Crabapple Cove, Maine – April, 1925
Spring had hit the Cove. As usual in Maine, the season was not as warm as in other places, but it brought the locals and tourists alike to the beaches regardless. The Pierce family social calendar would not be complete without battling the elements on the beach at the first sign of the warmer seasons.
Warmer, it may be, but warm it was not. Hawkeye sprinted down the beach as fast as his scrawny little legs could carry him. Sand and spray whipped up around his skin, and his toes sank into the wet silt. The hand-knitted sweater his mother had made for him, adorned with little lobsters as per local tradition, offered little protection against the bitter winds rushing in off the Atlantic. Up ahead, he could see the older boys already reaching the rocks at the base of the cliffs. Billy looked back at him, laughing. This game hardly seemed fair, Hawkeye thought. The others were bigger than he was, and they weren't giving him a sporting chance.
By the time he reached the rocks, the older boys were already out of sight, clambering up to the cliffs. Chewing on his lip, Hawkeye tried to scramble up after them. The rocks were slippery, and covered in barnacles that hurt his bare feet. He sniffed with determination, and grabbed onto a larger outcrop, determined to make the climb. Think how proud Billy would be of him when he caught up with them!
The excitement spurred him on, but he grew careless in his eagerness, and his next step brought him crashing down on his knees.
The shock was worse than the pain, but a moment later Hawkeye felt his lip begin to quiver uncontrollably, and a distressed wail escaped him. He gazed forlornly up at the precipice through his tears. "Billy! The rocks are too slippery! Billy – help me!"
His cries echoed in the vast emptiness of the bay, but a moment later a tall, lean figure appeared at the very top of the cliff. Billy muttered a couple of words Hawkeye didn't understand, then shouted down to him: "Just stay down there, okay? Don't try and come up here – you're too little. You don't wanna fall, do ya?"
Hawkeye shook his head.
"No, you don't. You could crack your head open on those rocks! And no-one would find you! So you stay put, okay?"
Hawkeye nodded furiously.
"Good kid."
With that, Billy disappeared, and Hawkeye was left alone.
With little to do, Hawkeye trudged around his little patch of mud and sand. He didn't want to wander too far – Billy had said to stay put – so he tried to occupy himself as best he could. A patch of flotsam gave up a decent sized stick just right for poking jellyfish and stirring up the rock pools. But it was only a brief distraction for a child's busy mind. Once he had sufficiently disturbed all the little habitats and harassed all the wildlife, the game grew dull, and he abandoned the stick and began to dig. Sitting on the wet sand, he scooped handfuls of silt out of a short, deep ditch, covering his legs with the heaps of mud. He giggled, kicking his feet and sending the mud flying. His sweater and shorts were soon soaked and filthy, but as his trench got deeper, he was too engrossed in his task to care.
Time passed, and soon he was able to climb down into the hole he had made. He prodded at the sand, transfixed by the layers of different colours and textures of the earth, and the shells that were embedded within. Sinking his chubby digits into the sand, he prised out a couple of large scallop shells, wiping them clean on his sweater and polishing them until their pearlescent insides shone.
Then something else caught his eye. There in the dirt beside his trench was something that wasn't a shell, nor any form of sea life at all. It was a circle of grubby metal, lying in the dirt, glistening slightly in the evening sun.
A ring.
Plucking it from the sand, Hawkeye held it, fascinated, turned it over, and dusted it off. It was large and plain – broad, like his father's wedding ring. Once gold, but now tarnished and murky. It must, he decided, belong to a man with very large hands. It was huge, and sat heavy in his palm. He tried it on for size, and giggled at how ridiculous it looked.
His humour was short lived, however, as a sudden torrent of water gushed into his trench, and Hawkeye suddenly found himself ankle deep in seawater. He shrieked, alarmed at the sudden encroaching tide, and scrambled out of his dig, clutching his prize. He watched, panicked, as the waves rushed up to the rocks, and to the pit he had dug in the sand. It caved in, the sand washing back into the hole in just a few seconds as the waters reclaimed the shore. Soon, they began to lap at Hawkeye's toes.
Whimpering, Hawkeye backed up to the rocks. He considered calling out, but disturbing Billy might make him look childish. So what if the tide was coming in? He could swim, couldn't he? He'd managed the whole length of the community pool last week! He should be brave, and wait like he was told to.
