Crabapple Cove, Maine - November, 1951

Life got a little better after that. Trapper felt marginally less on edge around his 'father-in-law' – at least, once it was apparent that he wasn't about to rain down fire and brimstone upon them for every little transgression – and Trapper and Hawkeye's world grew a little. They didn't fuck in the treehouse, but they did visit it, and explored the Cove together. They gravitated mostly towards the natural beauty that the area offered rather than risk drawing attention in town, but it was refreshing to enjoy the hiking trails and the coastlines, as well as all the little childhood hideaways Hawkeye had found growing up. Once again, Trapper relished each discovery and every childhood anecdote, and he began to love Crabapple Cove as much as Hawkeye did.

This was their sanctuary. They were isolated; safe in their solitude, but trudging through life directionless – which, to skilled doctors who had spent the best years of their lives forever striving towards another qualification, another career goal, was occasionally terrifying. Not to mention the awful, dreadful hole Trapper felt in his gut every day he was away from his children. Too many nights he would wake up in a cold sweat, reaching out for a tiny hand that he couldn't grasp. Sometimes he would cry. On those occasions, Hawkeye would tip-toe through from his room and perch on the end of Trapper's bed, whispering words of comfort. And Trapper would soak them up and hold him and thank him for being there, and he'd never felt so grateful to another human being in his life. But he could see the worry etched on Hawkeye's face – that the desperation to be reunited with his children might drag him away once more. It was a look that never quite seemed to fade, no matter what Trapper said to reassure him. It would take time, he kept reminding himself, and time was one thing they had in abundance.

Day after day ticked by, each one marked by nothing but its eventless, but altogether pleasant, mundanity.

It was the strangest combination of paradise and purgatory, and Trapper wasn't sure if they were pleasure cruising or sailing without a rudder. The world with all its judgements was kept at bay, but with it went all concept of identity, labels and security, and any kind of grounding over what exactly they were, as individuals or as a pair. All those old titles had gone – 'doctor'; 'father'; 'husband'. Trapper tried 'boyfriend' on for size and Hawkeye wrinkled his nose: "Trapper, I'm not twelve!" They continued to float through their days, learning more about one another but never discovering what they were, where they were going, or what they were going to do. 'Together' was one thing – what they were going to do with that was another matter entirely.

Their living situation was hardly perfect, either, with each of them taking joy in their proximity but forever feeling the distance between them. At night, the hallway felt like a chasm. During the day, they were joined at the hip.

They fell into the habit of watching TV together. All three of them, lined up in front of the box. His father would take a chair, and Hawkeye would have the sofa with Trapper at his side. While the flickering light and electronic voices filled the room, Hawkeye got surprisingly cosy, occasionally touching Trapper's arm before he leaned over to add his own comedic commentary to whatever show they were watching. Trapper would laugh, and Daniel would too. It felt… almost as if they had his approval, and some of the tension of their bizarre living arrangement melted away as they munched popcorn together and stared in unified horror at stop-motion animated clay monsters.

The phone ringing was unexpected. Again, Muriel was on call – it could only be an emergency – and Daniel raced to answer it on impulse, leaving the younger men to watch the show.

"Must be serious." Hawkeye looked worried. "Muriel can handle anything. She's a qualified nurse but practically a doctor everywhere except on paper. She's been studying at my dad's side since I was in high school. Got me through my first year medical exams."

Both Hawkeye and Trapper half-listened to Daniel's clipped responses through the open door, incapable of ignoring a potential medical situation. Then, without ringing off, Daniel returned. "It's for you."

He was looking at Trapper.

Hawkeye's blood ran cold. There was only one person that could be. Trapper had posted contact details to his wife several days ago, should she – or her lawyer – wish to get in touch with him. And now, the look Trapper gave him was almost a guilty one. Through his invitation, Louise had infiltrated their inner sanctum. Their fortress was compromised.

Daniel confirmed his fears: "Louise."

Hawkeye stared, his face an unreadable mask. Somehow, he managed to keep his voice from trembling as he told Trapper, "Go on – talk to her."

It had to be said, Hawkeye did a fantastic job of not showing how terrified he was. His trust, what little there was of it, shattered at little more than the mention of that dreaded name. Outwardly, however, his expression barely flickered. But Daniel knew how to read his son like a book, and, as Trapper stood and wordlessly left the room, he saw his son's face crease, emotions rising to the surface, rippling and uncontrollable.

They didn't talk. As usual, the Pierce family tendency towards awkward silence stood firm, and instead they sat wordlessly at opposite ends of the couch as Trapper's mumbled replies wafted through from the hall.

