For someone who was supposed to be Hawkeye's best friend, it took Trapper an inordinate amount of time and an unlocked door to finally realize the truth. And now that he knew, now that he truly understood just what - no, who, of course who - Hawkeye Pierce was, he didn't know what to do.
They'd managed to finagle themselves three whole days of R&R in Tokyo, and, like most of these trips, it was a blur of booze, hot tubs, and women. On their last night before having to return to the shit hole they called home, they were each nursing drinks in the hotel bar, surrounded by uniformed soldiers on leave and pretty Asian women. It was loud but it was cheerful, and the only bodies they'd seen all weekend were of the whole, soft, and willing variety, which, after an influx of casualties the week before, was a welcome change to both doctors.
Trapper's eyes followed one dark haired number in a pink kimono as she weaved effortlessly through the crowd, bringing drinks to GI's.
"Hawk, that's the one," Trapper said, elbowing his friend and nodding in her direction.
Hawkeye, on his third drink, followed Trapper's gaze and grinned. "The waitress, Trap? She won't have the time of day for you. Literally. Look how busy she is."
"I tip well," Trapper replied, returning Hawkeye's grin with an impish one of his own and knocking back the rest of his drink.
Hawkeye opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted. "Hey, you're a doctor, aren't you?" They both looked up to see a Major had approached them, and, damnit, was standing right in Trapper's line of sight to the girl. The man looked like he'd stepped right off a recruiting poster: blonde, blue eyed, broad shouldered, strong jawline. Margaret would have swooned at the sight of him.
"Only on days ending in y, Major," Hawkeye said, pleasantly enough.
"Damnit Hawk, are you wearing your stethoscope again?" Trapper teased. "I told you I wanted to relax this weekend." It was a bit curious that the Major had known his profession, considering they were both in their Hawaiian shirts.
"But it really brings out my eyes," Hawkeye replied without missing a beat.
"I thought so," the Major said, as if they hadn't just gone off on a tangent. He held out a hand to Hawkeye. "Major Brian Jessop. I had a bit of a visit the 4077th a few months ago."
"Ahh," Hawkeye said, finishing his drink and shaking the Major's hand. "I remember you now. Bullet in the bum. Sorry, I spent so much of our last interaction staring at your tush, I almost didn't recognize your face."
"That's all right, doc," the Major said, taking the comment in stride. "I should have introduced myself backside first."
Hawkeye let out a surprised laugh and he and Trapper exchanged amused looks. It was so rare to find anyone regular army who had a sense of humor, particularly an officer.
"Next time, hopefully," Hawkeye said.
"Can I buy you both a drink?" the Major asked. "As a token of my appreciation."
From behind Major Broadshoulders Trapper's waitress appeared, serving a table a few over from them. "Rain check for me," he said, standing and straightening his shirt. "I'm gonna see if I can get takeout."
"Nothing too spicy, dear, or you won't get any sleep tonight," Hawkeye said with a grin.
"God willing," Trapper replied.
Hawkeye had been right. The waitress was all smiles and flattery, but when it came time to seal the deal, she pretty much gave him a bow and shipped him off with a thank you very much GI Joe-san but I'm very busy. Trapper, despite all his best moves, found himself alone at the end of the night.
Hawkeye had approached him at some point during the evening, drunk and giggling, and telling Trapper something about the Major having some flare ups from his injury and that he was going to look him over. He'd shouted about a doctor's work never being done, which blended into many other shouts in the crowded bar. Trapper had nodded and shooed him off, still working on his waitress, and Hawkeye disappeared.
Now he was alone, drunk, and bored, and since Hawkeye had surely finished drunk doctoring by now, he went looking for him. He'd procured a bottle of gin from the hotel bar, and made his way upstairs to his friend's room. He was too out of it to think of knocking when he arrived, instead just pushing the door open and preparing to make some kind of quip about the fun having arrived.
The words died in his throat, though, when he realized that Hawkeye wasn't alone. He was shirtless, back against the wall, eyes closed and head tilted up as Major Broadshoulders bit at his neck. For some reason, Trapper's eyes immediately fell to their hands - Broadshoulders's were gripping at Hawkeye's slim hips, and Hawkeye had one fist twisted in the Major's shirt, while the other was splayed at the small of his back, keeping him close.
Realizing that neither man had realized he was there, he quickly pulled the door closed, shutting it as quietly as he could. Then he nearly ran to his own room, pulse pounding in his ears as the sight replayed in his head like a skipping record.
It suddenly made so much sense, Trapper realized, safe in his room and well into the bottle of gin. The flirting, the winking, kissing Frank, the touching - good God the touching. Hawkeye was the most touchy-feely person he'd ever met, and not just with women. In fact, the image of his long surgeon's fingers pressing into the small of the Major's back caused him to shiver. Trapper could almost feel Hawkeye's hand in the exact same spot, after a long pull in the OR, or leading him back to the Swamp after a drunken night in the Officer's Club.