But Hawkeye didn't feel brave. As the water washed over his feet and rose quickly to his knees, he called out again, and began to cry, shivering in his damp clothes and pressing himself tighter and tighter into the rocks.
Then, as if out of nowhere, Billy grabbed hold of his hand and was pulling him down the beach. "Jesus, Hawkeye! Why didn't you say the tide was coming in! You could've drowned – you wanna get me into trouble?"
Relief washed over Hawkeye just like the waves had. Billy had found him! He was safe! The other boys were scrambling down the rocks too and dashing back after them. One suddenly vanished up to his waist in water and had to wade out, bellowing and cursing – he'd found Hawkeye's dig site.
"What was that?" Billy yelled back to him.
"I dug a hole," Hawkeye announced proudly by way of explanation.
Billy scowled. "Good for you."
Billy's friend caught up with them, shivering from his cold plunge. "Should've buried the little shit," he said. Billy hissed at him, but Hawkeye was already giggling at the rude word.
They rushed along the beach, and Hawkeye waited anxiously for Billy to pick him up and carry him, but his cousin made no attempt to do so. Instead, he merely dragged little Hawkeye along beside him, clutching his hand, almost yanking his arm out of the socket as his tiny legs battled to keep up. As they neared the family picnic, Billy suddenly paused and pulled Hawkeye back. "Now, when we get back," he explained, crouching down to look Hawkeye in the eye, "you be sure to say I took good care of you, right? I mean I know I went up the cliffs and everything, but you were right by us the whole time. I knew where you were, I had my eye on you. You got that?"
Hawkeye nodded.
Billy smiled. "Good kid," he said for the second time that day.
It was Hawkeye's favourite phrase. The praise made him feel warm inside, and he held out his arms. "Hug?" Rolling his eyes, Billy hugged him. Hawkeye laughed and coughed. "You smell like cigarettes."
Billy turned instantly, pushing him away. "Hey! You don't go saying stuff like that! Especially not in front of my mom! Nobody likes a tattle-tale."
Nodding again, Hawkeye allowed himself to be dragged the rest of the way to the picnic area, footsore and with aching legs. He actually felt quite exhilarated, sprinting down the beach with Billy, and honoured to be allowed in on the secret of Billy's smoking. He was smiling when they got back, his earlier panic over the tide quite forgotten.
But the look on his mother's face was less ecstatic. In a flurry of arms and floral material, she had scooped him up and was holding him protectively. "What happened to him?" she demanded, glaring at Billy.
Billy shrugged. "I don't know. I turned my back for thirty seconds and he was sat in the dirt making mud pies. I told him not to mess around, but you know what he's like."
Finding himself seated on a picnic bench, eye to eye with his stern-faced mother, Hawkeye looked up and tried to look apologetic. His mother frowned at him, displeased. "Is that true, Benny?"
And Hawkeye nodded. As his mother scolded him and began rubbing at his legs with a towel, he glanced over at Billy, hoping for some recognition of his loyalty, but his cousin was far too distracted trying to swipe a bottle of beer from the hamper before the adults packed up to leave. Sulking a little, Hawkeye stuffed a hand in his pocket and pulled out the wedding ring he'd found in the dirt.
"Hey – what's that?" Now he had Billy's attention. Now the older boy was eyeing his trinket curiously.
Mrs Pierce looked up from her task of cleaning the mud off her son's legs, and watched as he turned it over and over in his fingers. "It looks like an old wedding band. Oh, that's a shame – I guess somebody lost it."
"Is it gold?" Billy asked.
"Yeah," Hawkeye replied. He wasn't certain, but weren't wedding rings always gold? He grinned – he had found gold in the sands of the Cove!
His mother smiled. "Well, Benny, maybe one day when you're older, you could give it to someone special who you'd like to marry?"
Hawkeye stared at the ring, furrowing his brow. It was hard to imagine being old and wanting to get married. It sounded awfully boring to him – although maybe once he was big enough to get married he would be big enough to climb the rocks with Billy instead of sitting at the bottom of the cliffs in the mud. He continued to study the ring, fascinated by its size and weight. "I think it's a man's ring. Does that mean I'd have to marry a man?"
It seemed a logical question, but the way Billy and the other older boys brayed with laughter suggested he'd said something foolish. He ducked his head and frowned, trying to work out what he'd said that was so hilarious.
