you're going to watch! Pervert!" Frank had finally gotten free of his shirt and glared at Hawkeye.

Hawkeye, who had been in the middle of fishing out a skin magazine, raised an eyebrow. "While I don't mind watching, I prefer the objects of my attentions to be a little more, how can I put this, FEMALE!"

He found the issue of Nudist Monthly he was after, one with a particularly voluptuous 'object of his attention' on page three. "Anyway, it won't be the first time you two have fooled around while I've been in the room."

"He has a point, Frank." Trapper began undoing Frank's fly. Over his shoulder he said, "We promise to keep it down."

"Good boys."

And they were silent. Not a single word or moan or whisper. But Hawkeye could *hear* them. He could hear their touches, their bodies.

It didn't disgust him, he told himself. It didn't affect him at all.

He decided to concentrate on his magazine.

But those sounds...those little sounds...

His fingers moved across the page. His eyes following, across the page and off the side where the static pictures were replaced with moving flesh. Back to the page.

He hated them.

The cold did not cause the gooseflesh on his arms.

It was his pictures... it was...

His breathing picked up a rhythm that belonged across the room. His fingers moved again, always leading from left to right, always stopping a little before his eyes. So much bare skin. His pictures were just ink. Just ink.

No...

The air was heavy, a tactile sensation. An invisible person, The Invisible Man, who touched him. They touched each other.

He didn't want this.

As his fingers, and eyes, moved, he felt. He felt the air. He felt the rhythm of his breathing. He felt his clothes against his skin and the coarseness of its shift as his body reacted to what it felt. What it saw.

On the page.

Off the page.

On the page.

Off the page.

On the page. Off the page.

Onthepageoffthepage.

Onoffonoffonoff.

On.

Off.

He was gone.

Away from The Swamp.

Away from them.

Away from himself and the things he thought he knew.

He sat on the edge of a wooden crate, somewhere near the edge of the camp. He was almost not moving. Almost, save a slight tremor that coursed through his body. Almost silent, except for the sound of his breath, that materialised outside his body in a foggy mist. He eyes were moist.

He sat that way for some time. On the edge of the crate. On the edge of the page. On the edge.

He was not thinking. His brain, deciding it couldn't cope, had simply shut down.

Then, just by leaning forward sightly, he got off the crate and began to walk back into camp. Not toward The Swamp, not yet, but towards the Post Op tent, towards the things he knew.

He looked out over the patients, over men whose life had been in his hands. Men he saved. It was the same scene he saw every day. Little things changed, the patients, the nurses. But it was essentially the same. Even back home it was the same.

"Hawkeye?"

"Yo," Hawkeye said. Henry Blake looked at him like he'd lost his marbles. Maybe Henry was picking up something off Radar.

"You're not on for another few hours."

"I know. I was just thinking."

"Nothing like taking a dip in the old think-tank."

Hawkeye smiled sardonically. He wasn't in the mood for humour.

Henry had seen Hawkeye in moods like this. It generally meant the kid was cracking up under something. "You wanna tell me about it?"

That smile again. "Technically I'm not allowed to."

A response like that wasn't all that unusual, Henry found, when folks were talking to their CO. But then again, usually Hawkeye considered himself above all that.

"Off the record, Hawk, you know me better than that."

"It's just... I can't. I don't know." Hawkeye started pacing. Henry waited.

"Do you think people really change? I mean, you can't make something into something it isn't," Hawkeye stopped for a second, "Well, you can. But the thing that it was, is what's used to make it something else, so it's there from the beginning!"

"Pierce. I guarantee you that I don't understand a word you're saying."

Hawkeye resumed pacing. "I'm wondering if I've changed. If this place has actually changed me."

"Oh," Henry said, finally catching up, "I think it does. You can't expect to go home the same person you were before. Who we were is just another casualty of war."

"That's very insightful Henry" Hawkeye's voice had taken on that mean edge. Then he seemed to realize and shook his head. "See. I'm beginning to think maybe that it's already there. And I'm seeing things I just don't want to see about myself, things I could have kept hidden if...if I wasn't here."

