Author's note: I went on holiday to Maine last summer, largely the coastal regions around Penobscot Bay. While Crabapple Cove does not exist, we did drive past a 'Crabapple Creek' and 'Crabapple Drive' in a town called Bremen, where Richard Hooker used to live. My depictions of the Cove are based mostly on my experiences on this road trip, and on descriptions by a friend who lives in New England.


Crabapple Cove, Maine – November, 1951

The next couple of weeks were… odd, to say the least. Never had Trapper known such a bizarre combination of domestic bliss and tense formality.

Here, he got to see Hawkeye in his own home, at his most relaxed, and, he had to admit, he fell in love with him all over again. He'd never known the kind of joy that came with the discovery of all those silly little habits: the way Hawkeye would wince and whine when his boiled egg was too hot to get into without burning his fingers, and would sulk until it cooled down; the child-like glee that radiated from him every time his favourite show was on the radio or TV; the way he seemed incapable (or unwilling) to dress with anything resembling co-ordination and would emerge from his bedroom in the most peculiar combinations of colours and fabrics. His shirts came in a variety of stripes and plaids, and all a garish array of salmon pink, aquamarine blue, hunter green and lemon yellow, and he seemed to own a surprisingly vast range of golfing apparel for someone who wasn't even a member of a golfing club.

"I used to be!" Hawkeye had explained, emerging from his bedroom in another revolting argyle sweater. "They just… asked me politely to leave on account of my getting drunk and driving a golf cart into the lake."

Hawkeye's bedroom, of course, became the source of all fascination to Trapper. Not necessarily for the purposes of debauchery, but simply because it was his. He was allowed in occasionally, normally to help with chores, and he couldn't resist examining the little childhood knickknacks that still cluttered up the place. The worn teddy bear under the desk; the battered dollhouse in the corner; the faded bedspread with its embroidered sailboats, some clearly stitched by an adult, expert hand and others obviously the work of a creative but unskilled child. Trapper ran his fingers over those messy stitches, remembering how he had admired Hawkeye's perfect sutures in the O.R., and pondered with a smile over the thought of tiny Hawkeye making his first hesitant stitches with red thread on blue cotton. As he stood here, he felt he was taking a step closer to Hawkeye – not just as he was today, but everything that made him as a person, and everything he had been. Never in his life had he wanted to know everything there was to know about another human being. It was that curiosity, and that alone, that made their isolation bearable.

He'd never had this with Louise. Their courtship had been brief, their marriage rushed. Before he knew it, he'd found himself standing at family gatherings with a nervous smile on his face and a squirming baby in his arms: Rebecca Louise Joanna McIntyre had born 'premature' – and at nine pounds three ounces. There had been no time for Trapper to get to know his wife-to-be. There wasn't even time for him to want to. Love became a necessity – the glue that was required to hold their young family together. It was there, but it was squeezed out of him like sweat as he'd toiled through extra shifts in his residency to help cover their bills, or when the pair of them paced the apartment late into the night as Becky cried and bellowed her way through another bout of colic. There had been no time to relish those early days. He'd dried up all too soon.

Hawkeye was worlds apart from all that. There was no purposeful mystery here – no allure designed and upheld to seduce him or keep him interested. These days, with his rules against any raunchy behaviour still in place, Hawkeye was putting considerable effort into being as unalluring as possible, but the unpolished honesty of him just made Trapper adore him more. They would bump into one another in the hallway each morning, Trapper in his pyjamas and Hawkeye in yesterday's underwear, with stains down his shirt and his hair sticking up. And he would yawn and scratch himself and rub at his sleepy eyes with his bony knuckles, seeming to forget momentarily that he had company. And Trapper's heart would swell with affection, and he'd brush past and give him a morning kiss and a hug before they had to join Daniel downstairs, and the barriers would go up once again.