He didn't say much, and as the conversation dragged on, Hawkeye grew more and more tense. His doubts spiralled into fears – fear that two weeks of cosy co-habitation would never be enough to stand up to seven years of marriage and two children; that a change of heart on Louise's part would be enough to bring Trapper running, and he would be on a bus home tomorrow.

He tried not to show it. He fought to smile through the tears. He laughed at the TV, made stupid jokes, commented on the wardrobe choices of the lead actor – anything to distract from the fact that his hands were shaking and his eyes were glistening. Daniel watched him with growing distress, but all he could bring himself to do was move into the spot next to his son and put a comforting hand on his arm.

In the hall, Trapper's disjointed semi-conversation changed tone, and his voice cracked as he asked "Can I speak to my girls?" and a moment later, a playful, joyous, even sing-song tone rang out. "Hello, my darling! Daddy's missed you too…" This went on for some time, as Trapper tried to catch up on every little corner of each daughter's life – school, friends, games, new toys, and anything else he might have missed in his absence. His despondency when it was time to say 'goodbye' was more than evident.

Then, more mumbled monosyllables to Louise, and a quiet, terrifying "I'll be back soon," before he finally hung up.

Hawkeye went cold. He still stared, unmoving at the TV. Daniel Pierce got slowly to his feet and left the room.

When Trapper walked in a minute later, Hawkeye didn't look up. He just sat there, his eyes fixed forward so Trapper wouldn't see the tears glistening in them. "You know what ruins TV compared to the movies?" he said at last, still not looking up. "Canned laughter. Who invented that? I don't need my television telling me when to laugh. I know what's funny. I don't need some Hollywood sound editor telling me where the funny bits are. If I did, then someone needs to fire the script writers, because they're clearly not doing their job." His voice was tight, his joviality forced.

Trapper gave a glance in the direction of the set, where tonight's episode of some mediocre sitcom was still going through its formulaic, domestic paces. The husband had done something mildly silly, and the incident had inflated to ludicrous proportions before the first commercial break on the basis that, for some reason, married couples on television didn't know how to have a conversation. But all would no doubt be resolved and they would return to their normal, loving selves by the end with no long term repercussions in exactly the same way real people didn't. Trapper turned back to the man on the couch. "Hawkeye?"

There was silence. At last, Hawkeye stared at Trapper.

Trapper stood quietly, hands behind his back. "Mind if we step outside?"

"You're gonna fight me for my opinions on light entertainment sound editing? Since when did you care so much about the arts?" Hawkeye's voice was flat and miserable, and Trapper didn't laugh.

"Hawk?" Trapper didn't offer any further explanation – he merely gestured to the back yard. Hawkeye abandoned all resistance and rose from the couch to lead the way onto the side porch, where they had reconciled only two short weeks prior. This time, Trapper took the steps down onto the lawn, pacing out into the garden, while Hawkeye sat down on the decking, trembling a little and watching sullenly with his head in his hands. He should have known this was coming. He should never have been so trusting. He knew all too well he could never win out against Louise McIntyre and her adorable brace of McIntyres. Trapper would always come running.

In the chill of the autumn air, Trapper shivered, withdrawing a Zippo lighter from one trouser pocket, and a cigar from the other. He bit the end off, gripped it between his lips and lit it, sucking thoughtfully and blowing smoke rings into the darkness.

"That was Louise," he said at last, as if he had been struggling to put his news into words.

"No kidding!" Hawkeye quipped. "I thought it was MacArthur begging you to re-enlist."

Trapper looked taken aback by his sarcasm, and swiftly moved to clarify: "I'm gettin' a divorce."

Hawkeye looked up, and the tension drained from his face. A grin appeared. "Really? That's great!" He was on his feet, slinging his arms around Trapper's neck. "Oh my God, for a minute there I thought… Forget what I thought. This is fantastic!" He hugged him so tight Trapper could barely breathe, then kissed him – deeply and passionately – the first proper, intense kiss since he'd got here. Since they left Korea. Suddenly, he pulled away. "Sorry – I… that's probably not so great from your point of view."

Sighing, Trapper drew closer once more, rested his head in the cosy crook of Hawkeye's neck, and let himself be held. He wasn't sure how he felt about it, if he was honest with himself. A terrifying mix of regret, excitement, guilt, relief and failure welled up inside him. It was almost too much to bear. He closed his eyes, relishing the feel of holding Hawkeye close, and grateful beyond measure that he still had him. "There's more."

Hawkeye pulled away for a moment, his eyes full of worry again. "What?"

"She's said I can see the girls – if I co-operate with her demands in the divorce."

Hawkeye's face fell. "Which are what exactly?"

"She wants… the house, the car, an' child support 'til the girls turn eighteen."