"You know Pierce, this is the type of thinking that Sidney would just love."

Hawkeye smiled a little. "Yeah, I'd hate to know what Sidney would think about me tonight."

Henry stopped and looked at him. "It seems like you're having a rough night."

"You have no idea."

"There are some things you can't control. No matter how hard you try." Henry didn't know what the problem was, but he knew Pierce. "But there are some things you can. Like I have to go to the latrine and I would be mighty grateful if someone would keep an eye on these patients while I'm gone."

"Thanks Henry."

"Say, you're not going back to the Swamp tonight are you?" Whether it was a problem with his Swamp-mates or something else, when Hawkeye got restless it was usually the last place he wanted to be. "Coz if not there's a spare cot in here you could use until your shift starts."

"Thanks Henry."

Henry smiled. "No problem."

Most of the patients were still awake. A small few would still be awake when Hawkeye's shift started at two am. There were some soldiers that just didn't trust the night.

He checked patient charts and the duty nurse, slipping into a role he knew well, and well knew was just a role. But, for now, it was enough. Henry took a long time, but Hawkeye suspected as much.

"What's that?"

A young soldier that had come in with a shrapnel riddled leg was drawing in a small notebook. He made a half-hearted attempt to hide it.

"Please," Hawkeye asked, battering his eyelashes, "I'll be your best doctor."

The kid laughed and pulled the notebook back out. "Promise I won't get in trouble?"

"Scouts honour!" Having never been a scout Hawkeye just held up random fingers and hoped they passed as some sort of scout-related salute. The kid laughed again.

"You've got a better sense of humour than the doctor that was here this afternoon. He tried to report one of the guys for telling a dirty joke."

"Aah, that would be Major Frank Burns. He doesn't have a sense of humour. We think it comes from being born without a brain. We hear his parents tried to send him back for a refund because of it. Unfortunately for us, God apparently has a 'no returns' policy." Insulting Frank made Hawkeye feel refreshingly good.

The kid handed over his notebook.

Hawkeye burst out laughing.

"This is fantastic! Very lewd, but fantastic! If Nurse Beatty sees this she'll have you skinned alive." Hawkeye laughed a little more. "You're John Hendrickson, right?"

"Yes sir."

"Where'd you learn to draw like this? This is amazing, especially for a cartoon."

"I didn't learn it. I just draw."

"An artist at the 4077th!"

Hendrickson shook his head. "Not me sir, I don't draw much anymore. 'Cept for cartoons sometimes."

"Why not?" Hawkeye sat on the edge of Hendrickson's cot. "I don't know anything about art but it seems to me like you have one hell of a talent here."

"My parents want me to go to art school, but I know I'm not good enough."

"So what?" Hawkeye asked, genuinely confused, "You just don't draw? You don't try?"

Hendrickson shrugged. Hawkeye could tell that this wasn't the first time he'd had this conversation with someone.

" I love drawing, more than anything. But I couldn't handle getting it rejected. And what if I got accepted?"

"I can't say I understand you."

"Haven't you ever wanted something so bad that it would kill you to have it, but it's killing you not to?"

Hawkeye shook his head. Hendrickson shrugged again.

"Anything the problem?" Henry asked. Hawkeye didn't even realise that he'd some back.

"No, we were just talking," Hawkeye said, "I'm going to try and get some sleep. Wake me when my shift starts?"

"Okey Dokey." Henry patted him on the back. "And Pierce? Don't worry so much."

Hawkeye humoured him with a smile and went to bed.

Hours later, after his shift was over, Hawkeye found himself wondering about Hendrickson's story. He couldn't imagine wanting something so badly yet being so afraid that it almost stopped you. Being afraid of not getting it, of getting it. And almost stopping because of it.

Inside The Swamp Hawkeye looked at Trapper, lying naked in his own bunk. And it almost made him stop.

"Trapper..."

"Hmm. Go 'way"

"Trapp...it's time to start your shift."

They looked at each other, and Hawkeye was afraid.



End Chapter 8