It made sense in a way, Trapper thought, that he should find Hawkeye's openness so endearing. This was how they had grown so close to start with. He'd seen Hawkeye stark naked months before they had even kissed. He'd seen him hung over and puking his guts up outside the Swamp because he didn't make it to the latrine. He'd seen him streaked with tears and snot, crying his eyes out because, after the first three weeks in Korea, he could finally admit that he was scared; that he missed his dad and his home and his own bed. Trapper had given him a bottle of gin and a handkerchief – in that order – and the next day they built the still together. Hawkeye held nothing back – not after that – and now they were back in those early days, getting to know one another's habits and quirks. Trapper felt, at times, like he knew him utterly, and yet at others, he felt like he could never know enough.

He missed him at night. His presence in that room just at the other end of the hall seemed to call to him, but he resisted the urge to break the rules and creep across the landing. It wasn't even the sex that he missed – it was the comforting familiarity of sleeping a few feet away from someone and listening to them breathe and sigh and dream. With so much of Trapper's life in upheaval, such a presence might have been a comfort – lord knows, he needed it. He'd slept alongside Hawkeye for almost a year – now, the silence was unbearable.

More unbearable still was the way Hawkeye would recoil from his touch sometimes. Trapper understood: he was uneasy with the idea of being intimate in his childhood home, and disinclined to rush their tentative reconciliation Trapper longed to just be able to hold him without the fear of being pushed away. He tried not to take it personally but he missed the physical affection: the footrubs, the lengthy kissing sessions, the way they would take it in turns to style one another's hair. Hawkeye had been more daring in Korea! Here, he was jumpy and paranoid, barely relaxing for long enough for Trapper to wrap his arms around him for more than a few seconds.

Then, there was the presence of Doctor Pierce Senior, a figure who Trapper could not quite regard with anything other than intimidated respect. After his initial warning, Daniel had been nothing but kind and amicable to him, and yet Trapper felt like there was an aura of disapproval following him around the house. It didn't help that Hawkeye, too, would flinch every time Trapper's hand grazed his own, even by accident, in his father's presence, and would leap away when he entered the room, as if they were sitting or standing a little too close. Trapper began to wonder just how far the older man's acceptance went, and if maybe Hawkeye knew something he didn't. They tip-toed around him, hiding every visible hint of their intimacy. Their relationship was the elephant in the room, and they hid it away beneath a veil of platonic indifference, never talking about it, just as they hid themselves from the rest of the world, and Daniel in turn declined to comment on his son's relationship with their lodger.

But all that was about to change.


"I've had just about enough of this!"

Trapper awoke feeling like he'd just had a thousand volts shot through him. The first thing he noticed was that it was dark, and cold. They'd fallen asleep with the living room curtains closed and the fire still roaring, but now the embers weren't even glowing and their cosy hideaway was not so cosy.

The second thing he noticed was that he was wrapped around Hawkeye having nodded off together while watching TV, gravitating towards one another for warmth as they'd slept, and the whole thing probably looked far more intimate than it had been.

The two of them shot apart like they'd been caught necking in the back seat at the movies, and Trapper had visions of spending another night at a bus station – only this time with Hawkeye asleep on the bench next to him. Hawkeye's expression looked like he'd had the same image as he scrambled to his feet and bundled the blanket up, mumbling both apologies and excuses.

"You two are unbelievable!" Daniel grumbled to himself as he hit the off switch on the TV.

Trapper cringed.

Hawkeye ducked his head at his father's admonishment. He thought they'd been as discreet and respectful as they could. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise to me. Apologise to him." Daniel pointed to Trapper, who stared at him in utter confusion. Hawkeye joined him, and Daniel rolled his eyes and looked heavenward. "The pair of you are locking yourselves away like you're criminals on the run! Even if you're not going to help me out at the clinic, either one of you, you could at least leave the house sometime!"

The pair exchanged looks, thrown by the direction this conversation had taken. Daniel sighed.

"Look, I know you're worried about the neighbours, but for God's sake, get out there! You're in the most beautiful state in the country, and at the best time of year. Stop hiding! I had four weeks of you moping about the place before he got here, so now go show the boy the scenery! I realise you're worried about your future, but that's no reason not to enjoy the present."

