"First time love conquered all," he'd said, a smile spreading across his face so bright it could have lighten up half the eastern seaboard. The bus was cramped, dirty, caked with mud or blood, neither would have surprised me. Around us, everything was still and dark. The bus had heaved its last breathe in this very spot and even though I can repair a severed aorta I can't fix a car worth a damn. And Frank was getting on my nerves. He was always on my nerves, he could take up permanent residence there right next to the horrors of war—the illustrious Frank Burns. And Beej defended him. I can't believe it but it just might be that he's such a nice guy he's even giving old Ferret Face a chance.
Potter had told his story of love conquering all. With all the wars Potter'd seen it was a wonder he was able to find the real thing when he did, then marry her. Call me crazy but it gave me hope, after all he'd been through he could still feel love. And he was a real army man. Unlike the pretend army I was in. Not for the first time I knew I couldn't have done what he'd done. I would have made an even more of a lousy solider back then; my hair looks terrible under a helmet.
We were all supposed to tell these stories, to pass the time, to have fun, to keep our mind off certain doom. And Beej, that big knight in shining khaki armour had proved chivalrous and called Frank over. He was sitting next to him. If I wasn't so busy feeling sick to my stomach I might have made a few more comments about Frank's story but was too tired and too hungry to waste the energy. And Beej was watching me. Not watching watching, just looking at me when he wasn't looking somewhere else. For some reason when I looked at him I didn't want to say the nasty things so much.
When it was my turn everyone directed their attention to me. I didn't even consider answering. I couldn't tell a story because there really wasn't one to tell. Not one that I'd tell in present company anyway. I'd avoided the question, a deflection I've become very good at by now, always a step ahead. Too many questions was a bad thing in this case.
I was just happy to make it off the bus alive. We went to the mess tent. Food. Glorious food. And no Frank. He'd gone to see Hot Lips. It didn't matter, as long as he was away from me. We sat down. BJ's arm was touching mine. I could have sighed out loud. After the nightmare of a trip we'd been on this dream was seeming a lot better already. Even the food looked good. It was hard to believe, especially for me, but at that moment, if only for a second, I was actually content in Korea. It's a strong word, I know, and those kinds of words usually clash terribly with what I'm wearing—usually because whatever I'm wearing is covered in blood, but it fit for right now. Content as in mildly happy, slightly at ease, somewhat comfortable, at the bare minimum it was not being one step away from jumping off a cliff. It was just me, Beej, and whatever we were eating.
Physical contact is an amazing thing. When you get to the very basics we are all mammals. Warm blooded, largely driven by instinct, oft covered in fur and existential struggle but mammals nonetheless. We need it. Need to be touched. I felt grounded when Beej touched me. Everything felt more real.
And then he ruined it all.
"You never answered my question," he said, taking a bite of food, running the back of his hand over his mouth and glancing once up at me.
"Blue," I said, he raised his eyebrows, "No, red," I took a sip of coffee, "Any colour but olive drab's my favourite colour,"
"Seriously Hawk, I mean about love,"
"Please, not while I'm eating,"
"Even Frank spilled the beans, you've gotta answer,"
Make something up, think think think, my mind races.
"Nothing could compare to Frank's story," I say with a simpering smile.
"Who was she?" he asked grinning, turning enough where he sat so his arm moved away from mine. It felt cold without it, "Residency? Med school? If there's too many just pick one lucky girl.
I do my best to ignore the walls closing in on me, maybe I'll suffocate before I get crushed. I take a bite of food, "I didn't date around too much," I said, not looking at him, "Flirting is one thing, dating—love, is another,"
He waited, I looked over at him, away from the slop on my tray suddenly no longer appetizing. I didn't let my eyes linger long. If I was at all smart I would've gotten up right then. I was back "home" now, no more than a hop and a skip away from the Swamp, the whole night ahead of me, just me, the still and our hangover we'd have together in the morning. But instead I was an idiot and stayed put. I looked at him. He looked so perfect, a wonderful human being, all warmth and compassion, waiting for me to talk, waiting for me to spill my guts about my first love. How could you lie to that face and still feel alright?
"It was med school," I said finally, gritting my teeth and lowering my eyes, "I . . . knew this person for a year or so, we were in a lot of the same classes but . . . we'd never really gotten together, officially,"
"How come?"
"That's the thing about love, it works even when it's just one person,"
"So what happened?"