He'd always thought that Hawkeye was just affectionate, and enjoyed taking a joke as far as he could, secure enough in his own masculinity to know that people wouldn't assume his flirting with anyone that moved, Trapper included, was anything beyond a joke. But was it a joke? How was he supposed to behave around him now? Knowing that if he joked back Hawkeye might think that he was actually…
What if Hawkeye already thought that?
Trapper shook his head. This was Hawkeye for God's sake. The same guy he'd always been.
The two of them were so hung over the next day that the silence between them on the trip home didn't really seem all that strange. Hawkeye had managed to mumble, "Waitress?" to Trapper some at some point earlier, but Trapper had just grimaced and shook his head, and Hawkeye didn't press him any further.
Normally, the sight of Hawkeye's neck covered in hickies would have prompted Trapper to demand to hear of his friend's conquest, but his stomach turned every time he thought about what he'd walked in on. He remained mute on the subject, though he couldn't help but wonder what Hawkeye would have told him if he'd asked.
On the flight back from Tokyo, Hawkeye, who apparently didn't get much shut eye at all the night before, settled into his seat and fell asleep almost immediately. Trapper hated himself a little when he realized he was almost grateful for it, right up until the point where Hawkeye's head dipped and he somehow managed to slump his tall form over enough that he was using Trapper's shoulder as a pillow.
"Seriously?" Trapper muttered at him, trying to push him off. Hawkeye, however, was infamous for being able to sleep through just about anything, and Trapper eventually gave up.
"Did you have a good trip, sirs?" Radar asked, when he came to pick them up, back in the dust filled hell near Uijeongbu.
Trapper grunted noncommittally, so Hawkeye, who'd perked up immensely after his nap, was the one to answer. "Radar, I've never been so rested and recreated in my life." Trapper climbed into the back of the jeep and Hawkeye got in the passenger's seat. "If I hadn't been in a stupor for most of the morning I never would have let Trapper drag me back."
Trapper made a noise that was foreign to his own ears. It almost sounded like the high pitched "humph" that Frank tended to do whenever he interacted with the two of them. Apparently it surprised both Hawkeye and Radar as well, because they both turned to look at him, eyebrows raised, before Hawkeye turned his gaze back to Radar and shrugged.
"How about you, Captain McIntyre, sir?" Radar asked as he started the jeep.
Trapper shrugged. "It wasn't bad."
"Wasn't bad? Wasn't bad?" Hawkeye looked over his shoulder as Radar took off down the road like a maniac. "You strike out with one girl and you write off the whole trip as wasn't bad?"
"I stand by my assessment," Trapper replied, crossing his arms.
"Wasn't bad," Hawkeye muttered, turning back around in mock indignation, leaving Trapper to stare at the love bite on the back of his neck.
For almost a week, Trapper avoided Hawkeye, which really wasn't easy without any wounded for a distraction. This left his friend bored and looking for entertainment, and Trapper was almost always the first one Hawkeye came to when looking for something to break up the tedious monotony of everyday camp life.
The one time Hawkeye could be counted on to leave him alone was when he had a date. So he lined up a bunch. Hawkeye didn't appear to find anything out of the ordinary with this, apparently thinking that his inability to land the Japanese waitress had affected Trapper's ego so badly that he needed to go on a nurse bender.
Finally, thankfully, (and Trapper would feel like an asshole for being grateful later) the wounded started pouring in. A push was on and going pretty poorly based on the casualties. They spent nearly thirteen hours in the OR, with Hawkeye bantering as usual, Frank and Margaret bitching as expected, and Henry ineffectively trying to keep the peace, as was tradition. The only thing that wasn't normal was how quiet Trapper was being. Hawkeye only mentioned it once, after trying and failing to get Trapper to join him in rousing rendition of "Chattanooga Choo Choo."
He finished with a patient then pulled off his gloves before coming over to Trapper under the guise of reviewing his work. "Everything okay?" he asked quietly. Trapper didn't look up at him, focusing on the intestines he was picking through.
One would think that the fact that all you could see of each other in the OR was the eyes would make it easier to hide your expression, but eyes were the windows to the soul and all that. Hawkeye Pierce's baby blues were the most expressive thing about him - which was really saying a lot considering every bit of him was expressive in one way or another. Trapper could practically feel the concern radiating off him, and he didn't want to see those eyes staring at him with barely concealed worry.
"Yeah," Trapper said, casually, plucking out a piece of shrapnel. "Fine."
Hawkeye lingered for a moment, but Klinger burst through the door in full nurse attire and called, "One for you, Captain Pierce!"
When it was all over they filed out of the OR, exhausted. Margaret and Frank were making eyes at one another, and sure enough, right after the head nurse said, "Good work, Doctors," and headed outside, Frank was making some excuse and disappearing right behind her.