"What does that leave you with?"

Trapper scowled. "A whole lotta nothin' that's what! But I ain't got a choice if I wanna see my kids again!"

"But… Trapper, that's blackmail! That's holding your own kids to ransom! She can't do that."

"Actually, she can. With my record, she can deny me access any time she likes. An' the law is on her side. Accordin' to the courts, I'm a pervert."

Hawkeye nodded. He understood. "You're giving her everything, aren't you?"

Trapper's eyes glistened. "I have to see my girls." He grasped Hawkeye's hand tightly – so tight his hand trembled. "An' that means… I have to go back to Boston."

"Right." Hawkeye nodded, Trapper's earlier words echoing in his head: My children will always come first. How could he compete with this? He wanted desperately to break free from Trapper's grasp and run upstairs to hide in his room. He pulled away on instinct. There was no use holding on now. It was nice while it lasted.

But Trapper refused to let go. Wouldn't look away as he dropped his voice and pulled him close. "Would ya come with me?"

Hawkeye blinked at him, his brain doing a double take. "Could you run that by me again? My paranoia was talking over you."

"Come with me." For a man who was about to sign away everything he had, Trapper looked remarkably happy. "Look, we can't stay here forever. I love your old man, but I can't live in that box room all my life. I'll go stir-crazy in there! Damnit, Hawk, I'm thirty-four years old! I don't wanna be spendin' my nights in a three foot bed with nothin' but a stuffed rabbit an' the linen closet for company! I wanna curl up with you an' listen to you fall asleep when I'm tryin'a talk to ya! I wanna plan romantic dinners for the two of us, an' then realise I don't know how to cook half the stuff an' order pizza to eat in the candlelight! I wanna…" He dropped his voice and glanced towards the house. "I wanna screw on the livin' room rug because I want you so bad we don't make it as far as the bedroom!"

Hawkeye laughed at that one – and actually blushed. Trapper rarely saw him blush, and he decided it was the most beautiful thing in the world and he wanted to make him do it as often as he could. His eyes crinkled as he chuckled at Trapper's declaration, but he couldn't hide how those words made him feel.

"I know it ain't gonna be easy…" Trapper brushed Hawkeye's hair from his face. "God knows, we got a hard enough time ahead of us with our records without drawin' attention to ourselves. An', for what it's worth, it's my opinion that you could probably do alright for yourself right here – without me."

Hawkeye snorted. "Doing what?"

"Anythin'. You got your dad takin' care o' you, an' a family practice you could walk into tomorrow if you wanted to."

"People would ask questions… We talked about this!"

Trapper sighed. "I know, you said. But you could try. Or you could stay here an' have a roof over your head an' food on the table. Your old man ain't about to toss you out. An' that's sayin' somethin'."

"What kind if a life is that? I did that for a month before you got here. There's an indentation in the couch from my not moving from it for three weeks! I drank my dad's liquor cabinet dry, I lost about ten pounds, and between you and me, my love affair with Lucille Ball was embarrassingly one-sided. It wasn't a life – it was an existence. I love Crabapple Cove, but I don't want to rot here! What are you trying to say anyway – are you trying to talk me out of this relationship? Toss me back before things get too serious? Because if so–"

"I just… wanna make sure you think about it before you answer. It ain't gonna be an easy life for either of us if we do this! But the way I see it, we lost everythin' that day in Korea when they handed us our discharge papers. Seems crazy not to make a go of it now."

Nodding, Hawkeye tried to process his words – what they meant for the future. Their future. "In Boston?"

"In Boston." He gave Hawkeye's hand a squeeze.

"You and me?"

"Yeah." Trapper smiled at the very thought.

"We'd have to find work."

"We'd have to do that here, eventually."

"There's not much of it to be found with an Undesirable Discharge following you around."

"It's a big city. Someone's gotta cut us some slack. An' it's not like we don't know the area. Could get an apartment, our own place…"

"I have an apartment. It's being rented out to an oncologist I knew from my residency."

Trapper's face lit up. "So, let's go there! You an' me!" Trapper found himself laughing. He was so happy he could burst! "That is… if you want to."

Hawkeye beamed, and shrugged. "What have we got to lose?"

Suddenly, the world seemed to glow with possibilities. They sat outside, not caring of the cold. Trapper puffed on his cigar, unable to wipe the smirk off his face. A thousand and one brilliant, ridiculous plans swam through his head, and some not so ridiculous ones. They would have a life together – him and Hawkeye.

Holding him tightly, Trapper felt his face might split from smiling. "Can you imagine – our own place?"

Their place. It had a pleasant ring to it.

"And not just a tent in a warzone – this place has walls."

