The Tempest

As I'd predicted, we arrived back at the 4077 right around dusk. The trip back to camp was not nearly as pleasant as the drive to Seoul had been, but that wasn't exactly a surprise.

Trapper kept me entertained (that is, distracted) with such golden discussions such as "Why the minefield is a perfectly valid destination for a tryst," and "Tokyo vs. Seoul: why flying over a sea in a tin can during a war is absolutely, positively worth it, even if it does give the phrase 'to die for' a bit of a literal sense." Our consensus on the latter conversation in particular was that, in addition to a fairly drastic improvement in amenities, Tokyo also had the benefit of not being partially demolished. Once you strayed from Seoul's main drag it was hard to forget that it had been a war zone not all that long ago. And what was R&R if not a chance to escape from said war? But, as someone with a gift for stating the obvious once said, "All good things must come to an end." So there we were, returning to rats, lice, dysentery, and meatball surgery.

And there I was, diving headfirst back into that F.U.B.A.R. situation with my ex. I really couldn't look at it as a relationship at that point. Was it possible to redefine something that never had a label in the first place? I pondered such philosophical questions as we rolled into the camp I'd grudgingly begun to think of as 'home,' an apprehensive silence having descended over the two of us just a couple miles back.

Trapper pulled the Jeep up to the Swamp before killing the engine, but we didn't immediately jump out. Metaphorically dragging our heels, we exchanged unenthusiastic expressions. Mine was likely somewhere along the line of dread and resignation; Trapper's was one of sympathy and, beneath that, a slow, simmering enmity directed toward the source of my problem. After a moment of unspoken commiseration I finally got the motivation to haul myself up and out of the Jeep. We unceremoniously dumped our bags on our respective cots and returned to said Jeep for the box of requested supplies.

"I'm gonna drop this stuff off at Father Mulcahy's on the way to the motor pool," Trap said, waiting to crank the noisy engine until after I'd plucked the fifth of scotch from near the top of the case where we'd wedged it between a few books and the assorted toiletries we'd collected for Klinger and the nurses. "Good luck," he muttered, flicking his eyes toward the supply shed. "Lemme know if you need some help givin' anyone's nose a resection or somethin'."

I nodded my thanks and, with a sense of foreboding and Drew's beloved scotch in hand, made my way across the compound to discover what was so damn important that Drew had to call me on my R&R. My steps got progressively slower the closer I got to my destination, but I finally made it to the small hut and tentatively pulled open the door.

My breath caught in my chest at the tableau I found inside and I simply stared for a moment, shocked to stillness; transfixed.

Drew was lounging against the shelf lining the far wall, shirtless, pants dropped to his ankles, and directly in the line of sight of whoever might happen to open the door. His head had been flung back in ecstasy, exposing his slender neck, and his chest heaved, sending ripples over the smooth muscles of his torso, but when he detected motion out of the corner of his eye he met my gaze and fixed me with a smug smile. The young private on his knees in front of Drew – a fairly attractive, lanky brunet who absolutely had to be under 18 – obviously hadn't heard my entrance, and his continued efforts elicited moans from Drew that I suspected were now mostly for my benefit. The sight and sounds sent an unwelcome jolt of arousal through my body, which I ruthlessly quashed.

Stupid, I thought fervently as I stepped back quickly and silently pulled the door closed with ever-so-carefully-controlled movements. Putting my back to the door and leaning against it, I lifted my face to the darkening sky – painted an appropriately sullen greyish-purple – and closed my eyes, trying to block out the muffled sounds I still heard coming from inside the hut. The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth and it took a moment for me to realize I'd savagely bitten the inside of my lip in an effort to remain silent.

Stupid, I thought again, and I wasn't sure if it was directed at Drew's carelessness, my surprise, or the hurt look I knew had crossed my face before I'd gotten the door closed. Sucking in a shaky breath through my nose, I pushed off the side of the building but couldn't get up the steam to take more than a step or three away from the door. My gaze slowly fell to the dirt at my feet as my mind raced furiously.

I wasn't jealous, really. I wasn't. I'd actually told him to go find someone else to have sex with during the fight we'd had the evening before I'd left for R&R, and I had genuinely meant it. We weren't in a relationship; he wasn't cheating on me... this time around. Hell, I'd figured it would make it easier if I wasn't the only one getting some action elsewhere. (What was I thinking, associating 'Drew' and 'easier' in the same breath?)