"I decided that I had to first talk with the person or it wouldn't work at all, so I . . . was their lab partner second year," a smile spread across my face, "It was a big deal, I'd asked them, out loud and everything. I was so nervous I think I screwed up every lab we had together . . . this one time," I laugh, rubbing a hand over the stubble on my cheek, "We were dissecting a pig's heart. It was the grossest thing I'd seen at that point but I was trying to act so tough, to impress my partner. The damn thing starts beating out of nowhere! I jumped right into their arms, scared out of my wits, made worse of course when I realized I'd just offered to tango without their permission,"
"And you weren't anything more than lab partners?"
"Wasn't that romantic enough for you?" I ask, my fingers lacing together. He smiles, the son of a bitch actually cared. It wasn't an act. He was a good person. It would have been easier if he just didn't care. For BJ it probably hurt him not to do whatever he could. "Well I finally asked them out, on a date, and uh . . . well it—didn't go well,"
"Shot you down?"
"Yeah . . . we were lab partners, sometimes more than that, but togetherness wasn't really an option,"
"What was her name?" Beej asks, leaning forward on his elbows with a sympathetic half-smile. I ran a hand through my hair, rubbing the back of my neck. The name? God, what was I doing? I wasn't thinking! That bastard, with his cute grin, he'd make Macarthur spill all his deep dark secrets. I had to get outta here. I started to get up.
"Hawk . . ." he grabs my elbow when I stand. I roll my eyes up to canvas ceiling. Where was the escape when every tent looked exactly alike, all within five feet of each other, and only three miles from the front?
"Beej I'm tired! It's been a day from hell, let's just get to bed," Lifting one leg over the bench I'm stopped again when his hand tightens on the sleeve of my uniform.
"Well she had a name didn't she?" he laughed, he thought he was being cute. Which of course he was.
"No, she didn't," I lift my other leg, jerking my arm out of his grasp.
"She didn't have a name?"
"Why do you care?" I demanded, "You're married, the only romance that should interest you now is your own of the 'to have and to hold' persuasion,"
"It wasn't an unfair question," he said calmly. Always so damn calm. "But now what you're not answering; makes me curious why not,"
"Curiosity is an admirable trait for a doctor but a lousy trait for a friend,"
"Hawk what's the matter? You act like it's a big secret,"
I stop, just stop, it's in my character to keep talking even after my brain's told me to shut up. Meanwhile I tried to ignore the overwhelming feeling that I was in the cross hairs. I didn't know what to say to him. Or not to say to him. Another lie? Every lie added up, again and again, lies hurt, they hurt you—they turn everything rotten and putrid inside you till you don't know what's what. I shrug my hands into my pockets as I take a deep breath, just to keep them from shaking.
I didn't know what I wanted. I wanted to be honest with BJ. I wanted to tell the truth. But I didn't want things to change; they were good where they were. Most of all I didn't want him to hate me. Is that so bad? Too much to ask? I wanted to tell the truth but couldn't, and I wanted to lie but I couldn't do that either.
The fact that I was actually considering telling him this, something I didn't talk about to anyone, something I hated almost as much as I hated the war—I think I'll blame entirely on Frank. I dunno how but somehow it was his fault we were on that bus in the first place, it was his fault BJ had to ask that question, and his fault that I was so tired I could barely stay standing. If I wasn't so tired I wouldn't have said another word.
"First of all, it is a secret," I say in barely audible voice. I can feel him watching me. "Secondly . . . it wasn't a girl . . . " I closed my eyes, for once my tongue was heavy in my mouth, I could barely get it to move, "His name was Arthur,"
I'd said the words, they'd seemed to echo off the canvas walls. So I hadn't imagined it. I'd really said it. Shock. Let's just say I was glad he was sitting down. His eyes looked like he was falling really fast and I would have been too if I hadn't already hit the bottom.
"Arthur . . . as in a guy," he said slowly, not looking at me, "So you're a, uh—?"
"I didn't think it was a good idea to say anything on the bus,"
"No," he said, dragging his eye from the floor like they were lead weighs, "No it wouldn't . . ." he runs a hand over his mouth, "I didn't know,"
"It's not something you just tell people, or anyone, not unless you like social persecution and, in our case, a dishonourable discharge,"
"I thought you wanted out," he said.
"I do, but I want a life after getting out," I bit at my lip, my heart racing in my chest, "Most people nowadays don't approve of gay people, at all,"
BJ gets up. I hold my ground, eyeing him carefully. It was an ugly thought; that I would have to defend myself against him, that he would become violent, but my brain quickly sent a rush of adrenaline through my whole system.
"Who else knows?" he asked.