"But, Dad…"

"I won't hear it! There's a fine line between caution and paranoia, and you've gone way over. One trip to the beach isn't about to set tongues wagging."

"Yeah, but… you see, you know Mrs Everett across the street? She…"

"I don't give a damn about Mrs Everett or anyone else!" Trapper blinked at that – his own parents never swore. "We're going out, and we're having a nice evening! Got it?"

All further arguments were forgotten. They extricated themselves from the couch and trudged to their rooms to get dressed and shod. Daniel's words echoed in Trapper's mind. One word in particular: 'future', singular. Was that what he had with Hawkeye? Daniel Pierce was using language synonymous with married couples. Was that how he saw them? Was that what this was in his eyes?

Pulling his shoes on, Trapper tried to get his head around it. He'd gone from being locked away in his own home to being ordered to stop hiding in someone else's. Life was strange.

Hawkeye met him on the landing, emerging from his room wearing a purple plaid shirt and scruffy cords. He was running his hands through his hair in an effort to smooth it, and failing miserably. It was still strange to see one another in civvies, and Trapper had, by now, concluded that Hawkeye had no sense of style whatsoever. He caught his eye with a small smile, and Hawkeye approached him, reaching out to brush his lapels.

"You always wear a suit to the beach?"

Trapper smirked. "Hey, you saw the bag I arrived with! I ain't exactly packed for all kinds of weather here!" He glanced down at Hawkeye's bright yellow wellingtons. "Is there some local custom that says ya have to dress like the fishermen?"

"Genealogically speaking, we're all fishermen here!"

"Oh?" Trapper quirked an eyebrow as he snuck a sly hug in the darkness of the landing. "Genealogically speakin'? Right. Guess I better go get my kilt."

"Not around here you won't – unless you're willing to put up with one heck of a cold gust up your nethers. You sure you don't want to borrow something warmer?"

Trapper gave Hawkeye's tiny waist a squeeze. "Are you kiddin'? I'd bust out at the seams."

"Not mine – I mean my dad could lend you…"

"No way, Hawk. I already feel bad enough invadin' his house. I ain't about to start goin' through his wardrobe. Come on – let's mush. I don't wanna keep your old man waitin'."

"Right. Yes. Pop's orders – we're having a nice day out, whether we like it or not." Hawkeye gave him a peck on the cheek and reluctantly slid out of his arms. Trapper was surprised to find himself trembling, although whether it was from fear or excitement was anybody's guess.


They pulled up next to an empty beach: wide and flat, with its dark sands peppered with rocks and grasses. As they got out, the sharp chill of the air hit Trapper in the face, and a few flakes of snow were beginning to fall in the chill of the evening. "You gotta be kiddin'…"

Daniel Pierce, wrapped up in overcoat, hat, and boots just like his son's, responded with little sympathy. "Come on, city boy! You won't get there any faster by standing there shivering."

"Get where?"

"Not sure yet. I'll decide when we get there."

Hawkeye, meanwhile, seemed unperturbed by his father's peculiar approach to planning, and was already vaulting the weathered old fence that stood between them and the coast. Trapper had no choice but to follow.

They struck out across the sand. Trapper's shoes were soon filthy, and the damp was starting to creep in. He held his thin coat around himself as the wind and sleet ripped past him. Sand blew into his face and he had to keep turning away and closing his eyes. Daniel was getting further and further into the distance, and although Hawkeye kept coming back for him, laughing and joking, Trapper felt like the slow kid in the relay and, after a while, mumbled to him, "Don't worry about me – I'll catch up." Hawkeye stopped coming back – or at least pretended to. Instead he would become 'distracted' by bits of debris in the sand, and would pause to prod at things, or stare into rock pools until Trapper caught up, and then he would act 'surprised' that he'd been standing there for so long.

After some time, the sand gave way to an expanse of rocks. Daniel strode across them effortlessly, hands shoved in pockets. Hawkeye seemed to do some sort of dance, leaping across them theatrically, which Trapper figured was about one half trying to keep his balance and one half showing off.