That being said, it didn't mean I wanted him to rub my face in it. I didn't want to see his expression while some other guy was getting him off, or see someone else's face where mine went, or hear the sounds that he made for me being elicited by another (younger) man. If this was his revenge for my flirtations with the nurses or for my dalliances with the women in Seoul, in my humble opinion he'd taken it a few steps too far.

It was so much like Androscoggin again, only with infinitely higher stakes. This time if virtually anyone else had been the one to walk in on him, his life would effectively be over. This wasn't just risking expulsion from the college he had wound up flunking out of anyway, or further sullying his name in his small hometown. Hoover was throwing men into Alcatraz for things like this. And, I mean, how much more blatant could he be? It wasn't even fully dark outside yet, and he'd brazenly put himself on display in the unlocked supply hut. It was almost like he wanted to be outed. He'd carefully arranged to have me catch him with his pants down (quite literally), but anybody could have opened that door. Like Frank Burns, who was striding purposefully toward me at that very moment.

Frank was clad in his white doctor's coat, indicating that he was likely coming from a shift in Post-Op. As he approached he said something to me but the words sailed cleanly over my head as I stood, rooted to the spot, a few feet from the supply hut. I was still reeling from— I winced as I saw Drew's smug face again in my mind. Yeah. That. I shook my head, trying to dislodge the memory, and Frank paused between me and the door, asking something. Some question – I recognized the interrogative tone, but didn't process the words. My brain had come to a screeching halt when I realized that my fears were about to play out before my eyes. Frank was just a few feet and seconds away from opening that door and witnessing the very thing that I was terrified of being brought to light.

I momentarily scrambled for an idea – any idea – that might redirect the major to anywhere but his current destination. I could picture his face at what he was about to see – the disgust; the repulsion; the horror. And I didn't have to imagine the expression that Drew would be directing toward the door before he saw who was on the other side – the cruel smirk, the quirk of those oh-so-familiar lips that he'd just sent my way was fresh in my mind.

I opened my mouth, but that vivid mental image held my tongue still and was followed immediately by the memory of Drew's threat before I'd left for Seoul just days earlier. "I'll out us both," he'd said venomously. Now he was about to be outed – by a scenario that he'd so carefully engineered himself, no less – and my neck wasn't on the chopping block beside his. There was no proof that I'd been sexually involved with Drew, and I could ask dozens of nurses to testify that I wasn't just feigning interest in the female persuasion. Surely one or two of them would admit to sleeping with me if it came down to a court martial. Bisexuality was somehow a fairly alien concept to the western world – even the Lavender Scare and American psychiatry focused solely on homosexuality as a threat and/or a mental disorder. Bisexuals were practically invisible to both the heterosexual and homosexual communities, so it would likely come down to his word against that of a good number of women's – a single enlisted man with a poor service record vs. highly-esteemed officers. Nobody would ever believe Drew if he tried to implicate me.

Probably.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

But I wasn't the only one at risk of being outed. There was a kid on his knees inside that hut who'd been roped into Drew's machinations in some way or another, and whose life would also be ruined by his design. I knew that Drew couldn't give a flying fuck about the boy's fate – the private was just collateral damage, a tool to be used and discarded once it had accomplished its task – but I couldn't allow Drew to ruin his future. A moment of stupidity didn't warrant a sentence of life with the equivalent of a blue discharge.

I was about to say something, anything – to ask Frank if he'd missed me, or how boring it had been without me and Trapper around to liven up the joint, or if he was going to see Hot Lips for some calisthenics after his shift, or what he'd eaten for frigging breakfast. But instead of my voice, it was his high-pitched screeching that filled the air. I'd taken too long to come to a decision, and Frank had given up on getting a reply from me, continuing on his way after shooting me a bemused and suspicious look.

His expression at the spectacle was just as I'd envisioned it.

I could've rushed over there, clapped a hand over his mouth, and made any number of blackmail threats until he promised to keep his big mouth shut. But that wasn't guaranteed to work, and then I'd be implicated and at Frank's mercy. It would have just been a matter of time before Drew got us both caught in some way or another, anyway, I told myself.

We weren't even two seconds in and I was already trying to rationalize my part in the clusterfuck.