"Men don't marry other men, you dumbass!" Billy was cackling, practically bent double with the hilarity. "What's wrong with you? You some kinda fairy now?"
Hawkeye creased his little brow in confusion. His mother gave an exasperated sigh. "Billy, he's five."
The laughter stopped, and Hawkeye glanced upwards. "Did I say something wrong?"
His mother knelt before him, her own larger hands wrapping around his, clasping the wedding ring between his palms. "Don't worry, darling. It doesn't matter. Take your treasure home, and put it in the box with all your others. And take good care of it now!"
"Do you think it might be worth something?" Hawkeye asked.
Mrs Pierce smiled and nodded. "Undoubtedly!" she said, brushing her son's jet black hair from his eyes. And Hawkeye smiled back.
Boston, Massachusetts – October, 1952
Hawkeye arrived home from work around half three, exhausted from a morning of harsh, manual work, but elated to be getting home at a reasonable hour. There was a great deal he missed about working as a doctor – the pay, the respect, and above all the satisfaction of saving lives – but there was something to be said for shift work, and that was being able to knock off at three and spend the afternoon on the couch with Trapper.
Of course, Hawkeye pondered as he rode the shaky elevator up to their apartment over the casino, they would have to buy a couch first. The apartment was still sparsely furnished with barely more than a mattress, a kitchen table and a refrigerator, and would remain so until they saved up enough money to spruce the place up. Finances were still tight, and Trapper was still struggling to find work – which was to be expected really. The fact that even one of them was employed was a miracle, given their records…
"Honey, I'm home," Hawkeye announced loudly, before remembering that Trapper didn't like him doing that. The neighbours had already begun to gossip, and they were getting funny looks in the hall. This time, however, Trapper did not complain. In fact, Trapper didn't say anything. He was sitting at their tiny kitchen table, staring out of the window. On the scratched green Formica table top, there was a brown manila envelope and a bottle of beer. He didn't look over.
Dropping his coat by the door, Hawkeye ventured closer. His lover had that sort of morose look on his face that nearly always indicated he'd had bad news of some sort: another failed job interview, or a bill to pay. "Uh-oh. That's not a happy face. What's the matter? You miss me that much?" His playful consolation didn't even raise a smile, so Hawkeye dropped the act and slid carefully into the seat opposite. Trapper looked completely out of it. "Trap?" he asked softly, watching as Trapper's eyes glistened in the afternoon sunshine. "What happened?"
At last, Trapper stirred. He sighed a deep, weary sigh that seemed to come up all the way from his boots, and shoved the manila envelope in Hawkeye's direction. "My divorce came through."
Picking up the envelope, Hawkeye found it was unopened, but the name of Louise's attorney was printed on the front near the stamp, marking its origin. Clearly Trapper already knew what was inside, but hadn't wanted to read it. "May I?" Hawkeye asked. Trapper gave him a gesture somewhere between a wave and a shrug, so Hawkeye carefully slid a finger under the flap and prised it open.
The contract did not make much sense to Hawkeye, with its legal jargon and long, rambling paragraphs, but the signatures at the bottom said it all.
He glanced up, noticing that Trapper was once again gazing forlornly out of the window, as if the divorce papers were, in fact, a lengthy Dear John letter.
"But this is good, right? I mean, at least it's done! No more angry phone calls, no more arguing over visitation, no more getting cleaned out by lawyers who've turned extortion into an art form. It's all over! Now you can move on with your life!"
Trapper laughed bitterly and plucked the papers from Hawkeye's hands. "Great. Except I'd already moved on with my life in Korea – that was part of the problem!" Hawkeye watched as Trapper began to pace up at down their tiny kitchen, staring at the document in his hands. "I mean, look at me, Hawk! I'm already about as moved on as I'm gonna get. You an' me have been livin' together for a year! Face it, if you were a broad, we'd 'ave gotten hitched by now."
"That's sweet, honey, but you know, for you I'd have put out anyway."
Trapper rolled his eyes. "Not helpin', Hawk. I feel like I got nowhere to go from here. This is it! An' here I am livin' in a one room apartment over a casino, listenin' to the drunks arguin' outside my window every night. Can't catch a break because nobody in this stinkin' city wants to employ a medic who got kicked outta the army for screwin' around with his bunkie, an' to top it all off, now I'm a divorcee!"
