A/N: This is my first M*A*S*H fic, so I'd really appreciate any feedback. I apologise in advance if the OOC gremlins come out to play. Any similarities to other stories are purely coincidental.

I guess I didn't think much of it at the time. It was a slow day for once, just me, Trap and the still. Frank was out doing who knows what with Margaret, not that we cared. Or at least I didn't at the time. If it were happening now I'd probably march into her tent and belt Frank for all he was worth, treating her as if she didn't matter.

But he's gone.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I almost miss Ferret Face. Don't get me wrong, Charles is pretty damn great when he wants to be. A snob if you will, but there's a heart in there somewhere. As civilised as he is though, nothing ever made my day more in this dump than when me and Trap pulled a fast one over Frank. But we didn't pull any pranks that day.

I think we'd been drinking about an hour or so when Radar came in on mail call. This was in the early days; getting through to my dad with the unit address had been hell, and I hadn't realised how inept the kid was with a headset. Oh, he ended up becoming a real whiz at the thing for sure. Could get his hands on almost anything we needed.

But he's gone, too.

Klinger got the hang of it eventually, but I can honestly say I miss the days he'd come parading into the mess tent in his latest get up. He never did get that section 8. Sidney took one look at us the first time he was here and concluded the entire unit was bucking for one. Maybe that's what I could've been doing that day, plotting my ingenious escape from this hellhole. But I didn't.

I received a letter from dad, but Trap was literally up to his knees in mail. His wife had sent him a yellow bathrobe, the warm and cozy sort that reminds you of home. I still remember how he'd paraded around the Swamp as though it were a cape, flashing that smile of his until I threatened to drench his new prize with what was left of my martini. So he threw the thing at my face.

The assault ended up being a blessing since it muffled most of what the PA had to say next. As it turned out, Frank and Margaret had been filing a report. Well we assumed that was the case anyway since it was the only time we were ever called to Henry's office. I honestly felt sorry for him, having to deal with those two constantly going over his head to whatever General was in charge of the war that week. Henry was never much for Commanding Officer material, but his heart was in the right place. He treated us right, like we were family almost.

But he's gone, too.

Not just gone, but gone forever. I'll never forget the moment Radar broke the news during OR; I cried, Trapper cried, we all did. Even Frank teared up a little. Dead or not though, that didn't stop him from chewing Henry out that day. Insubordination, out of uniform, the regular bit. Trap and I traded the usual wisecracks until they finally gave up and stormed out of there. Henry decided to drink to that.

We dragged ourselves back to the Swamp who knows how long afterwards. Frank still wasn't in and I figured he was probably off sulking at Margaret's. Or giving himself gastro in the mess tent. Not that we cared. We didn't feel like eating slop that night, and in any case I was too tired to move. Trap collapsed onto his bed almost as soon as we got in there, mumbling something about feeling numb. I agreed.

Whether it was the booze or laziness, I can't remember. That new bathrobe of his was still lying on my bed from earlier that day, and somewhere in the depths of my martini-filled mind I decided that using it as a makeshift blanket was a good idea. Sleeping bags aren't ideal for your everyday alcoholic, anyway. They have zips and everything.

Trap muttered something about staying warm, then was crazy enough to actually drag himself out of bed. I watched as he unhooked his old red bathrobe, took the yellow one from me then replaced it with the red one. Usually in a situation like that I would've kicked up a stink, told him I was already comfortable and asked why it couldn't wait until morning. But the red robe was surprisingly warm. Never would've guessed it from just looking at it. Trap just flashed that smile of his, knew what I was thinking. He told me to keep it, said it was a whole lot warmer than the red one I already owned. That was Trap for you. He may be too flippant for some, but to me he was my best friend. Is my best friend.

But he's gone, too.

I don't know what I would've done if it hadn't been for Beej. He was there for me the day I got back from Tokyo and has been ever since. For weeks he'd just sit there listening as I told him all about Trap, never complained once. One time he even spent hours tearing the Swamp apart with me after I insisted Trap had left a note somewhere. He had to have left a note, this wasn't just some regular guy from Boston I was talking about. Only he didn't.

Beej asked me about the red robe once. I'd brushed it off at the time, told him it was just like any other bathrobe he'd seen only warmer. He'd laughed at that. What I didn't tell him though was how special it was, that it was the only thing Trap had left behind for me. No letter, no goodbye message. Not even a damn note.

Hawk's doing that thing with the bathrobe again. Just staring at it, not actually doing anything, just staring. He never did end up telling me the story behind it, not that it was all that hard to figure out who it at least had something to do with. The last time Hawk did this was the day I arrived, and I could've sworn he stared at the thing for an hour straight. Probably would've kept staring at it too if I hadn't asked what the hell was going on.

Sometimes when the weather's right and the still is producing some particularly bad stuff, Hawk'll push his sleeping bag aside, grab the bathrobe and use it as a blanket. I'd ask him why, only Charles did once and woke up with a fluorescent 8 ball drawn on his forehead.

"Beej?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

Hawk's holding the bathrobe now. "You'd leave a note, right?"

"Of course I would." We've been through this before.

He doesn't say anything, just pushes his sleeping bag to the side, lies down and pulls the robe over himself. Hawk hasn't cracked like this in ages. Sure he's mentioned Trapper every now and then, but it hasn't been this bad since I first got here. I still remember how he'd talked for weeks about the guy, telling me all about the crazy stuff they did with the enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas Day.

And maybe that's it, maybe he just misses all that. He wants pranks? I'll give him the best damn prank he's ever seen since Trapper John set foot in this place. It'll take everyone to pull it off, but Hawk'll never see it coming. Not from the guy who nails his boot to the floor, anyway.