It wasn't about revenge at that point, really. If I wanted to absolve my actions – or inaction, rather – I could call it self-preservation, but the excuses felt about as hollow as I did at that moment. I worried at the laceration on the inside of my lip, unconsciously sucking more blood from the wound as I numbly observed Frank's meltdown, feeling like the scum at the bottom of the latrine for letting Drew drag that boy down with him. Soon half of the camp was congregating in the compound to find out what all the noise was about. Littered among Frank's incoherent ramblings were words like 'perverts' and 'degenerates,' 'despicable' and 'sickening,' 'filthy' and 'depraved.' I cringed at each one.

"Just what in blue blazes is going on here?!" Henry demanded as he weaved through the gathering crowd, taking charge in his own bumbling way. "What's all the ruckus?"

Frank pointed into the dim depths of the supply hut. "I just caught those two perverts in the middle of—of…." He trailed off, apparently unable to find a description for 'fellatio' that didn't offend his delicate sensibilities.

Henry turned to the two figures emerging from the supply hut and asked sternly (well, as sternly as Henry Blake was capable of), "Kenna? Hale? Can you explain to me what he's talking about?" Under his affected tone I could hear a hidden plea: Please say this isn't what I think it is.

Drew was still buckling his belt above his very obvious erection as if he didn't have a care in the world – at least not a situationally-appropriate care – and hadn't yet bothered pulling his shirt back on. "I was getting a blow job," he stated bluntly and unapologetically, seeming more disgruntled at the interruption than concerned about having gotten caught. In fact, he didn't seem at all surprised to see Frank, Henry, or the growing crowd of people beyond the two officers. He was shamelessly owning his offense, lacking the good grace to even try to cover for Private Hale's sake or look vaguely embarrassed for being seen in such a compromising position. I was fairly certain I wouldn't look as cocky and unabashed if I were sweaty, half-naked, and sporting a raging hard-on in front of that many people.

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. Drew's schemes were nothing if not thorough. Could the major's trip to the supply hut have been engineered just as mine was? Was this a test? If so, I had undoubtedly failed, and pretty spectacularly at that. But it was out of my hands at that point. All I could do wait and see if Drew would throw me under the bus in the interests of solidarity or revenge.

The dark-haired private – Drew's victim – was fully dressed, white as a sheet, and obviously terrified, hanging back in the older man's shadow as he conspicuously wiped his mouth and scrubbed his face with shaking hands. He didn't make a sound. It looked like all he wanted in that moment was to have the ground open up and swallow him whole. I felt my heart go out to him and hated myself a little bit more for allowing Drew to drag him down with him. No, he wasn't my responsibility, and yes, the kid had made one of the dumbest decisions humanly possible at an Army outpost, but I could have saved him from an inevitable future of hardship and hurt if I'd managed to think about something other than this mess between me and Drew before Frank had pulled that door open. I doubted Drew was the least bit concerned with the fact that he'd just ruined the boy's life. Hale was just a means to an end... though what the intended end was I wasn't yet sure.

Henry sighed in exasperation. "Well this is just great." He eyed Frank and then the compound full of witnesses, obviously coming to the conclusion that there was no sweeping this under the rug. "Do you know how much paperwork…?" He trailed off when it occurred to him that no one gave a damn about his paperwork. "You three, come to my office." He took a few steps before adding, "Kenna, put a shirt on, will you?" By the time he thought to bellow for Radar, the young clerk was at his elbow.

As the group passed my position – Frank staying well behind the two soon-to-be-ex-corpsmen as if their 'depravity' might be contagious – Drew pinned me with an inscrutable look. I really wasn't sure what was going through his head right then. Brows knitting in a slight scowl, I pursed my lips and shook my head minutely in disappointment.

Unfortunately Frank caught our silent exchange and came to a halt. "You can't tell me you didn't know," he said to me accusingly, placing his hands on his hips in a gesture that looked ridiculous when not performed by a preteen girl.

I wasn't sure if he was referring to the events that had just transpired in the supply hut or Drew's homosexuality in general, but before I could even begin to formulate a safe reply, Drew about-faced to come to my rescue. "Hawkeye?" he laughed with affected scorn. "He wouldn't know a fairy" – he sneered the word – "if Tinker Bell was dropping two-ton blocks of pixie dust on his head."