"My dad," I nodded, "And one girl I was watching a Clark Gable movie with and made the mistake of saying, 'Wow, I wish he was single',"
BJ didn't laugh, not even a smile. "All the nurses, the constant flirting . . ." he raised both hands in a helpless expression, "What did you do with them? Show them the town then call it a night?" I shrugged, looking down at my boots. "For Christ's sake Hawk!"
"BJ," I implored, "You can't tell anyone,"
"This isn't just gossip, Hawk," he paused, then ran a hand over his hair, making it stand on end as he took an exasperated breath, "I didn't know,"
"I like to keep it to myself, you know, I love the army too much,"
"What's your Dad think?"
"He never really said. His normal silence is hard to distinguish from angry silence. Or disappointed silence in this case, disgusted silence—"
"Alright, I get the picture . . ." he gave me a sidelong look, brow creased in thought, "Have you ever had a . . . a . . . "
"A boyfriend?" I finished, watching him nod, "Uh, besides Arthur, uh . . . yeah, I was close to someone else," I set my face but felt my eyes tear up just a little. Trapper. I kept my eyes away from Beej, "Doesn't matter."
"Hawk," he paused to look up, head turning to the side in a way that allowed me to see the pounding of his heart in his neck. He looked fearful when he met my eyes again, "I'm gonna need some time to . . . think about this," his face broke into an awkward half smile and bless him, he laughed slightly, saying, "From now on I'm gonna have to shower with my clothes on," he got up, maybe I'm imagining that his body is shaking, "Swamp?"
"Swamp,"
I'm always surprised how different places look by night. The camp, or as I almost never refer to it—home, looks ten times worse when the sun isn't shining. Even though I hate the colour I'd much rather see green than black.
BJ doesn't say a word walking next to me. Another thing I've noticed about darkness is it's usually a pretty safe time to look at people. Even staring, like at a member of the same sex, can cause trouble I'd rather not have. So I did it in darkness. BJ has these long legs but still manages to be somewhat graceful. I dunno how he does it, especially when it looks like a stiff wind would blow him over. He was taller than Trapper. Trap was solid, warm, passionate . . . I fit perfectly curled up at his side, nose buried in his neck, legs tangled around his, arm secure over his chest as his ribs rose and fell slowly. Until Frank came in of course. Then Trap would jump away, back to his cot, maybe after a hasty kiss as we fought to keep it all a secret. In the end it didn't mean anything. To him. I was just . . . a body to him. It's taken me time to realize that. Accept that.
I looked up into the sky, the stars distant and dim, the cool night air blowing through my hair.
"Halt! Who goes there?!" Klinger lunged out from behind the folds of a canvas tent.
"Hi, Klinger," I said.
"Nah ah, password, or you're not getting past me, buddy,"
"Klinger, it's us,"
"No exceptions, sir," he said, holding his gun steady in hands gloved in pink satin.
"Alright, alright, Rita Hayworth, right?"
"Wrong,"
"What?" BJ scoffed, "That's the password, it was yesterday anyway,"
"It's been changed, don't look at me, I don't control it," he shrugged his shoulders.
"Hay fever," I offered, snapping my fingers.
"No, that was the week before last weeks," BJ corrected, taking a breath, "Okay, I think I got it—it's coconuts, now come on Klinger, at ease before I pull rank on you,"
"You wouldn't dare," he narrowed his large dark eyes.
"I just might tonight," BJ said, he put a hand on my shoulder, steering me around the Corporal.
"I understand, sir," Klinger said, throwing his fur collar over a shoulder, "You sirs have a good night together,"
BJ abruptly stopped in his tracks, "What's that supposed to mean?"
Klinger rearranged the gun in his arms, chuckling, "It means have a good night,"
"Something funny?" BJ had his arms at his sides, hands tightened into fists.
"N-no," Klinger, looked at me helplessly, I shook my head, "Just being nice, sir, didn't mean nothing, in fact, forget I said it."
"Yeah," BJ looked Klinger up and down, his face a mask of anger.
I touched his arm. I don't think he knew he'd gotten so close to Klinger. Or what he sounded like. When I touched him he jerked away, striding off toward the Swamp without a word or so much as a look.
"What's eating him?" Klinger asked me, the wind blowing a few wisps of feathers that were stuck in his hat over his face.
"We did just come from the mess tent," I said to Klinger, then followed BJ foot prints in the mud to the Swamp. When I got there he's on his cot, unlacing his boots. I looked over to the side and see Frank's not there.
"Where's Frank?"