"Well, ain't that fancy!" Trapper laughed and blew a smoke ring into the night.

Hawkeye grinned at him. "C'mere." He wrapped his arms around Trapper once more and kissed him. Then he pulled away for a moment and coughed. "You taste disgusting!"

Giving a guilty laugh, Trapper eyed his cigar. "Yeah, sorry." He released Hawkeye and went to stub it out.

But Hawkeye grabbed him. "No – I don't care." Then he kissed him again. And again. And again.

And Trapper felt lost and found all at the same time, about to embark on a voyage into the unknown, but with Hawkeye by his side – his anchor in the oncoming storm. Somehow, it felt like more of a genuine commitment than his marriage ever did. This was no scripted ceremony, no frantic signing of legal documents in preparation for the birth of an unexpected child, but a conscious, deliberate choice to move forward together. It felt real. It felt solid. And, with Hawkeye kissing him like this, it was feeling more and more exciting…

"Hawkeye?" He only just managed to get the word out between kisses.

"Trapper?" His name was practically sighed against his lips as Hawkeye refused to relinquish contact.

Trapper gasped a lungful of breath, trying to retain some sense of composure as his blood began to rush south, followed swiftly by Hawkeye's hands. Trapper grabbed them.

Pulling away for a moment, Hawkeye blinked at him, an expression on his face that was half arousal, half embarrassment as he remembered where he was. He laughed, regaining control over himself but relishing the temporary loss of it. It felt good to be a little reckless. And, somehow, even though it was just kissing, the intimacy they had just shared somehow felt ten times more passionate than if they had just fucked in the spare room. This was special – this was no drunken tryst; no frantic screw in the supply shed because they thought they'd never get another chance. This was a consummation, the physical act of cementing the commitment they had just made, a passion born not of desperation or of liquor, but of the realisation that they'd made the leap they had been longing to make together.

"If we don't go inside…" Hawkeye panted a little as he gestured into the distance, "I'm going to throw you over my shoulder and drag you off to my tree house."

"Easy, Tarzan. Shall we just… uh…" Trapper jabbed his thumb in the direction of the house and went to head indoors.

Hawkeye smiled as he watched him make his way up the steps on shaking legs. "Oh, and Trapper?"

"Huh?" Trapper spun on his heel on the porch and nearly fell down the steps as Hawkeye grabbed him once more and kissed him fiercely.

"Love you."

"Love you, too."

"Want you quite a bit, too, if I'm honest…"

Trapper stole yet another kiss, his whole body trembling. When he next spoke, his voice came out rough with desire. "Soon, Hawk. Real soon…"

Ten minutes earlier…

Trapper reset the receiver and fell against the wall. An odd mixture of relief and terror rushed over him. He had his children back. But he had to go back to Boston. But he had his children back. But he was about to get divorced…

He stood in the darkness of the hallway trying to work out where to go from here. He didn't notice Daniel walk in from the living room until they were practically nose to nose.

"My son," Daniel whispered, "is in there crying his heart out. He thinks you're leaving him. Again. Go talk to him." It was unclear at this volume whether or not Daniel thought the same thing. Trapper guessed it might have crossed his mind, but he barely had time to feel grateful that the older man hadn't made good on his promise and tossed him out on his ass. Daniel turned and began to head up the stairs.

"Wait!" Trapper caught his arm. "Don't worry." His voice was a whisper, too.

"Don't tell me that – tell him." Daniel jabbed a finger towards the door.

But Trapper wasn't quite ready. "Look – before I do, I wanna ask you… That call… Louise wants me to…" He paused, taking a deep breath as he gathered his thoughts. "If I asked Hawkeye to move back to Boston with me… I mean, to live. Together." He faltered and tried again. "I mean, I don't want to drag 'im away, but… my kids…"

Chuckling slightly, Daniel patted him affectionately on the arm. "Oh, John – are you asking for my blessing?"

A small, embarrassed smile crossed Trapper's features. "Yeah, I guess I am."

Daniel's eyes widened, and he glanced heavenward as if hoping for some divine inspiration over what to do. "Never thought I'd have someone ask me that question!" He pondered for a moment. "Aw, shoot – I can't answer that. He'd probably think it was condescending if I said 'yes', and if I said 'no' he'd only do it anyway. It's his choice – it's not up to me to stand in his way, or to… wave you on like some sort of gatekeeper. Just ask him." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver case. Snapping it open, he handed Trapper a cigar. "For the nerves," he told him. "Go on now. If he says yes, you can consider yourself blessed."

He gave one Trapper another pat on the shoulder, and then made his way upstairs. Trapper watched him go, and he smiled.

"I will..."