Hawkeye tried not to take it personally. But he couldn't shake the idea that if he hadn't fallen into a scandalous romance with the man two years ago in Korea, then… well, maybe his marriage might have worked out. Not that Trapper was particularly faithful to his wife even before Hawkeye got thrown into the mix, but at least he'd still have his career. "Don't look at it like that," he tried, watching Trapper pace and fume and glare at the contract with growing venom. "You split up a year ago! This doesn't change anything. It's just… paperwork. That's all it is. Next time they shut our heat off, we'll use it as a firelighter. It's a formality."
Shaking his head, Trapper clenched his fist around the document. Hawkeye watched it crumple. "Exactly. It's written proof that I failed. A legal declaration in black an' goddamn white that I'm a lousy husband and father!"
He tossed the envelope and the papers back onto the table. They hit his beer bottle, which tipped over, spilling the remains of the contents all over the crisp white papers. Hawkeye didn't bother trying to mop up the mess. "You're not," he said softly. "Your kids still love you!"
Trapper gave a disdainful snort. "Yeah, what little I see of 'em! An' Louise'll be makin' sure that happens less an' less! Mark my words on that!"
Hawkeye's heart broke a little. He knew how much Trapper adored his girls. They had moved back to this wretched city so he could be closer to them, but so far visits had been few and far between. Unsure how to respond, he flipped through the damp pages of Trapper's divorce, and found the terms of the child custody. Skimming through the jargon, a few words stood out. Mother – full custody. Father – undesirable parental candidate… homosexual…visitation at mother's discretion. Shuddering, Hawkeye closed the document, and watched as Trapper fetched another beer from the refrigerator. "If it's any consolation, I think you're a great husband."
Kicking the rusty refrigerator shut, Trapper stared at him. "What?" It took him a moment to understand what Hawkeye meant, and even once he understood the semantics, it still made no sense. He had been nothing but a burden on Hawkeye from the moment they first set out on this shambolic relationship! Out in Korea, Hawk had spent months dealing with Trapper's insecurity with his own feelings; his clumsy, inexperienced sexual ventures. When the army, and subsequently Louise, had thrown him out, it was Hawkeye who had put him up, fed him, and worked double shifts to make ends meet, while Trapper had been battling to find work ever since. What exactly was his contribution to this whole arrangement? What could he possibly be adding to Hawkeye's life other than stress and expense? Were his mediocre attempts at home-cooked dinners and after-work backrubs really enough to earn such admiration?
He didn't think so, and even as Hawkeye gazed up at him with those imploring blue eyes, and reached out a hand to him, Trapper didn't feel he deserved him. He wasn't worthy of Louise, and he wasn't worthy of Hawkeye. He was, and felt, worthless. He had been leaning on Hawkeye for far too long, and the divorce papers only served to remind him of the fact – and of how utterly precarious his situation was.
"Well, that's real sweet of you." He was sincere, but his tone was still heavy with despondency. "Whole lotta good it does, though. What am I gonna do? Marry you? I'd like to see what City Hall have to say about that."
He spoke the words with incredulity, stalking off to the far window to gaze bitterly out into the streets, and left Hawkeye at the table with the puddle of beer and the divorce papers. Opening the French doors to the chilly, Fall air, he leaned heavily on the railing, and watched as the citizens of Boston went about their day. He hated every single one of them. They probably all had okay jobs, maybe even opportunities and futures ahead of them. They knew their role in life, in their relationships, and they had a sense of purpose. Trapper had none of those things. He was clinging to Hawkeye like a buoyancy aid in an unforgiving sea. How long did he have before the one good thing in his life realised he could probably find a better deal with someone else?
Hawkeye stared forlornly at Trapper from across the room. He was the very picture of misery, framed perfectly by the French windows, the wind ruffling his hair. He looked so small. His shoulders sagged as if he held the weight of the world on them, and Hawkeye sighed heavily. He couldn't hope to understand what Trapper was going through. His last serious relationship had broken down because he was too wrapped up in his work to even consider marriage – he couldn't fathom what it would be like ending one. This was the nearest thing he'd ever had, but there was no formality for them. No ceremony, no paperwork, no exchanging of…
"Hold that thought!" He was on his feet before the idea was even fully formed, bounding across the room and yanking open the closet door. From the window, Trapper watched in utter confusion as Hawkeye rummaged through their boxes of possessions, many still packed and awaiting furniture. At last, Hawkeye emerged victorious, clutching a small wooden box.