Trapper watched them, lip quirked in amusement, and nearly jumped out of his skin at the feeling of a hand on the small of his back.
"The hell?!" he exclaimed, jerking away and looking at Hawkeye, who took a step back, blue eyes wide in surprise.
"Christ, Trapper, what's the matter with you?" Hawkeye asked, looking completely befuddled.
"You snuck up on me, that's what!" Trapper said, not knowing why he was suddenly so angry about it. It was a completely unreasonable reaction, he knew, but he couldn't seem to reign it in now.
"I'm sorry!" Hawkeye replied, starting to get defensive. Which, looking back on it, Trapper knew was fair. He really hadn't done anything to deserve being snapped at.
And yet. "What do you want?" The tone was unwelcoming, and Trapper shifted over to the other sink so he could scrub off the grime from surgery.
"Just looking to get my head bit off for no reason," Hawkeye snapped back. "Best way to wind down after thirteen straight hours of surgery." The man had the best bedside manner Trapper had ever seen, but his patience was reserved mostly for the patients. It took very little to get him riled up outside of post op. He turned on the sink next to Trapper and snatched up a bar of soap. It was amazing how good doctors were at angrily scrubbing their hands.
"Glad I could help," Trapper replied, grabbing a towel.
"Oh, sure," Hawkeye said sarcastically. "What are friends for, after all?"
"Invading personal space apparently," Trapper muttered in a way that was supposed to sound under his breath and still be loud enough to let Hawkeye hear every word.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Hawkeye asked, turning off the water and drying his hands.
Trapper tossed his towel into the laundry. "You're always touching everyone."
Hawkeye sounded exasperated. "So what?"
"So stop it," Trapper said. "I'm not a damn nurse!"
"What the heck's going on in here?" Henry asked, coming out of the OR with a nurse. He looked around, a bit confused as he took off his mask. "Oh. With the raised voices I figured Frank was here." He paused. "Wait a minute, did you guys stuff him in the laundry or something?"
"No, Henry," Hawkeye said, staring at Trapper. He honestly looked more confused by his behavior than anything else. Truth be told, Trapper wasn't entirely sure why he was acting this way either. "Trapper here's just worried about cooties."
"McIntyre," Henry said, shaking his head and pushing past them both to get to the sinks. "Don't be absurd. It's too sterile in there for cooties."
Trapper and Hawkeye's eyes met, and Hawkeye looked ready to start laughing, but Trapper decided in that moment that he wanted him to stay angry. It was easier to avoid someone when they're mad at you. So instead of laughing too, he just left without another word, door swinging behind him.
A day later Trapper walked into the Officers' Club, arm around Nurse Mitchell's shoulders. He'd successfully steered clear of Hawkeye since their fight yesterday, and he was feeling worse and worse about it. He didn't know why he was acting like this. What he'd seen in Tokyo had gotten into his head. He couldn't unsee it. Every time he closed his eyes the image was there, Hawkeye pressed into a wall by Major Broadshoulders and looking like he was enjoying every second of it.
He wasn't a homophobe. He'd helped that homosexual private, George Weston. He didn't care what people did in the privacy of their own beds.
So why was this so different? Because they slept in the same tent? Was he worried Hawkeye was going to try and molest him?
But deep down Trapper knew Hawkeye wouldn't do that. He wasn't that kind of person. So what was it?
The Officers' Club was nearly empty, but at a table in the corner was the very person he was trying to avoid. Hawkeye was alone, nursing a drink while watching Radar dance with Nurse Kellye and wearing an introspective sort of look. Introspective Hawkeye was usually not a good thing, at least in Trapper's experience. Too much time alone and Hawkeye's brain started to go to dark places. That's why he needed Trapper around to keep things light. Keep him cheery.
But if Trapper was avoiding him, who did he have? Some nurses, who Trapper didn't think he was actually even interested in? Frank Burns?
He sighed and leaned in to Nurse Mitchell. "Sweetheart, I'm real sorry but I just remembered I made plans with Hawkeye tonight."
The look she gave him was skeptical. "What about our date?"
"Rain check?" Trapper replied, flashing her a devilish grin.
"We'll see," she sniffed, before leaving him at the door.
Trapper watched her go, sighing again, then heading over to Hawkeye's table. Keen blue eyes were following him now, though Hawkeye looked more wary than pleased as Trapper approached.
"Buy you a drink, sailor?" Trapper asked, trying and failing not to grimace as he said the line.
"That looked painful," Hawkeye observed, sipping the amber liquid - scotch probably - from his glass.
"Felt painful, too," Trapper admitted. "Want another one?"
"You kidding? All those boys in post op got wounded so we can have the right to drink ourselves sick. What kind of monster would I be to say no?" Hawkeye said, knocking back the rest of his drink and sliding the glass to Trapper.
