Finally, Trapper reached across the desk and flipped the lamp on, unable to tear his eyes away from the newspaper before. He blindly fumbled for a pen and pad of paper, reading and re-reading the headline, imprinting it on his mind.
PEACE TALKS AT AN END!
CEASE-FIRE EXPECTED ANY DAY!
Using every ounce of willpower he possessed, Trapper managed to fold the newspaper and tuck it into the nearest desk drawer, putting it out of sight and mind for the moment. He'd have plenty of time to get back to that later, plenty of time to comb the article for every bit of information he could, until eventually he had it committed to memory. But now was not the time.
Carefully, he began to write, taking extreme care in his handwriting, making sure each word was properly spelled and legible. He was taking no chances.
Dear Hawk,
I suppose you're wondering why after twenty-one months I finally get around to
No, no, that wouldn't do. Trapper roughly crumpled the paper, throwing it in the general direction of the waste basket.
Dear Hawk,
So I hear the war's ending. Maybe after you're home we can get together, have some drinks. I live in Boston still, look me up, I'm in the book. Maybe
That was even worse. He couldn't send it. Trapper sighed, again balling the paper and tossing it aside.
Dear Hawk,
I thought I'd write to let you know I'm still alive. I wish I could say the same for you, but it turns out, I don't know. For all I know, you could have died last
Trapper let out a curse under his breath, and began to tap his pen against the desk with force enough to dent the smooth top. He tried, again.
Dear Hawkeye,
I called your dad last week. I had to know how you were, if you were even still alive, over there in Korea. I hoped you would have been the one to answer the phone, hoped you were home and I just never knew. But he told me you were still thousands of miles away, still patching up kids younger than they ought to be. You were right, I did like your father, we do have a lot in common. I can see where you get it from, Hawk.
He told me you weren't at the 4077th anymore, that you were in Seoul. A psychiatric hospital, with Sidney. Told me flat out that you weren't doing too good, that you broke down and they had to send you off to gather your marbles again. I couldn't believe, and for awhile I didn't. You weren't supposed to snap, not you. You were always the one there to pick me back up, the stronger of us two.
For a few days I blamed myself, I couldn't see any way not to. I left you, just up and left you all alone in hell without so much as a goodbye. Were it the other way around, were I the one still over in Asia, I think I would have lost my mind months ago. But it's not, and I'm the one back home, the one who left without a word to you.
I hate myself for it, hate myself more than you're bound to hate me. God, the guilt, Hawk, it nearly tore me apart. But there was no way I could
Trapper stopped. This wasn't what he wanted to say, it wasn't what Hawkeye needed to hear. He supposed there was no way to say what had to be said, what needed to be said. Not like this, not in some damn letter that would pass through thousands of miles and hands before it reached it's man, if it ever did.
As he began to rumple the paper once more, ready to throw it in the corner to join the others, Trapper quickly scanned the letter. It wasn't so awful, he had to admit, but it just wasn't what he wanted. It didn't express the feelings, the worries, the --
Trapper paused. It wasn't the farewell Hawkeye deserved.
He began to write again, his pen flying across the paper with record speed. Using his free hand, he searched for an envelope, and roughly folded the paper. As Trapper carefully copied the address he knew so well, his frenzied rush calming down, a knock sounded from the door.
"John, darling, dinner's waiting."
He slowly closed the envelope, checking to make sure it was fastened tight, and stood up. "In a minute, Louise."
Trapper pulled at the lamp string, sending the room into sudden darkness. Glancing back at the letter laying on the desk, he crossed to the door, shutting it firmly behind him.
***
"Son?" Daniel Pierce reached a hand out, gently touching Hawkeye's shoulder, trying to shake him out of his daze.
"What?" Hawkeye glanced back. "Oh, Dad."
"What do you have there?" He gestured to the piece of paper clutched tightly in the younger man's hands.
Hawkeye darted his eyes down to the letter, then quickly back up."Oh, uh --" He hesitated. "Damn army's finally found some of my mail. Just another letter that arrived after I left Korea." He stared down at the words, reading them over and over.
Daniel nodded. "Alright, then. Dinner's on the table, if you're hungry."
Absentmindedly waving a hand, Hawkeye replied, "I'll be there in a moment."
The elder man nodded and turned away, making his way into the next room.
Hawkeye read the letter one last time, letting the words soak in.
Dear Hawkeye,
I'm sorry.
Goodbye.
Trapper.
He quickly folded it up and shoved it into his pocket. Taking a deep breath, Hawkeye managed to plaster on a smile as he hurried to join his father.