When I say "somewhat shippy" and possibly "somewhat slashy", I really mean especially shippy and mostly slashy. Haha.
Disclaimer: Do not own, or make any profit from or do anything benefitting me in any illegal manner whatsoever with any of the M*A*S*H story-lines, characters, or anything that has to do with it. At all. End of story. (I hate disclaimers, in case you couldn't tell.)

"Clamp."

"Clamp."

Hawkeye let out a long yawn behind his surgical mask. His breath was rank from not eating or drinking for the last few hours, and he curled his nose at the smell. It was three o'clock in the morning and the majority of the medical staff had all retired. Henry was running anesthesia while they finished this last surgery, and Trapper had left half a hour ago, upon Hawkeye's insistence. Trying to stay awake, Pierce recalled in his mind a timeline of the last day, including most memorable moments- mentally composing a letter to his father. He would mention the long hours, the boy who couldn't be over sixteen that had died on his table, and the sandwiches Radar had managed to procure that were basically a lifeline for everyone. He wouldn't mention having to change his blood-soaked socks, or the amount of gin he'd consume afterward to get over the whole ordeal. He wouldn't mention trying to save the ones he knew he couldn't- he wouldn't mention yelling at anyone in the area who would listen, or that he had fumed and swore until he couldn't breathe, or that he'd worried he'd gone off the deep end for a minute there.

"I know everyone thinks you're something special, but you're not God!"

A clash of surgical instruments being thrown and a stunned silence that followed afterward. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not exactly working with the twelve disciples, either, Frank."

Of course, he'd felt bad. He'd apologized. Cleaned up his mess, and helped carry the boy out. There wasn't a soul in the unit that wasn't either sleeping or exhausted- or both, Hawkeye thought. His nurse was practically asleep on her feet and he wasn't far behind. The exhaustion had overridden his humor and he had even given up on bothering Frank. Thirteen hours of on-and-off surgery (mostly on, in the surgeons' cases,) had them all beat. Luckily, it was almost over. The attacks at the front had been drawn back- at least for now. Hawkeye finished his last suture and leaned back heavily against the wall, motioning at the staff who immediately took over, preparing the patient for post-op recovery. Pulling off his pair of bloody gloves and throwing them in the bin, he started washing his hands in the sink and scrubbing himself down, watching the water rush down the drain, tinted with red. He made his way outside slowly, mouth stretched open in a yawn. Leaning against the wall, he took in the smell of not surgery. Ignoring the rain on his face, he breathed in deeply, daring to close his eyes for a few seconds. It was silent, ignoring the normal sounds of the M*A*S*H unit. Someone pacing behind the tents on guard duty, a latrine door slamming shut, boots in the mud- and the rain. The rain was a refreshing cleanse after smelling nothing but a mixture of blood and antiseptic for what seemed like days. The air wasn't stale, there was no OR clatter or discussion, no tension and just the rain. Rain, and mud, and night, and a wall to sit against, and tired, and sleep- and suddenly waking.

"Hawk. Hawkeye! Hey, come on."

Blinking awake, Hawkeye saw Trapper leaning over him, curls peeking out from where the hood of his jacket was pulled up to shield himself from the pelting rain. Unsure of his own feet, Pierce allowed himself to be pulled up from his spot against the wall and dragged toward the Swamp. He knew Trapper had asked him why he was in the rain, and if he was okay, but an answer was hard to produce from his mind that insisted on staying asleep. There was only a brief moment when he entered the Swamp and sat down on his cot that he felt vividly awake for. Trapper had knelt down in front of him and began pulling his boots off, unlacing them and tugging them off gently. It was only once he started pulling Pierce's shirt over his head that he gave any hint of being awake- grabbing Trapper by the hands and shushing him, as though the motion would bring attention.

"He's still here, Trap." Hawkeye nodded in the direction of Frank's bunk. The major was snoring soundly from the dark corner of the tent. Trapper had shook his head and finished pulling the soaking shirt over Hawkeye's head.

"Don't care."

Pierce felt something wrap around his shoulders and let himself be tucked into the cot, his mind remembering that his dad used to tuck him into bed- a tuck at the sides, and then the feet, then a comforting hand on his shoulder before he went to sleep. The routine was the same with Trapper- except for the kiss on his temple- that was certainly new- but Hawkeye Pierce was blissfully unaware of this, eyes shut and furrowed under the army-issued, drab blankets, fully asleep.

The next morning- or afternoon, really, seeing as he'd slept until well after lunch the next day- Hawkeye stumbled out of his tent, clad in the clothes he'd slept in. He pulled his boots on and headed straight for the mess tent, seeing as there was no reason to worry about missing his shifts that had already gone by. Radar had snuck in early that morning to inform him that Frank and Henry had done Post-Op duty for him and cut the detail in half for the rest of the afternoon since he'd worked extra shifts the previous day. Entering the tent, Pierce steered clear of the leftovers from whatever it was they'd had for lunch and grabbed a cup of coffee. Cold coffee, but coffee. Grabbing a second cup in his other hand, he headed out into the sunlight and toward Post-Op. Major Houlihan fell in beside him, offering him a small smile. He returned it, inquiring about one of his patients.

"I'm on my way over now. Why don't you tag along and see him for yourself?"

"Sure thing."

"You really needed one for each hand?" She motioned at the coffee cups. He smirked.

"Oh yes. It's always best that way; like when handling a nurse."

"Oh! You're disgraceful to this army."

"Thank you. I try."

Hawkeye held the door open for the major and they entered together. Frank and Trapper were standing nearby, seemingly having a battle of opinions. Margaret hurried to the back to consult with the last nurse on duty before the shift change. As soon as Frank saw Pierce coming toward him, he pointed at him. "And you! He's no better. You two think just because you worked more means my work is less important! You're always showing up at inopportune times, when I've already done what needs to be done-" Frank looked Pierce up and down once. "And never professional. You're not even wearing your uniform- you're not even wearing your own clothes."

Pierce looked down at himself. It was true- the only thing that belonged to him that he was wearing was his shoes, pants and underwear. Trapper's robe was around his shoulders, and the teeshirt underneath was suspiciously too big for his narrow shoulders. He shrugged. "I can take them off for you, if you like."

Frank's mouth fell open and he spluttered. "I could have you for that."

"Sorry, I don't swing that way."

Frank glared, opened his mouth to reply, and thought better of it, hurrying off- no doubt to go tell on the boys to Margaret. Trapper laughed and picked up the chart the major threw down onto the bed, handing it to Hawkeye. "Here's the one you finished up last night. You did good."

"Why of course. Simple." It had been his longest surgery, the most tedious, the one that he would let himself be proud of if the kid did alright. "Could've done it in my sleep."

"You did." Trapper's tone was teasing, but he had a sympathetic look on his face. Hawkeye wasn't sure, but he felt like he detected a hint of pride in the man's eyes as well. He nodded once, acknowledging what was going unsaid. Trapper handed him the clipboard for the next patient, their hands brushing as he did so. Hawkeye looked up, meeting the eyes smiling at him. He smiled back- and called for another back of fluids.