"What the heck is that?"
Hawkeye grinned, opening the clasp with a loud click. "My treasure chest! When I was a kid I used to collect things I found. Mostly junk, you know – pretty buttons, shiny pebbles, baubles. Most of it's worthless."
He flipped the lid, and poked around in the contents. It was funny, the things a person would value so much as a child. A lot of the stuff in here an adult would completely overlook, but clearly Hawkeye had thought it was amazing at the time. At last he found what he was looking for. It was right at the bottom of the box – still a little tarnished, but not as grubby as the day he had found it. He fished it out with his fingers, holding it in his palm just as he had done almost thirty years ago on the day at the Cove. It was as large and heavy as it had always been, but did not look as vast as it had done when he had held it in his tiny, child's hand. He set the box aside and came to stand at Trapper's side by the window. "I found this on the beach when I was a kid," he explained, still staring at it, almost fascinated, the memory of that afternoon playing through his head once more, clear as day. "My mother told me I should give it to someone I wanted to marry." He looked up at Trapper, who was wearing one of his trademark half smiles that suggested to Hawkeye that he was somewhere between utterly confused and profoundly moved. Hawkeye decided to move him further: "I tried to give it to Molly Delaney when I was nine, because she shared her cookies with me, so I thought that made her the perfect life partner."
Trapper nodded sagely. "I'm tempted to agree."
"But I hadn't cleaned it up since I dug it out of the bay, and she said it was disgusting and laughed in my face. So I took it home and cleaned it up, and decided I'd try again tomorrow. Only the next day she shared her cookies with another kid, so I ran back home and shoved it back in the box. I swore I'd never speak to her again, I was so upset."
"Young love is so fickle!"
"You're telling me. I cried all night – or at least until Children's Club Hour came on the radio. Then I forgot all about it and the next day, me and Molly were back playing pirates in her sandbox."
"Aw, a story with a happy ending!" Trapper was smiling now, and Hawkeye couldn't help but smile back.
"Look, I can't give you a big ceremony and legal paperwork and… goddamn it, your family aren't exactly gonna be inviting me round for Sunday dinner to make sure I can keep you in the manner to which you're accustomed, but I can give you this. It's had a hard life, it's dirty, it's used, and it's been round the block a few times – just like me – but I'd like you to have it. This, and my word that you mean more to me than anyone else I've ever had a stupid, dangerous, messy love affair with, and that I'll try my damnedest to stand by you no matter what the world throws at us. I know it's not much, but it's the best I can do."
There was a delightfully warm look in Trapper's eyes as he grinned, then tilted his head sideways a little. "Come on, you can do better than that. Do it right if you're gonna do it at all!"
"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me!"
"Hey - if you're not gonna take it seriously!"
Smirking, Hawkeye sank somewhat clumsily onto one knee and held the ring out again. "I wouldn't do this for just anybody, you know."
Trapper couldn't help but laugh at the sight of him. "Go on – get on your knees!"
"Like I haven't heard you say that before."
"An' that's why you don't get to wear white!"
The joke made Hawkeye snort with laughter, even as he clasped Trapper's hand in his own. "Trapper, you're obscene!"
"Yeah, I am. But you love me anyway, right?"
Hawkeye's eyes sparkled with a mischievous glee as he slid the ring onto Trapper's finger. "Yeah," he said with a smile, "I do." He kissed the back of Trapper's hand. "You jerk," he added before getting to his feet.
Slipping the other arm around Hawkeye's waist, Trapper held up his hand to the light to admire his new adornment. It felt so… right. He'd never worn a wedding band for Louise, his argument being that it would get in the way during surgery. In actual fact, it was because it would get in the way of his womanising. Now, he felt differently about it. How strange, he thought, that for years he'd had a marriage but no ring, and now he had a ring without a marriage. And the ring wasn't just some shiny bauble from a store – it was a childhood treasure. It was still a little tarnished, sure, and it rattled around on his finger with a good quarter of an inch to spare, but it was something special. "Well, what do you know?" he announced with a grin. "It's a perfect fit!"
