Boston – November, 1957

Susie's Café was always busy at lunch time. It was situated on a busy intersection, but in a poor area, and its low prices attracted a lot of footfall between 12 and 2. It was a Saturday, and shop workers and residents alike had come in for a cheap meal and a hot drink, and, for two hours, the place was buzzing.

The man in the corner had been nursing the same cup of coffee throughout that two hour period, and now the crowds were beginning to disperse, he was trying to make his loitering as inconspicuous as possible.

Hawkeye always struggled with these days: when Trapper had his girls, and he was banned from the apartment. It wasn't the boredom that got to him – it was the isolation. That much he'd worked out for himself. He'd had a lot of time to think it over as he'd sat alone on days such as this, and pondering his own thoughts and feelings on the matter filled the hours up. Feeling cut off from this vital aspect of Trapper's life put a strain on their relationship that he didn't even know how to put into words. Was it jealousy? Did he not want somebody else sharing time with Trapper, while he was excluded and shoved out into the streets to occupy himself for a few hours? Or was it that he felt hurt that he had been deemed too much of a bad influence to even be introduced to Kathy and Becky? Even as a 'friend' of their father? Hawkeye wasn't possessive by nature, nor did he think of himself as paternal, but, it seemed, he was just enough of each to resent the arrangement.

He glanced at his watch and tried to think of something he could do with himself for another three hours. He'd only had enough money for one cup of coffee, and he'd eked it out as long as he could. The inch or so that remained was now cold, and he was seven cents short for a refill.

Hawkeye was not exactly rolling in cash. His last job had gone south after someone in middle management had let slip that the boss had stooped so low as to hire a 'blue discharge powder puff' and set the entire staff on edge. After that, it had only been a matter of time before Hawkeye's cheeky jokes and flamboyant humour pin-pointed him as the only logical contender. Two guys filed complaints stating he'd made a pass at them, and Hawkeye was swiftly removed from the staff.

Trapper had read his dismissal notice, and the accusations, with a scowl on his face. "Well, that's bullshit." He screwed up the letter and tossed it angrily into the fireplace. And then, a moment later, he fixed Hawkeye with a worried look. "It's bullshit, right? I mean, you didn't…"

His eyes widening, Hawkeye recoiled. "Of course I didn't!"

The suggestion had stung. He'd tried his best to dismiss it, but the lingering hurt had stayed with him longer than it should, like a papercut that he kept catching. On this occasion, his dismissal was a touchy subject, and when he'd left the apartment that morning, he hadn't even wanted to ask Trapper for money so he could get more than one cup of coffee.

Now, the waitress was approaching his table, and Hawkeye panicked, burying his nose in his cup and hoping he could pretend he was just… savouring it. But then, instead of looming over him, the waitress sat down opposite. "You've been here an awful long time."

Hawkeye gave a nervous laugh, and shot her a grin that he hoped was charming. "I have, haven't I? What can I say? I just like the ambiance!" 'What ambiance?' he thought. A group of kids had been playing the same handful of songs over and over again on the jukebox for over an hour, and it was starting to wear on Hawkeye's last nerve.

She glanced at his almost-empty coffee cup. "Can I get you a–"

"No!" Even as he clapped his hand over the top the mug, Hawkeye realised how jumpy he sounded. "Thank you," he corrected himself, "but no." There was a pregnant pause as he realised how ridiculous he probably looked, still pretending like he wasn't just sitting here in order to avoid going outside. "I'm uh… a little short right now."

The waitress rolled her eyes, and stood up. Hawkeye expected to be shown the door, but instead, she returned with a pot of steaming coffee and poured him a refill. "Friends and family discount," she said with a wink. "Bottomless cups of coffee, and unlimited soda."

Hawkeye grinned broadly, relaxing a little. "Oh, I'm your friend am I?" A suggestive tone crept into his voice, but if a little flirtation got him a free coffee, then he wasn't disinclined to give it a go.

She shrugged and raised her arms in a sweeping gesture. "Best friend in the whole joint!"

Laughing, Hawkeye glanced around the diner. The only other people in there on this cold Saturday afternoon were the trio of teenagers squabbling over the jukebox. "Well, seeing as we're friends, I feel I really ought to know your name?"

"Angie."

She held out her hand over the table, and Hawkeye shook it. "Hawkeye."

Her eyebrows migrated north a little. "Say again?"

Chuckling, Hawkeye recited his usual explanation. "It's a nickname. My dad's favourite book while I was growing up was–"

Angie's face lit up. "Last of the Mohicans!"

"Yes!"