"Three guesses," he breathed, tugging a boot off, "But you only need one,"
"Right," I said, moving to the still, stepping easily through the clutter on the floor. I took two glasses, cool against my fingertips, glancing once at BJ before pouring the gin. I handed a glass to him. He took it. Downed it in one gulp.
"Well I guess that answers that question," I said, pouring a drink for myself.
"What?" he asked, acting oblivious.
"Nothing," I said, lying back on my bed, the glass settled on my chest. Tears stung my eyes. I ignored them. I took a drink, the gin burning down my throat.
I felt stuck. Stuck in the pervasive, unyielding, rotten kind of way that is all too familiar. Wishing I wasn't the way I was. Girls are great. Beautiful, soft skin, they smell good; and sex feels good, but nothing, I mean nothing compares to the few stolen moments I've had with men, the passion and energy of those encounters surpasses all my attempts to hold a women close to me and tell myself lies. I daydreamed for a few moments and remembered Arthur. My body received the familiar charge, I felt it move through my system, making my hips shift and move, filling me with a desperate sadness at odds with the intense arousal. It seemed so long ago. First boy I'd kissed. I can't remember being so happy and so miserable at the same time.
I realized time's passed. How much I dunno. I moved to sit up.
"Beej?" I asked, the sound echoing in my ears, finding it hard to focus, I sat up and swung my legs over the side of my cot.
"Hum?" he is barely visible in the dark.
"You awake?"
"Yeah,"
"Angry?" I asked, thinking I know the answer.
I got up to put my glass near the still and to stretch my legs and can see his motionless outline in the shadows.
"Angry? No . . . upset, maybe," he is staring up at the canvas ceiling.
I said nothing, not sure how to react.
"I think," he breathed out, in a long exasperated sigh, "I think sometimes that I can feel things from you," I saw him put both hands over his face and his speech is muffled, "The way you look at me, the way you move," his hands dropped heavily to his sides, "How could I have missed this?" he shifted so he is propped up on his elbows, "Is that crazy? Am I imagining it?" he is sitting up, "Or is there something there?" his voice is louder, "Because you fooled everyone, everyone but me somehow, and that's after the fact."
"Classic misdirection," I supplied, "And people don't look for what they don't want to see." He is near enough for me to see the details on his face, he looked concerned, the lines are etched deeper in his face and his eyes have taken on a wide, reflective appearance. The movement of his chest as he breathed is rhythmic and I catch myself breathing to it's steady pace as I said, "Look at Clark Kent, worst possible disguise, a pair of glasses, yet Lois has no idea he's Superman,"
"When did you know?"
"When did I know?"
"That you were . . . gay?"
I stopped and thought about it, moving to slowly sit next to him in the dark, "Puberty happened, hormones happened, and long story short, my body responded more to males than females."
"You make it sound simple."
"Well it is," I said, "Kind of. To my genitals at least." I managed a small laugh, even if he didn't, "My head; that's another story."
He raised his eye brows in surprise and shook his head, "Huh."
"Yeah huh. An often oh."
"You didn't answer me though,"
"Answer what?" my eyes are locked on his and I can't look away.
"Am I imagining it?"
"That I look at you? Yeah, yeh I do, usually when talking to you, with most people."
"You know what I'm asking."
"What do you want me to say, Beej?"
"The truth, for once!"
"Don't make me do this."
"Make you? I didn't ask you to tell me any of this," his voice is almost shaking, "I don't want to know this!"
"You're right." I said. I'm frightened by the intensity in his voice. I moved to get up but his hand grips my arm forcing me back down.
"From the moment, the moment I got here you latched onto me, you wouldn't let me move without you knowing about it."
"I'm sorry, did you suddenly lose all free will?" I retorted, "I never did anything I thought you didn't want, I never forced you into anything, mister!"
He still had my arm in his hand and he pulled me closer, "What do you want from me, Hawk," he almost shook me, "Huh? What do you want?"
I kissed him. He nearly fell backwards off the cot, a hand hitting my chest, fingerings curling into the fabric of my shirt. There is a moment, one terrifying moment when I know with near unwavering certainty that he could and would throw me across the room like a disobedient animal but somehow, somehow, there is a short startled gasp, his muscles tense and time rushed gloriously forward as my tongue pushed past his lips.
