VFW Post 13. Boston, Massachusetts. Veteran's Day.
Benjamin Franklin 'Hawkeye' Pierce sat at a table nestled in a dim corner of the VFW hall, lazily sipping a beer. He gazed at the television just above the bar, watching the various news coverages of Veteran's Day across the States. The door to the hall opened, leaking in a stream of vibrant, blinding light. Hawkeye glanced to the door and spotted an unmistakable figure -- tall, curly hair, broad shoulders, medium build.
A smile curled his lips. "Trapper."
Trapper spotted Hawkeye and walked over to his table. Hawkeye immediately stood.
"Since when did you become such a gentleman?" Trapper drawled, his Boston accent thicker than Hawkeye remembered.
"What? I can't change?"
"Just as long as you don't change too much."
An awkward moment passed between them as they looked each other over. No matter what, Hawkeye was a changed man. Trapper noticed that Hawkeye's once ebony hair was now offset by streaks of gray, that his figure was much skinnier, and that his deep blue eyes told so many stories -- stories of a man who half remained in Korea, while the other half was shipped to Boston along with his best friend, his lover.
They hugged briefly and took their seats. Hawkeye began to speak about everything from the state of the 4077th after Trapper had left, to a cutter by the name of BJ Hunnicut -- (why do his eyes seem to light up when he mentions that name?), to his father, to how thing are going in Crabapple Cove. Trapper didn't interrupt Hawkeye. He listened to him speaking in that language that only persons close to Hawkeye could understand -- his ability to jump from idea to idea, sparked by a previous word or thought, but with understandable associations. What had Major Freedman, the psychiatrist, called that? Flights of ideas?
The incoherent chatter of the hall began to fade as the occupants slowly left. Hawkeye and Trapper were the last people left in the hall. The barkeep swept the floor in long, dizzyingly slow motions. So as not to be impolite and intrude on their conversation, the barkeep gave an acknowledging glance to the two men to tell them it was closing time. Trapper leaned over the table, whispering in Hawkeye's ear, "There's a motel down the street."
****
They were laying on the bed. Trapper gently nipped at Hawkeye's neck, running a hand under Hawkeye's khaki (i thought he'd hate that color) shirt. Hawkeye backed away slightly. Trapper looked up at him.
"Is there something wrong?"
"No," Hawkeye said. "I'm just tired. Can we just watch some TV for a while?"
"Yeah. Sure. Whatever you want." Trapper switched on the television and languidly flipped through the only three channels the motel received. "Looks like it's just news and parade coverage."
"Parades? On Veteran's Day? They're honoring all the men and women who've served in the military. Sure, that's great, but these parades always remind me of a funeral procession. It's so somber."
"Well, it's a somber holiday," Trapper replied, seeing Hawkeye grab a notepad and pen from the bedside desk.
Their discussion ended. The television set was on a low volume. A band came on the screen playing "Anchors Away." They sat on the bed, watching the parade. Trapper caught a slight movement from Hawkeye out of the corner of his eye, but figured he was just going to doodle with the pen he had picked up ...
... until he felt something wet.
Hawkeye lay there, his left wrist horribly sliced into, and a bloodied pen in his right hand.
"What the--?" Trapper couldn't think. Couldn't function. "Hawkeye!"
Hawkeye didn't move, but his blood continued to. Trapper jumped out of the bed, about to run to the bathroom to grab some towels when he heard a strangled voice.
"Trap. Please. Don't. I... I cut too deep. Blood loss will be too much. You or the medics won't be able help."
"No, no. I gotta..." Trapper ran over to the bed, frantically grabbing the comforter and pressing it against Hawkeye's wound. "I can't lose you."
"You lost me once." Hawkeye was growing paler by the second, his face stained with tears. "Trap, just... just do me one thing."
Trapper choked back tears. "Yes?"
"Say goodbye to me."
Shakily, Trapper leaned forward, gently kissing Hawkeye's cheek. He breathed, "Goodbye." He pulled back, seeing Hawkeye's glazed over eyes fixated on some other worldly place. The TV faintly played "Stars and Stripes Forever."
****
Notes: Do you have any idea how hard it is for a character to kill themselves while having another character in the same scene? The main reason why I wanted to write this story was for it to be a story where Trapper *doesn't* leave Hawkeye alone, yet he still commits suicide. I wanted to break the whole "Trapper leaves for just a second and then Hawkeye kills himself" cliche.