Hawkeye's heart leapt at the chance to share a little companionship with another human being. He hadn't realised until now how desperately lonely he'd become, barely socialising with anybody except for Trapper and his work colleagues. Now, Angie really did feel like a friend, and they sat and talked about books and parents, and the mobile library that was doing the rounds in her neighbourhood. She poured him another coffee, and one for herself, and he found himself smiling at her. And then, a moment later, her hand brushed against his, and he realised how this must look. He was flirting – and it wasn't for the sake of the coffee.

He sat back, pressing himself against the back of the bench and whipping his hands back from the table. "I'm so sorry! I…" He clasped his hands in his lap, and ducked his head, staring at the table. "Oh god, what am I doing?"

Angie gave a nervous giggle. "I can't say I was complaining…"

"No, I know. I just… God!" Furious with himself, he pressed a hand to his head and slumped miserably in his seat. "I wasn't thinking. I shouldn't be talking to you like this."

Shrugging, Angie gave him a gentle – if slightly disappointed – smile as she, too, removed her hands from the table and put a little polite distance between herself and her customer. "I'm sorry, too. I didn't see a ring on your finger, and I guess I just… assumed."

Feeling twitchy, Hawkeye glanced down at his hands. "I don't wear one." It was something of an explanation, he figured.

"And the way you were sitting here, you struck me as somebody who didn't have any place to go."

Hawkeye paused for a moment – he had to admit she had a point. He frowned and glanced at his watch. "I guess I don't, for another… three hours or so." His declaration was met with a look of curiosity, and he realised that I there was ever a time to divulge even the vaguest detail over the source of his melancholy, it was now. He chose his words carefully. "I'm living with somebody – a divorcee. It's kind of complicated, and… well, there are kids involved. Only… I'm not allowed to see them. So, as long as they're visiting, I'm officially in exile."

The expression on Angie's face said it all. "So you're a step-father and you've never met the kids?"

Her words struck a chord that Hawkeye didn't even know he had within him. It almost pained him. He took a deep breath, his fingers grasping the edge of the Formica table-top. "I, uh…" He shook his head, blinking hard. "I've honestly never thought of it that way. I mean, w-we're not… married or anything." He stumbled over the words, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Something about this conversation felt extremely uncomfortable…

Angie, meanwhile, forged on ahead. "Well, married or not, that's what I'd call you!"

Hawkeye blinked. "I guess… you could call me that. Not that I'm involved with them, of course."

"Do you want to be?"

Hawkeye smiled nervously. "That's not an option. I'm uh… I'm not allowed. You see, I'm a magnificent bad influence on every level." His quip was met with a look from Angie. "I guess I'd like to, you know. I imagine what it's like sometimes, taking the girls out to museums or to the beach, getting to know them, taking them for ice cream and watching them get hyperactive on sugar!" There was a smile on his face, and he didn't even know how it got there.

Once again, Angie's hand made contact with his, only this time it was comforting, not flirtatious. "For what it's worth, I think you'd be a great step-father."

"That's sweet. Maybe you can give me a reference and see if I can get the job! I'll put your name and your café on my resume." Hawkeye raised his cup to her and sipped his coffee, hoping the topic was done. He didn't want to be dismissive, but even Trapper was having trouble getting access to his children these days. Hawkeye's wish to get involved was little more than a saccharine domestic fantasy.

Angie gave him a sympathetic look. "Couldn't your girlfriend put in a good word for you? Talk things through with her ex?"

And there it was – the sinking feeling Hawkeye had been waiting for. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, as he waded in with the story he knew he'd be bound to tell sooner or later. "Uh… uh, sh-she doesn't want to rock the boat." The half-lie lingered on his tongue like a bitter flavour, and he thought he might choke. It didn't feel right! He wanted to shout it from the roof-tops and to hell with what anybody thought! But too many years with too many horrific encounters had ruined him. He didn't want the nice waitress to recoil in horror the way the neighbours did! And so, he stuck to his story: "Um, her… ex-husband took our affair pretty badly – you know, in that way the married people have a tendency to do. We're just… trying to keep our heads down so they don't get bitten off by the family court."

"Maybe he just doesn't want another man influencing his kids. Some guys are like that."

Hawkeye frowned into his coffee cup. "I don't think that's the problem…"

"What's your girlfriend like, anyway? She's gotta be worth it all, right?"

Taking a deep breath, Hawkeye breathed in the aroma of his coffee and tried to push away the awkward feeling. "Absolutely," he said. "We've been together almost six years now and I wouldn't change a thing."

"That's sweet." Angie smiled dreamily. "Where did you meet?"

