It was hard to believe, but their 30 days had come to a close. And not a moment too soon, Trapper was ready to surrender Frank to North Korea. How he made it a month without his partner in crime to partake in tormenting Burns he'd never know.
The surgeon was relaxed in his chair, sipping from his martini glass and grazing through a Field & Stream magazine. Every so often he'd hear Frank's weird, almost high-pitched giggle coming from his cot. Sighing, he sets the book down and shoots him an irritated glance.
"I'm glad ya finally learned how to aim, Frank. But ya mind doin' that somewhere else?"
He immediately drops the photo of Hot Lips he didn't think Trapper had seen. Lips forming an almost pout of sorts, chin disappearing and sparse brows knitting together to all encompass his piqued expression.
"You're not as funny as you think you are, mister. Just wait till Major Houlihan returns.."
"-I know, Frank. So you two can work on yer "mouth to mouth" "
He chuckles and resumes burying his head in his magazine, Frank meanwhile silently fuming.
Hawkeye and Margaret give their final goodbyes to the staff and surgeons of the Seoul base before their long Jeep trek back home. He hadn't said anything to Hot Lips, but for the past week he'd been feeling off. Sure, he could chalk it up to the overall surroundings, unrelenting demands, and high stress, but this seemed different somehow. Hell, more often than not he felt hungover, even when he hadn't touched a drop of alcohol.
"Are you okay?"
She asks from the driver's side. The rural dirt road with its unsuspecting dips and bumps would no doubt ensure the military vehicle need an interior cleaning in the end. He closes his eyes and attempts keeping the bile from rising any further. Exhaling deeply he nods his head in reply.
"Hey, they're back!"
Radar informs Frank and Trap with an almost animated inflection in his voice. The vertically-challenged clerk rushed back out the door. Trapper mumbling a "thank god" to himself whilst Frank acted like a lovesick puppy. The 4077's cross-dressing Corporal, Maxwell Klinger, bypassed the Swamp tent. Dressed to the nine in a frilly white number with pale pink pearls. His numerous attempts at procuring a Section 8 discharge, sadly, had all been in vain. Nevertheless, his daring ensembles always seemed to garner him quite a crowd.
"You comin' out to see 'em, sir?"
The Lebanese Ohian inquired, poking his head through the doorway, looking in Trap's direction. The Captain chuckles a bit and sets his reading material aside.
"Be there in 'ah sec. Lookin' good, Klinger"
Creases at the corners of Klinger's eyes deepened, smiling at the compliment given.
"Thank you, sir"
Trap briskly walks out to the Jeep to assist with baggage. Burns wasted no time in taking Hot Lips into his punny arms, which naturally was swiftly rebuffed in public.
"Ah, Trap. Haven't missed me too much I hope"
The two Captains exchange a smile and laugh.
"Radar's bear was great n all. But no substitute for the real thing"
They finish carrying the rest of Hawkeye's things back to the tent. Frank is nowhere in sight. Which only meant one thing, he was with Hot Lips, preoccupied. Trapper turns to ready a couple martini glasses for the both of them.
Pierce collapsing onto his cot. Never in a million years would he think his own paltry line of canvas would feel like heaven at that moment. "Oh, how I've missed you" his words being muffled, with him face-down into his pillow. Trap chuckles and hands him a glass.
"It missed ya too, Hawk. I think I even saw it tryin' to suffocate Frank last week"
The men once again erupt into laughter. He felt like he hadn't had a good laugh like this in the whole 30 days, it was almost therapeutic. Just as Pierce brought the glass to his lips, the smell of gin assaulted his nostrils. Trap instantly takes notice of his friend's sudden pale hue. The glass falling to the floor and his hand flying over his mouth.
"Hawk, you alright?"
He was barely able to even get the words out he was so worried. Trap could've sworn he muttered something about the "latrine", before racing out of the tent. Very nearly colliding with Frank and Hot Lips along the way.
"Hey, watch it, buddy!"
Frank yells after him. Naturally this goes ignored. He turns to Margaret and hooks a thumb towards the latrine with a light snort.
"What was all that about?"
His nuance riddled with its usual smugness. One thing stood out in Margaret's head. "No, it couldn't be" she told herself. As if somehow it would convince her. She lightly shrugs her shoulders.
"It's probably just stress, Frank. Leave him be"
He straightens up almost instantly, giving an almost indignant sniff.
"Oh, now you're on his side. What happened to you while you were over there?"
This question struck fear into her heart. Of course he hadn't a clue the two had drunkenly slept together. But if her suspicions were correct, Frank would undoubtedly start putting the pieces together eventually. She exhales shakily.
"Nothing happened, Frank. Let it go"
That night she slipped out of her tent and made her way over to theirs. Frank, thankfully was fast asleep. His mouth twitching and incoherently mumbling things about his mother. Trap was passed out in a chair next to the still, and Hawkeye on his cot.
Taking notice of the stainless steel bucket on the floor beside it. She carefully kneels down and was about to try and gently wake him until accidentally hitting the pail with her foot and stirring him awake.
"Wha.. what's goin' on?"
He jolted awake, slightly disoriented. She brought a finger to her lips.
"Shhh..it's just me"
She whispered. He raises a brow in a playfully lascivious manner.
" Hmm.. coming back for more?"
This earned him a smack on the arm.
"No! Just listen...(she began in an exasperated tone still at a whisper) I think Frank is beginning to suspect something. I have to ask. Are you carrying my child?"
In a completely unforeseen turn of events. He chuckles, before turning his back to face her and laying back down.
"Hot Lips, with all due respect. I think the war is making you hallucinate"