Yeah, he'd made the right call. Hawkeye was right at the corner of introspective and depression. He took the glass and went over to the bar, ordering them each another scotch. When he returned he took the seat across from Hawkeye.
They sat in silence for a bit, jukebox playing some tunes that Trapper had never heard of. Radar had probably picked them, the kid had weird taste.
It was Hawkeye who spoke up first. "You want to tell me what's going on?" he asked after a sip of his drink.
Trapper turned his glass on the table with his fingers, keeping his eyes on it instead of his friend. "Nothing really. Just. Working through some stuff."
"Working through some stuff?" Hawkeye sounded incredulous. "Trap, you've been avoiding me since Tokyo." Of course. Trapper thought he was being subtle about it, but of course Hawkeye noticed. "You nearly bit my head off the other day. And somehow I get the feeling it's something I did but I can't get you alone long enough to tell me what. It's driving me batty. Will you just tell me what I did so I can fix it?"
Trapper finished the rest of his drink in one long go. Then he looked around to make sure no one was close enough to hear them and leaned in to say, "I saw you, ah, giving that Major a physical. In Tokyo."
Hawkeye blinked. Trapper wasn't sure what kind of reaction he expected. Maybe some kind of panic that his secret was out. Instead, all he got was an unabashed, "And?"
"And?" Trapper repeated.
"Is there more to this story?" Hawkeye asked, looking genuinely curious.
"Does there need to be?" Trapper said.
"I don't get it," Hawkeye said.
"The hell, Hawk? You don't get it?" Trapper was starting to get mad again, but in order to keep his voice down he was practically hissing. "You don't get it? You never say a word, and I find out that way, and you don't get why I've been… distant?"
"I didn't think I was being particularly subtle about it," Hawkeye said with a shrug. "It's not like I've only ever flirted with women."
"So I was right. You were flirting with me," Trapper said, trying to ignore that he sounded about as paranoid as Frank tended to.
"Sure," Hawkeye said, as if this was an obvious fact that he wasn't one bit ashamed of. "You and Henry, and half the other men and women in this outfit. So what?"
"So what? I'm not a homosexual!" Trapper growled.
"Neither am I," Hawkeye said.
"You can't just act like I don't know now."
"Trapper, don't be obtuse." Hawkeye interrupted. "I haven't just been pretending with the nurses this whole time. I like women. I love women. I like all their soft bits. I like the way they smell. I like the way they play hard to get. I love the way they pull my hair-"
"Then what-"
"I like the way men pull my hair too." He gave a wicked grin and waggled his eyebrows.
"This isn't funny!" Trapper snapped. "Every time you flirted with me, I thought you were joking."
"I was," Hawkeye said.
"What?"
"You're a staunch heterosexual, far as I've been able to tell," Hawkeye said. "It's like when I flirt with Father Mulcahy."
"Jesus." Trapper needed another drink.
"No, he's just a priest."
Trapper stood. "I'm getting another. You want another?"
Hawkeye shook his head. Trapper went up to the bar and ordered a double and took a long sip before returning. Hawkeye was looking introspective again. So much for being cheery.
"Is that why you got angry when I touched you?" Hawkeye asked as Trapper sat back down. He could almost see his mind clicking pieces of the puzzle together.
"It's just. You can't just flirt with people and be all touchy like that when they don't know you're. You know. I thought it was all a joke. How would I know?" Trapper wasn't even sure what he was trying to say, but he wondered if this was how Frank felt whenever he stuck his boot in his mouth.
Hawkeye's good humor seemed to leave him. "I'm 'you know'? Wow. What an enlightened viewpoint, mein Führer."
"Aw, come on, Hawk, that's not-"
Hawkeye abruptly set his drink down so hard some of the liquor sloshed over the side and onto his hand. "No." Trapper realized he'd seen the look his friend was wearing right now. It had never been directed at him before. This was the same set of the jaw he always got before he laid into Frank for being something less than human. "I'm not 'you know.' I'm a person. I'm the same person I've always been. Nothing about me has changed, besides your perception of who I am. If you can't handle it, that's your problem, not mine. I thought you of all people would understand."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Trapper asked. "I told you I'm not-"
"Not because I think you're homosexual," Hawkeye said, exasperated. "Because I thought you were my friend." Then he stood up, muttered, "Thanks for the drink" and walked out of the Officers Club.
A/N: Back to my roots. First fic I ever wrote was a M*A*S*H fic. Really terrible.
Thanks to Netflix I've been binging on the show and finally I couldn't stop myself from writing something. Re-watching it with a more adult eye I could help but notice how often Hawkeye flirts with both men and women and I wanted to tackle that. I was planning to make it a one shot, but it got longer without my permission. I imagine it'll only be another chapter or so at most, and yes, there's a decent chance this is going to wind up in slash territory.