I've decided to start a series of short stories – most of the slash writers have one, so I figured I'd do one too. Enjoy!
Red Roses
Red.
Hawkeye always liked red. His robe was red, he once attended a red themed party. The only red he didn't like was the red blood that leaked into his boots during the long OR sessions.
And he loved red roses best of all.
They are walking past a shimmering lake, hand in hand. No fear of discovery, this lake is miles from camp. As they stroll along in the warm sunshine, Hawkeye pauses to stoop beside a single red rose, fingering the velvet soft petals. A gold and black striped bee buzzed around the flower, attracted by the bright colour and heady fragrance. The same things, strangely, that attracted his human companion.
Trapper tugs on his hand, impatient to get to their destination, and Hawkeye stands, reluctant to leave the lovely blossom. As night falls, and they nestle together in the privacy of a deep green valley, Trapper rises from his sleeping lover's side, to search out that rose. He places it in Hawkeye's open hand, having stripped off the thorns.
They always had red roses in some room of their apartment, their practice. Every special occasion, and even those not so special, Trapper would buy his lover a dozen scarlet blooms, just to see the pure joy in Hawkeye's eyes as he was handed his favourite flowers.
Hawkeye stands in the Swamp, alone and tearful. His Trapper has gone home, without a goodbye. Or so he thinks.
A flash of red against white catches his eye. On his pillow lies a single red rose. Trapper's goodbye.
Trapper had found that same flower, dried and pressed between the pages of a forgotten book, a hint of the fragrance still lingering. He fingered the brittle leaves gently, not wanting them to break. The rose was sort of his calling card, a secret he shared with his beloved.
Hawkeye thinks that Trapper has forgotten him, lost him in a score of memories he buries away, because he is a reminder of Korea.
That same day, in mail call, Hawkeye picks up a strangely lumpy letter addressed to him, staring at the blank space that should have housed a return address. He opens the letter to drop out a single red rose. So he is not forgotten…
Trapper twirls something between his fingers as he walks among the graves, searching for the best kept one. Ah, this is it. His eyes flick over the name on the headstone.
Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
His vision blurs with the sudden tears that spring to his eyes. Shaking his head, he drops the item he holds on the grave, as he has done every year, for 10 years.
A single red rose.
***THE END***
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