Again, Hawkeye hesitated. As much as the social interaction was nice, he just didn't know how long he could keep this up. Everything felt like a lie. "We served together." It was the minimal response he could give. And then, suddenly, it seemed like the worst possible explanation, like it was bound to be a giveaway. He hastened to give a little more detail. "We were in a MASH unit – that's uh… Mobile Army Surgical Hospital. In Korea. You know, doctors and nurses…"

Angie's brow creased in thought. "I didn't think the Army let married women in.

"They make exceptions sometimes." He heard his voice go up a few tones, the way it did when he was lying. He didn't know why it did that – he was speaking the truth, she couldn't catch him out on that. There had been a married nurse at the 4077th when he'd first arrived – Trapper had dated her for a month or so until she transferred, said it meant they had something in common – so it wasn't a lie as such. Why were his palms sweating?

Damn it! He used to be so good at this. Back when he was single he used to wax creative with his sexual escapades all the time, casually swapping a few names to disguise the gender of the other party so he could tell the story at parties or at work, and it never bothered him! Maybe it was the lack of company lately with whom to share those raucous stories. Maybe it was too many years of having to execute that same technique in serious conversation over his personal life any time the subject came up. Maybe it was because Trapper wasn't just a funny, dirty story or a notch on his bedpost. Hiding in plain sight was all well and good when you didn't have anything – or anyone – significant to be hiding…

"What's her name?"

Hawkeye's breath caught in his throat for a second, and he gulped down a mouthful of coffee. "Carlye…"

He didn't know why he said it – he figured it was just easier to use a familiar name – but he immediately regretted it, and it was too late to come up with anything else. He'd committed to it now, and the ghost of his ex-girlfriend descended upon the conversation.

"That's a pretty name."

"Uh… yeah. Yeah, it is."

This, it turned out, was too close for comfort. What had been a pleasant conversation was now an awkward game of 'Call My Bluff', and Hawkeye didn't have the nerve to play any more. He would have gladly gone back to flirting with the waitress and forgetting all mention of a partner - current or former - but it was too late for that. As the situation stood, he wanted nothing more than to shrink away and vanish into the floor! His pulse quickened, his hand shook. And then, inevitably, his fingers slipped on his coffee cup, and, in his effort to adjust his grip, it fell, shattering onto the floor. Angie leapt to her feet. "Oh, let me get that!"

"I'm so sorry!"

"No, it's quite alright."

Flourishing a dishcloth, Angie set about retrieving the broken crockery. As she did, the jukebox whirred into life once more, and the Platters started blasting through the diner again.

'Oh, yes I'm the great pretender, Pretending that I'm doing well. My need is such I pretend too much. I'm lonely but no one can tell.'

Suddenly, the lyrics felt far, far too personal. Hawkeye squeezed his eyes closed as the kid whose nickel it was began to shriek at his buddy who had clearly muscled in on his choice. He couldn't take it anymore. He scrambled quickly to his feet, stepping around Angie, who was now clearing up the mess he had made.

"Where are you–?"

"I'm sorry, I'm getting under your feet here."

"No you're not! Really!"

"Thanks for the coffee. I have to go."

He patted her affectionately on the shoulder, and bolted for the door, as Angie stared after him and the record played on.

'Too real is this feeling of make-believe. Too real when I feel what my heart can't conceal…'

The words echoed in his head, and Hawkeye dashed out into the cold.

There was a small park a couple of blocks away from the café, and Hawkeye settled there, sat alone on one park bench as a homeless woman slept on another. The rest of the park was given over to the young and the carefree. Swings, slides and the like were seeing their share of use as the lunchtime family crowd descended upon their little corner of the bustling city. Numerous young women, some with three, four, or even more kids or varying ages, clustered around the little play park with their strollers and baby carriages. Hawkeye couldn't fathom how they did it! He watched one woman carefully settling down with one of her newborn twins for a feed while the other napped, and her older children – three of them, from a boisterous teen to an excitable pre-schooler – set about exhausting themselves on the swings and climbing frames.

He found his mind wandering. Had Trapper done this at some point? Brought the girls to the park and watched and laughed as they had run rings around him? Maybe this park. As he watched the young mothers playing with their kids – laughing with them, scolding them, pressing kisses to skinned knees and bumped heads – he felt painfully, desperately lonely. Angie had been right – he was a step-father. He would have loved to have watched Kathy and Becky playing somewhere like this. Although… he noticed with a sense of discomfort that he was the only man in the entire park. Would they have looked out of place, he wondered, him and Trapper? Two men strolling around the park with two children?