Trapper… did neither. His athletic talents lay in football and boxing, and this was not his forte. He traversed the rocks with difficulty. Each step was a military exercise. Flat surfaces were nowhere to be seen, and the nearest things approximating them had taken it upon themselves to cultivate a rich carpet of seaweed, thus granting them all the traction of an ice rink. Trapper slipped. His hand went down and sank into the mud, his foot ankle-deep in water. "Oh, Goddamn it!"

He extracted himself and tried to wipe the sand off in a nearby rock pool, only to wind up incurring the wrath of a startled crab.

By the time he'd cleaned up and nursed his finger, he was met with the sight of Hawkeye standing a little while up ahead, laughing his ass off as he perched precariously on a rock that mountain goats would have struggled to traverse.

Trapper scowled. "Jackass!"

"Ah, I bet you regret making fun of my footwear now!" Hawkeye wiggled his toes in his yellow wellingtons.

"I didn't know there was mountaineerin' involved in this trip!" Grumbling, Trapper continued on his perilous journey – and Hawkeye waited.

"It's not so hard when you're used to it. I grew up here – smashed one of my baby teeth on these rocks. It's probably still floating around out there somewhere." Hawkeye gestured out to the cove. "Come on – I'll help you." He took Trapper's hands and began to lead him, instructing him where to put his feet. A few times, he fell, but Hawkeye caught him, and, on one occasion, fell down with him. But they helped each other up and soldiered on.

They both reached the other side of the outcrop covered in sand and mud, clinging to one another. They didn't let go, even as they re-joined Daniel at the edge of the beach, where the sand rose into a grassy bank. By this time, Trapper was laughing too, and Hawkeye was in hysterics.

"I was beginning to give up hope," Daniel quipped. "Figured you'd been eaten by seagulls."

"Trapper fell in the mud."

Daniel eyed his son's muddy clothes. "Seems to me he wasn't the only one."

"Oh, I didn't fall – I was dragged in. Purposefully and maliciously!"

Chuckling, Daniel led the way up the embankment to the path. Hawkeye bounded up after him, then came back and dragged Trapper up by the hand.

Up on the hill, they could see the rest of the Cove stretching out, curving around the ocean as if the land itself were embracing it. Buildings nestled in the trees on the hillside. It was as if nature itself had taken it upon itself to shelter the inhabitants of this little town.

There was nobody out here by the ocean at this time of day on a harsh, Fall evening, and there were scarce few buildings at this end of town. The path they were on led up to a little wooden footbridge that looked about as sturdy as the rickety fence they had clambered over to get to the beach. It bridged the gap between the mainland and a tiny little island only a few yards away – you could probably walk to it at low tide – upon which sat a lighthouse, two small cottages, and what looked like a large shack with a deck bolted onto the side of it.

"Barney's," Daniel announced, pointing across the bridge. "We'll go there."

Trapper had to assume that the shack-like building was some sort of eatery, but there was no signage to suggest this. Either that or 'Barney' was the owner of one of the houses and they were going to pay him a visit. He paused for a moment, surveying the scenery again. It really was quite beautiful here, especially at this time of year. He followed the line of the coast around, impressed at the distance they had covered, all the way to Daniel's little blue pickup truck, glinting in the distance.

"Hey, wait a minute," Trapper called up the path.

Daniel paused. "What's the matter, sonny? Don't you like sea food?"

Trapper examined the lie of the land. "This path goes right up to the street, and there's parking right up there by the harbour. So how come we didn't drive round here?"

Smiling, Daniel stepped a little closer. "Because," he explained conspiratorially, "it's not the destination that's important."

With those words, he set off along the bridge. Hawkeye gave Trapper's hand a tug, and in doing so, realised he'd been holding it the entire time.