I felt him moan loudly as he lost balance on the edge of the bed and caught himself with one of his feet. It hit the ground with a loud thud. This allowed him more leverage to yank me forward by the back of my neck, my eyes are squeezed shut, pain as his fingers dig into my skin. He used his height to rise over me, both hands running through my hair as I melted into the warmth of his desperate, frantic kiss. My arm caught behind me as I collapsed under his weight. I grasp both of his hips in my shaking hands and feel the power there and the warm wetness of his tongue makes my whole body shudder uncontrollably. He wants to push me in to the bed and I'd let him, god I'd let him, just—
He pulled back so suddenly I heard fabric rip. Through the thin folds of his shirt I felt a shaking over his shoulders. I looked down and my erection is clear in the space between us. As is his. I tried to catch my breath, pushed myself up, my legs still tangled under him, "I'm sorry,"
He looked away. He wiped his lips with his hand. The darkness of the Swamp seemed overwhelming, a black blanket covering all light, with the whole camp sleeping around us. I wanted to kiss him again so badly.
"Shut up," he whispered angrily and he hadn't moved.
My whole body is charged in a rush of chemicals, the response to stimulus that keeps away all the shame and guilt, at least for this moment, this one beautiful aching moment before it all breaks.
The bed creaked as he slowly leaned over me. I can't see his eyes, my nostrils flare and I smell the rich electric smell of him all around me. He is breathing heavily, shakily, as he lowered his body onto mine. I felt his erection push against mine as his weight settles down onto me. My head rolled back and I groaned, feeling his teeth meet my neck as his hips shift against mine in a shaky, almost uncertain movement. He kissed me, slid his tongue in my mouth in a rhythm set by his hips that are starting to thrust deeply into mine. My hands are dragging at his shirt, trying to find skin, my cock throbbing, trying to match his pace. His mouth moves again to my neck, below my ear, as I move my hand between us, past the soft skin of his belly, to the front of his pants, stroking the intense, throbbing hardness under the straining fabric.
He stopped kissing me suddenly and for a frozen moment he is looking into my eyes. I continue to stroke him. His eyes closed as I felt his cock jump under my hand, his hips shifting into my touch. When his eyes opened again they are wide, terrified and blue. His breath matched mine and his brow furrowed. I put my other hand to his face, my thumb smoothing the rough stubble for one quiet moment.
"Coconuts! Coconuts! The password is coconut you crazy!"
Footsteps. In one panicked jolt he clumsily jerks backwards and away from me.
Frank.
I rolled off the bed, tumbling to the floor with a gasp of pain, lunging awkwardly for my own cot where I hurriedly throw a blanket over my lap and see Beej doing the same. I push sweaty hair out of my flushed face, rubbing the back of my hand hurriedly over my mouth as the door pushes open.
"Ever heard of a light?" Frank spat, "Degenerates,"
He flicked the lamp on by his bed, BJ isn't looking at me when I look over to him. He has a hand over his mouth, his blanket bunch up over his lap. Frank eyed us both with tiny, suspicious eyes.
"What are you guys up to?" he wondered, "I'm not stupid you two, I know you were doing something . . ."
"Frank—" I tried.
"Ah ha! For once at a loss for words, huh smarty? What about you Hunnicutt, anything to say? If this man hasn't completely corrupted you already that is," he scoffed, shaking his head as he shuffled to the stove, throwing a piece of wood in. He stopped, sniffing the air like a big rodent, "You two are drunk—again! The way you guys drink you might as well be fish! Disgusting,"
"If we'd known you'd be home early we would have saved you a glass," I offered, worriedly looking again at Beej who looked like he wanted to run out the door.
"Ha!" Frank laughed, brushes his hands together, "Like I would ever drink with you. I'm always in ship-shape condition, never drunk," he straightened his shirt after giving me one last snicker, then went to sit on his bed. It squeaked under his weight as he threw an ankle over his knee, starting to tug at his laces. He stopped, mouth screwed shut, staring at me, "You look guilty, Pierce . . . what did you do?" he looked from side to side, "If you put a pork chop in my pillow again, so help me I'll . . ."
"Who, me?" I pointed at my chest, and feel BJ's saliva evaporating on my neck, "That's a waste of a perfectly good pork chop, Frank, after a few days you can use it as an oven mitt,"
"Oh I'm sure," he said, "You know Pierce, maybe you wouldn't hate this place so much if you didn't find a million things to complain about,"
"What's not to hate?" I moaned, putting a hand to my aching head.
"Is there a pork chop in here or not?" he demanded, throwing his last boot on the floor than standing up, "Am I supposed to believe that you two were actually just sleeping?"
"What were you doing?" I asked.
He glared, "None of your business, Pierce,"
"I'm glad, g'night Frank," I rolled over in bed.