It was all a little academic now, at any rate. Already, Kathy and Becky were a little too old for play parks. Becky was turning all of thirteen today, celebrating her birthday with her father, back at the apartment Hawkeye was officially barred from returning to until five o'clock. Kathy had just started junior high, and the drawings she was bringing over from her art classes were getting pretty damned good in Hawkeye's opinion. Trapper's girls were growing up fast, and he had seen so little of them these past few years.

He was dragged from his reverie by an ear-piercing yell. Glancing over, he noticed that one of the younger children in the play park had tried to climb the wrong way up the slide, and had met with the boots of the kid travelling the other way. Hawkeye leapt to his feet, dashing over to where two bewildered children now lay in a heap on the concrete. The eldest was now nursing a bruised knee and had a hole in his slacks, but was otherwise unscathed. The younger, however, who couldn't have been more than about four, was now wailing loudly. There was blood dripping down his chin from where one of his baby teeth had been knocked loose.

Hawkeye knelt beside him, and the child blinked at him. "It's okay," he said gently, dabbing at the blood with his handkerchief. "It's okay. Let's just find your mommy." Scooping the small boy up in his arms, Hawkeye glanced about for his mother.

He found her soon enough. She came dashing over as quickly as she could. She had a baby in a stroller, and was struggling across the grass from a nearby bench. "What the hell do you think you're–?"

"Oh, hi! It's ok, I was just–"

"What do you think you're doing with my son?!"

"I'm sorry! He fell, and I thought–"

"I know he fell! I saw! I was right there!" She took the child from his arms, wiping his bloody mouth with the sleeve of her cardigan. "It's ok, sweetie!" she cooed softly, in between shooting Hawkeye the dirtiest of looks.

Suddenly, Hawkeye felt hideously guilty. He hadn't meant to alarm her! He was only trying to help! He didn't realize his actions would be perceived as an interference, or even a threat. "No, no! You've got it all wrong," he said weakly. "I'm a doctor, and–"

The young woman glanced at his scruffy clothes and his worn, grubby shoes. "Yeah, sure you are!" she sniffed as she turned to struggle away over the uneven crass, clutching her distraught son to her shoulder.

Swallowing through the wave of nausea that sprung up at her words, Hawkeye turned away, his face flushing. Why did he feel like he'd just been caught lying? He wanted to race back to the apartment and grab his medical diploma and wave it in the air and scream and shout and prove that he was what he said he was! But, instead, he fell silent. Around the park, the atmosphere bristled as heads turned and the other mothers looked suspiciously at the strange man in the ill-fitting clothes who was hanging around the play park. His shoulders slumped and his head bowed, Hawkeye made his way out, his hands shoved in his pockets for warmth, pausing only to drop his last few cents into the mug of change that sat expectantly beside the sleeping homeless woman.

The day passed miserably, and through a haze of discomfort, much in the same way a hangover might. After hours of wandering the streets, pretending to browse in shops for the sake of the warmth, and kicking cans up and down alleyways, Hawkeye headed for home, footsore and chilled to the bone. He eventually found himself entering the dark, grubby stairwell at seven minutes past five. Maria from apartment 5C was on the payphone in the hall, talking animatedly in Spanish. Her voice dropped to a whisper as Hawkeye moved past, but when he smiled at her, she smiled back. He shrugged theatrically to indicate that he couldn't understand her conversation anyway, and she laughed. It was the most touching, genuine exchange he'd had with another human being all day.

The apartment he and Trapper were currently renting was on the top floor. It was big and draughty and they had neither the furniture to fill it nor the money to heat it. It was always cold, but the view was nice. Hawkeye pushed open the front door.

Trapper didn't react when he came in, and Hawkeye closed the door quietly. "Hey."

He got no reply. Trapper was sitting at the far end of the couch, his chin resting in his hand, gazing out of one of the three large windows that filled much of one wall of their living space. Hawkeye was used to the melancholy that set in for a few hours after the girls visited, and, having shrugged his coat off and tossed it into the corner by the door, Hawkeye sank onto the couch beside him. As he took Trapper's hand in his own and rested his head on his shoulder, he noticed the small store-bought birthday cake that sat untouched on the coffee table, its candle unlit. Hawkeye's face fell, his hand tensing a little around Trapper's.

"They didn't come." Trapper answered the unasked question, and Hawkeye's heart sank.

"Goddamn it…" Hawkeye rose to his feet, practically shaking with rage that had nowhere to go. Adrenaline coursed through his system and he paced the kitchen.

He hated seeing this. It wasn't the first time this had happened: Louise had, over the past year in particular, developed a tendency to cancel at the last minute. Trapper's visitations had continued only at her discretion, and, ever since the courts had first declared this, those visitations had grown further and further apart, as if she was methodically chipping away at his relationship with his daughters piece by piece. At least that was Hawkeye's theory. Trapper was more forgiving – he simply concluded that he was being used as a 'last resort' babysitter, and that his time with the girls was specifically arranged only when it was beneficial to Louise – but then, he had to try and maintain a civil relationship with his ex-wife.