Barney's was little more than a large wooden cottage perched on the side of a tiny speck of land poking out of the Atlantic, but the food was great. Even with the windows closed, they could still hear the sea hitting the rocks below them. It was off-season, but Barney was happy to serve locals all year round, and welcomed them into his home/business. Daniel ordered lobster for everyone, and Hawkeye instructed Trapper on how to eat it. The cutlery looked more like surgical instruments, and when he declined to wear the cotton bib he was presented with (because he felt stupid) Hawkeye shook his head at him. "No no no. Wear the bib, Trap. Trust me."

Daniel chuckled. "How anybody can live their entire life in New England and not have eaten lobster is beyond me!"

Trapper bristled slightly, but he knew Daniel meant well. Growing up in the Boston slums, lobster had usually been out of his family's price range, and even once he'd made it to college, he hadn't wanted to embarrass himself by ordering something armour plated and then losing the battle to eat it.

Getting into his food was like surgery, too. Trapper hacked and sawed his way through and eventually struck fish. It was almost grotesque, if it didn't smell so delicious. Inside, he found steaming white meat, and some strange, grey liquid gunk that looked like the innards.

"I don't eat the grey stuff, do I?" he asked, pointing at it with the two-pronged fork he'd been using to poke bits of meat out of the claws.

Daniel shrugged. "Try it. If you don't like it, don't eat it."

Trapper looked hesitant. Hawkeye leaned over the table towards him. "Don't listen to him. He played the same trick on my prom date at homecoming when I was seventeen. She threw up on my tux and never went out with me again."

Trapper laughed, and left the grey stuff. Across the table, Daniel chuckled into his napkin.


They were the only customers on this chilly Wednesday evening, and as such Barney didn't seem to mind them making themselves at home. After desserts, Daniel went to sleep in front of the fire, a glass of Scotch nestled in his hand and threatening to tip onto the carpet. Trapper had one too, and watched as Hawkeye made a fuss of Barney's dog. The large, black spaniel growled playfully as Hawkeye scratched at its ears, and Trapper watched in silent amusement as Hawkeye played with the dog and chatted away to Barney. It felt strange to be out in Hawkeye's home town, where he knew every inch of the place, as well as most of the people.

He'd been introduced as Hawkeye's 'war buddy' who he'd met in Korea, a white lie that was about 50% truth, and didn't quite sit right with Trapper. He wasn't sure which half was making him nervous, so he settled for both and took his whiskey out onto the deck for some air.

His shoes were still drying next to the fire after his brush with the rock pools, stuffed with newspaper and being guarded by the sleeping Doctor Pierce in case the dog decided to turn one into a chew toy. Trapper padded out in his socks, feeling the wooden boards against the soles of his feet with every step. It was an odd sensation.

The wood was old but sturdy, and jutted out over the cliffs like a miniature boardwalk. Trapper watched the sea move beneath him through the cracks between the planks, the waves breaking away into meandering lines of foam, then leaned on the railing to watch the night sky. Looking east, it was not so much the sunset as the slow ascent of darkness. Already the glow of twilight was giving way to a deeper shade of blue, peppered with stars, as the sun sank slowly into the vast continent behind him.

The day had been pleasant. Not in the way Trapper was used to, but in a new, exciting way. Was this the life he was signing up for with Hawkeye? Scrambling across rock pools and dissecting lobsters? Smiling and nodding to strangers who were Hawkeye's oldest friends, knowing they could never really let on what they were to one another? Could he handle that?

And even if they didn't stay here, would life elsewhere be much different? Everything was still unknown. Terrifying. Dangerous. Was the judgement of strangers any better than that of old neighbours? They wouldn't be able to keep their secret forever. Trapper knew only too well that wherever you are, however careful you may be, the truth will come out. Could he handle that? He hoped so. He'd already lost his wife and his career… possibly his children, too – a lump rose in his throat at the mere thought of Kathy and Becky so many miles away, being told lord-knows-what by their mother – and to lose Hawkeye as well would destroy him. He had no choice but to face the world.

The future stretched out before him like the open Atlantic, vast and unknown and unpredictable, shrouded in darkness.

He felt a nudge at his elbow, and without turning his head, he smiled. "Heya, Hawk."

Hawkeye shuffled closer, shivering. "What are we looking at?"