Hawkeye laughed again, and cupped Trapper's face as he kissed him. "Liar," he breathed against his lips. "Thanks for wearing it, Trap. I know it's dumb, but it means a lot to me."
"It ain't dumb," Trapper replied. "It's adorable." He kissed Hawkeye back, pecking him on the nose. "I'll never take it off."
"Promise?"
"I promise." He wrapped both arms around his partner, held him close, and stated with as much sincerity as he had ever had in his life: "An' I promise I'll always share my cookies with you."
The evening shift was a killer. With no busses running at that time, and the car being out of commission until he could afford to replace the tyres someone had very kindly slashed, Hawkeye was forced to trudge home on foot. This bitter autumnal evening was not being kind to him. Even their chilly apartment was a welcome rush of warmth after over an hour spent dashing through the streets.
Trapper was already asleep, curled up on the mattress Hawkeye had salvaged from the hallway the week they had moved in. They still didn't have a bed, but the addition of a bedside lamp from the thrift store sitting on a small wooden crate, and the warm woollen blanket Hawkeye's father had bought them as a housewarming gift (in McIntyre tartan, no less) had turned their makeshift sleeping corner into a cosy little nest. Stripping down to his shorts and t-shirt, Hawkeye slid under the blanket, grateful of Trapper's body heat that radiated through his cotton pyjamas. He was about to flick the lamp on to start on a magazine when a large hand wormed its way around his waist and pulled him into a firm hug.
"I thought you were asleep," Hawkeye whispered, in case Trapper was, in fact, still asleep.
"I was," Trapper mumbled into his ear. "You woke me up."
"Sorry." Hawkeye had no idea why he was still whispering. "You mind if I turn the light on? I might read a little if I can't sleep."
Trapper gave a little snort of laughter and swatted at the dirty magazine in Hawkeye's hands. "Readin'? Is that what you call it? I call it lookin' at pictures of cute college cheerleaders an' big sporty jock types an' tryin'a make me jealous."
"You are a big sporty jock type, ya knucklehead!" Hawkeye smirked at the ceiling. "And you're my big sporty jock type!"
His playful affection earned him a slightly sloppy kiss on the side of his neck, and he abandoned his magazine to run his fingers lovingly over Trapper's hand. He found the wedding band he'd gifted him, and couldn't resist playing with it as he lay there. It was a habit he'd fallen into since the day he'd given Trapper the ring – which was why he noticed right away that it felt different. The metal sat snugly against Trapper's finger, and did not move the way it normally did when Hawkeye toyed with it. "Hey… Have you…?"
He snapped the lamp on, inspecting the ring in the light. Sure enough, it fitted far better, and the gold was no longer tarnished. Instead, it shone like new. But the shape was identical – it was definitely the same ring.
Hawkeye felt a lump in his throat, and he turned over to be met with Trapper smiling sleepily at him from the pillow beside him. "You had it fitted!"
"You bet I did," Trapper replied, giving his hand a squeeze. "Couldn't have it rattlin' around like that. It might fall off. The guy in the jewellery store on the corner did it. Didn't cost a penny, an' he polished it up nice for me too. Let 'im have the spare gold in return for services rendered."
"I never even knew it was real gold," Hawkeye pondered, gazing at the ring again. It was almost unrecognisable from the grubby thing he had dredged up from the sands of Crabapple Cove.
"Yeah, well, it is," Trapper murmured, settling back into the cosy nook of Hawkeye's shoulder and pulling him into his embrace once more. "An' a damned precious thing it is, too."
Hawkeye flicked the light back off, and curled up in Trapper's arms, his magazine discarded and forgotten. As he lay there, his mind wandered back to that day at the beach; to Billy, and his cruel laughter at Hawkeye's innocent questions; to his mother, and the way she encouraged him so earnestly to give the ring to someone special. He could never know if she would approve of his choice. He hoped desperately that she, like his father, would have come to terms with her son's relationship, if she were still with him. The thought brought tears to his eyes, and he sniffed them back, the sound making Trapper stir once more.
"Hey – you okay?"
Strong arms gave him a gentle squeeze, and Hawkeye nestled a little deeper into their comforting warmth. "Yeah," he murmured. His hand finding Trapper's once more, and his thumb ghosted over the gold band that encircled his finger. "I'm great. Just… perfect."