Hawkeye had no such qualms. "That… vicious, manipulative, vindictive… My God, if she'd let me within fifty yards of her without throwing kitchen utensils, I'd give her a piece of my mind!"

Trapper didn't respond. He just stared glumly into the middle distance.

Glancing over at him, Hawkeye noticed the collection of empty beer bottles at the side of the couch. "You been drinking all day?"

"Looks like," Trapper replied with a shrug. "Your ex-wife suddenly screwin' you over on your eldest daughter's birthday kinda… messes with a guy's head." His words were slurred, his eyes unfocussed.

Hawkeye shook his head, screwing his eyes closed. "This is unbelievable. She can't do this!"

Trapper groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Hawk, you know damned well she can do what the fuck she likes, an' I can't do a damned thing about it!"

"You could try! Argue the point for once instead of letting her walk all over you!"

Trapper glared at Hawkeye, anger flashing in his eyes. "I ain't lettin' her do anythin'! She just does it."

"And you're sitting back and not even putting up a fight! What is this?! This isn't you!"

"Wha' d'you expect me to do, huh?"

"Fight her, Goddamn it! Instead of sitting here for five hours drinking your body weight in cheap liquor store beer!"

Trapper rose from the couch, his eyes narrowing. "You think I don't fight for my kids?! You think I ain't tried everythin' I can to get her to see reason here!" Trapper gestured emphatically, his hands flying. "An' it hasn't made a damned difference! She hates me, don't you see that?! I left her for another guy, an' now all she sees when she looks at me is a threat. An' that ain't gonna change!" Considering the subject closed, he stalked off to retrieve another bottle of beer from the refrigerator.

Hawkeye pondered quietly. "Maybe you're not saying it right."

"What?!" The bottle was slammed onto the counter and Trapper wrenched it open with the bottle opener that seemed to have become a permanent accessory to his right hand. The top skittered across the counter and onto the floor.

"You're not so good with words, Trapper. You're a… direct-and-to-the-point kind of guy – blunt, maybe even tactless."

Trapper glowered at him. "Oh I am, am I?"

"Sometimes… yeah."

"Oh, so now it's my fault."

"I'm not saying that!"

Trapper snorted and gestured grandly with his beer bottle. "So you tell me, Hawk! Tell me what that great motor-mouth Hawkeye Pierce would say in these circumstances!" He stepped closer. Hawkeye could smell the alcohol on his breath. "Louise called me up at lunchtime an' told me Becky didn't wanna come round – that she wanted to spend her birthday at a friend's house. An' she told me that Kathy is always cold in the apartment, an' it's makin' her sick."

"They didn't have to come here! Trapper, you can't just accept everything she says! You have to negotiate!"

"Negotiate what?! My eldest daughter doesn't wanna see me! She knows I'm livin' with somebody, an' she knows there's somethin' I ain't tellin' her! Hell, there's a chance they even know about you! Do you have any idea how much that terrifies me?"

Hawkeye shuddered. He'd never thought of himself as being that much of a dirty little secret, until now. "Can't say as I did, no…"

"They don't trust me, Hawk! My own kids…"

"So, tell them!"

Trapper scoffed. "You're outta your mind." He raised his beer to his lips and knocked it back, downing a third of it in a single gulp. "My daughters can't know about us, Hawk. First reason bein' that Louise'd cut me off in a second if it got back to her. So that's out."

Hawkeye bristled a little. "What's the second reason?"

"I'm done talkin' about this." He turned and stalked off towards the bedroom.

"You're not going to solve this by sulking!"

"An' you're not gonna tell me how to raise my kids!"

This was yelled at full volume across the apartment. A second later, the bedroom door was slammed, and Hawkeye found himself alone.

Never in his life had he felt so utterly useless. Trapper didn't deserve this – and he didn't deserve to have it taken out on him! Trapper had been nothing but docile and co-operative to Louise for the past five years, and yet she was still going after him. It wasn't right! It wasn't fair! Anger rose up within him, his chest tightening, his hands shaking. What use was he as a partner if he couldn't help? He had to do something. Maybe he couldn't be honest with the woman in the diner, maybe he couldn't help the injured child in the play park, but dealing with unreasonable people was something he could do.

Snatching up the car keys from the coffee table, and grabbing his coat from the corner, Hawkeye Pierce strode out of the apartment with purpose in his step and fire in his eyes.