"Nothin'."

"Ah, we do a good line in nothing out here. Like nothing you're ever seen."

They continued to look. Trapper sipped his whiskey.

"Y'know," Trapper mumbled into the encroaching night. "I've known ya over a year now. By the time I'd known Louise that long, we'd had a baby."

Hawkeye nodded. "I promise I'm not pregnant. I'd tell you if I was."

"I ain't ever done this before."

"Well, if it's any consolation, you did really well." The smirk around Hawkeye's lips gave the game away before he got to the punchline. "The claws are the hard part."

"Not the lobster, ya knucklehead." Grinning, Trapper sipped his Scotch. "I mean… this romance thing."

"Oh, is that what you think this is? We'd better ditch my dad if that's the case."

"You know what I mean." Another sip. Another moment's thought. "I ain't ever taken the time to get to know somebody before. Can't say I ever cared to 'til now. An' with Louise… Well, I never got the chance."

There was an awkward silence. A wave hit the rocks below.

"I wore a yellow tie at our weddin' – Louise hates yellow."

Hawkeye shuddered slightly, uneasy when the topic of Trapper's wife came up. "Is there a reason you're telling me this?"

"I just want you to know where I'm comin' from here. My marriage was…" He paused, took a breath. "I got her in trouble." Even now, he whispered the words. His regret at the time had been purely selfish, but now his failure to stick to the vow he had made in haste seemed to heap more guilt upon him than that initial impatience that started it all. "It was strange, y'know. One second I was sat outside her sorority house, tossin' stones at her window, an' the next we were livin' together. There was this woman in my apartment who I ain't even seen without her makeup on, an' I realised… I didn't even know this person. Hawk, it was a mess. I might'a cracked jokes about it in Korea, but when I really think about it…" He trailed off, shaking his head. It felt strange – sharing his woes over the breakdown of his marriage with the man he'd cheated on his wife with. How surreal could a man's personal life get? He looked up at Hawkeye, finding him listening intently, his face calm and concerned. Gentle, he reached out and stroked his cheek. "You're only the second person I've ever been with who I didn't just bang an' run. An' if I'm real honest with myself, the other one might'a been a different story if I hadn't had her father an' mine breathin' down my neck."

"You wouldn't have done that to her."

"I ain't so sure, Hawk. I can be a jerk when I'm backed into a corner. An' I'm not sure I want you to ever see that side of me. Every day we learn somethin' new about each other, an' I love that – I love you – but what happens when we run outta the good stuff?"

Hawkeye shrugged. "Then we deal with that when it comes to it. You think I'm all wine and roses? Trapper, we've fought before now, and we got through it. You know damned well I can be a piece of shit when I want to be, and we're still together."

Trapper's lips curved into a smile that could almost be described as shy. "Oh, that's what we are, is it?"

Hawkeye fell silent for a moment. Somewhere, in the awkward domesticity and the hesitant kisses on the landing, he realised that, somehow, that was exactly what they were. "Yeah…" His fingers intertwined with Trapper's, and he smiled warmly. "In all kinds of weather."

They stood there as the sun set, and the darkness swept across the sky above them. The sea continued to crash below, growing in volume. Still, Hawkeye's thumb traced over Trapper's fingers, a gesture hidden from the world, just as they had once done through the bars of a military stockade.

"By the way…" Hawkeye's words were murmured against Trapper's shoulder as he nestled his head there.

"Hmm?"

"I love you, too."

Trapper's heart soared, and his cautious smile widened to a grin.

Behind them, Daniel stirred from his nap, unfolded his old bones from the chair, and joined them on the little balcony. It was, by now, pitch black, and the older man surveyed the darkness. "We should get back," he said at last, almost apologetic. "There's a storm coming."

The younger men regarded the night air curiously. Even Hawkeye, who had lived here all his life, had never been able to read the air like a human barometer the way his father could. The Pierces had been fishermen up until Daniel. Maybe the ability diluted itself with each generation?

Reluctantly, he let go of Trapper's hand and followed his father inside.