I blinked in surprise. Drew was well aware that I could have saved him – that I'd actually stood aside and let him go down for this – yet here he was, covering for me. Not extraordinarily well, mind you, but he was at least putting forth the effort. I guess it was one of those 'It's the thought that counts' things, though to be fair he did manage to pull something out of his ass in less than a second.

My mind raced with possibilities. Could the entire fiasco have been Drew's own screwed-up way of both protecting me from himself and getting out of the Army in one fell swoop, or was I reading too much into it? I could understand him wanting out of Korea, but there had to be better ways of accomplishing that. He was quite brilliant, when he wanted to be – surely he could have come up with something that wouldn't royally screw up his future and possibly get him thrown in jail, even if he didn't care that he was dragging that poor kid down with him. I searched his big, dark eyes for answers. The caring expression that very briefly softened his face before he turned away with a pretentious snort said that it was somewhere in the realm of possibility, but there was never a way to be certain with him.

Frank leveled a suspicious glare in my direction, obviously recalling the situation with George Weston, but let it drop for the moment. He had his prize for the night, though I'd probably have to guard against any attempt from him to connect the dots and risk him coming to the wrong conclusion – or the right one.

With a stunned expression I watched the small group file into the outer office. The rest of the onlookers slowly dispersed, whispering amongst themselves about the scandal. What snippets I picked up as people passed by me had me wanting to cover my ears to block out their voiced thoughts on the matter.

I lost track of how long I stood, frozen, staring at the closed office door before becoming aware of Trapper's presence at my side. He bumped my shoulder with his, then put a hand on my back and herded me gently to the Swamp.

"Maybe it's for the best, y' know?" he suggested with compassion once we were inside, prying the scotch bottle that I'd been clutching in a white-knuckled fist the entire time from my insensate fingers and setting it down by the still. He watched me ease down into my chair before snagging two martini glasses and filling them almost to the brim.

"I could have stopped it," I admitted numbly, accepting the glass he handed me and staring into its contents as if it held the answers to all of the questions buzzing around inside my skull right then. "I just... stood there. Just... let it happen."

"Look, it was only a matter of time, the way he was actin'," Trapper replied bluntly, though his tone was still gentle. "I'm just glad he didn't drag you down with him. That poor kid, though..." He shook his head regretfully, then snorted. "What a moron."

"Yeah," I mumbled noncommittally, still hung up on his previous sentence. Glad…. Then why did it feel like someone had just used a rib spreader to yank my laboring heart from my body? Where was the intense, hollow ache in my chest coming from? I was overwhelmed by heady waves of conflicting emotions. Relief, regret, guilt, and loss all warred for top place while a steady stream of feelings too brief or vague to put into words flowed unceasingly beneath the surface.

"I've got to talk to him. I need to know why." I hunched over in the chair, slightly spreading my legs and resting my elbows on my thighs. One hand held my glass and the other supported my chin.

"Hawk, no," my bunkmate argued firmly. "Ever hear of 'guilty by association'? You gotta stay away from him."

Never see Drew again? Never find out why he'd covered for me? It was unfathomable. "I've—" My throat closed up and I struggled to swallow the blood still slowly oozing from my ravaged lip as I chewed it thoughtlessly. "I've got to know why," I repeated thickly.

"Well," Trapper began cautiously, "seems awfully convenient to me that you an' Frank caught him like that, don't ya think?"

I nodded; Trapper had come to the same conclusion that I had earlier.

"So, could be he just wanted out of Korea. Could be he just wanted to hurt your feelings – to get back at you for Seoul, y' know?" He shrugged, weighing his words carefully. "An' I can't say I ever understood the guy," he added as something of a disclaimer, "but if I had to guess, I'd say maybe it was somethin' halfway between that and..." He silently debated something. "And maybe his own twisted way of protectin' ya." He paused for a moment, gazing in the direction of the office. "Much as I hate to say it, I think he does care about you. He's just got a real fucked-up way of showin' it."

I tried to laugh, but it came out sounding more like a sob. "Yeah," I said quietly. "I know." My lip quivered, and as the first tears tracked down my cheeks I realized I was shaking.

Trapper stepped around me to have a seat on my cot. His hand squeezed my shoulder supportively. "I'm sorry," he said simply.

Nodding my silent thanks, I gave into the inevitable and let the floodgates open.