Benjamin Franklin 'Hawkeye' Pierce sat at a table nestled in a dim corner of the VFW hall, lazily sipping a beer. He gazed at the television just above the bar, watching the various news coverages of Veteran's Day across the States. The door to the hall opened, leaking in a stream of vibrant, blinding light. Hawkeye glanced to the door and spotted an unmistakable figure -- tall, curly hair, broad shoulders, medium build.
A smile curled his lips. "Trapper."
Trapper spotted Hawkeye and walked over to his table. Hawkeye immediately stood.
"Since when did you become such a gentleman?" Trapper drawled, his Boston accent thicker than Hawkeye remembered.
"What? I can't change?"
"Just as long as you don't change too much."
An awkward moment passed between them as they looked each other over. No matter what, Hawkeye was a changed man. Trapper noticed that Hawkeye's once ebony hair was now offset by streaks of gray, that his figure was much skinnier, and that his deep blue eyes told so many stories -- stories of a man who half remained in Korea, while the other half was shipped to Boston along with his best friend, his lover.
They hugged briefly and took their seats. Hawkeye began to speak about everything from the state of the 4077th after Trapper had left, to a cutter by the name of BJ Hunnicut -- (why do his eyes seem to light up when he mentions that name?), to his father, to how thing are going in Crabapple Cove. Trapper didn't interrupt Hawkeye. He listened to him speaking in that language that only persons close to Hawkeye could understand -- his ability to jump from idea to idea, sparked by a previous word or thought, but with understandable associations. What had Major Freedman, the psychiatrist, called that? Flights of ideas?
The incoherent chatter of the hall began to fade as the occupants slowly left. Hawkeye and Trapper were the last people left in the hall. The barkeep swept the floor in long, dizzyingly slow motions. So as not to be impolite and intrude on their conversation, the barkeep gave an acknowledging glance to the two men to tell them it was closing time. Trapper leaned over the table, whispering in Hawkeye's ear, "There's a motel down the street."
****
They were laying on the bed. Trapper gently nipped at Hawkeye's neck, running a hand under Hawkeye's khaki (i thought he'd hate that color) shirt. Hawkeye backed away slightly. Trapper looked up at him.
"Is there something wrong?"
"No," Hawkeye said. "I'm just tired. Can we just watch some TV for a while?"
"Yeah. Sure. Whatever you want." Trapper switched on the television and languidly flipped through the only three channels the motel received. "Looks like it's just news and parade coverage."
"Parades? On Veteran's Day? They're honoring all the men and women who've served in the military. Sure, that's great, but these parades always remind me of a funeral procession. It's so somber."
"Well, it's a somber holiday," Trapper replied, seeing Hawkeye grab a notepad and pen from the bedside desk.
Their discussion ended. The television set was on a low volume. A band came on the screen playing "Anchors Away." They sat on the bed, watching the parade. Trapper caught a slight movement from Hawkeye out of the corner of his eye, but figured he was just going to doodle with the pen he had picked up ...
... until he felt something wet.
Hawkeye lay there, his left wrist horribly sliced into, and a bloodied pen in his right hand.
"What the--?" Trapper couldn't think. Couldn't function. "Hawkeye!"
Hawkeye didn't move, but his blood continued to. Trapper jumped out of the bed, about to run to the bathroom to grab some towels when he heard a strangled voice.
"Trap. Please. Don't. I... I cut too deep. Blood loss will be too much. You or the medics won't be able help."
"No, no. I gotta..." Trapper ran over to the bed, frantically grabbing the comforter and pressing it against Hawkeye's wound. "I can't lose you."
"You lost me once." Hawkeye was growing paler by the second, his face stained with tears. "Trap, just... just do me one thing."
Trapper choked back tears. "Yes?"
"Say goodbye to me."
Shakily, Trapper leaned forward, gently kissing Hawkeye's cheek. He breathed, "Goodbye." He pulled back, seeing Hawkeye's glazed over eyes fixated on some other worldly place. The TV faintly played "Stars and Stripes Forever."
****
Notes: Do you have any idea how hard it is for a character to kill themselves while having another character in the same scene? The main reason why I wanted to write this story was for it to be a story where Trapper *doesn't* leave Hawkeye alone, yet he still commits suicide. I wanted to break the whole "Trapper leaves for just a second and then Hawkeye kills himself" cliche.