Disclaimer: I wish I owned Hawkeye and Trapper. I have a whole mind full of naughty things I could find to do with them. But alas, they are not mine.

Boston Lights

Hawkeye sighed, rising from his bed, and walked out onto his balcony, staring at the bright lights of Boston.

He sighed again, resting his head on one hand. He used to love to look out at the lights – see the people whose lives continued after most had gone to bed. The steady lights below, and the softer lights in the heavens were a comforting sight, a sure thing. Much like his own life had been.

But now, as he gazed out at the lights, he knew that the sight that once thrilled him would now always sadden him. How dare other people be happy, when his life was in such turmoil? It was selfish, he knew, but that was sometimes one of his faults.

He and Trapper would stand on this balcony, the balcony of the apartment they shared. After Hawkeye returned home from Korea, he looked up his best friend. They rekindled the tentative relationship that was forged in the dead of a Korean winter, and took it to another level. Trapper's wife was incredibly understanding, divorcing Trapper, but still allowing him to see his kids whenever he wanted.

And he and Trapper would stare out at the lights, lights that represented the lives of those nocturnal people, lights that burned billions of miles away. But those lights, once so meaningful, were now mocking, proving that the world continued to turn, and others continued to live in happiness.

In his lowest moments, Hawkeye could almost believe that those lights spoke to him, telling him that his relationship was sinful, wrong, that the stars he watched were the closest he'd ever get to heaven. There were many days like that.

Trapper is gone now. His light, that burned just for Hawkeye, had been firmly snuffed out. On his way to the store one day, he unwittingly walked into the middle of a vicious gang battle. The bullet that embedded in his brain killed him instantly. For that alone, Hawkeye was grateful. At least his loved one hadn't suffered.

The irony is overwhelming. A year in Korea, three miles from the front, a veritable bloodbath, the constant risk of snipers, landmines, shells, and Trapper hadn't gotten a scratch. And at home, the place where they all thought they were safe, he was shot and killed.

And Hawkeye was alone, left to stare at those lights by himself.

It has been 20 years since Trapper's death, since Hawkeye discovered the painful mocking of the lights. And still, every night, rain or shine, he rises from his bed to stare out at the lights – on earth, and in heaven. He rarely ventures from his apartment. Parents warn their children – "Stay away from Dr. Pierce." He ignores it all.

He would leave this world, join his departed beloved. But the lights do not permit it. They call to him, every night, demanding that he pay his respects. And so, every night, he walks slowly, painfully from his warm bed, to the cool balcony, and the mockery of the lights.

One day, maybe, the lights will release their powerful, unhealthy hold on him, and he will leave. The night watchman will not see him staring out at the lights, and will investigate – because if Dr. Pierce isn't staring at whatever it is he stares at every night, then something is wrong.

And Hawkeye will never again leave his bed to gaze bleakly at the lights, staring at a world that, once so familiar, is now cold, alien. But until that day, he will gaze at those lights, and remember. Remember his Trapper.

***end***

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