"I don't know why he always picks on me, Margaret."
Frank was sulking in Margaret's tent. He'd gone straight there as soon as he got out of the O.R and hadn't come out since. It wasn't as if the thing with the patient was even his fault.
"He's just jealous, Frank." "Jealous?" "Yes, because you're a better doctor." She smiled reassuringly at him. "And a Major!"
Frank nodded. Yeah, he was probably jealous. Jealous of him and Trapper! Frank's mouth parted a little in surprise. Did that mean that Hawkeye was...? He didn't really think so, but you never knew these days. The irony, if that was actually the case, wasn't lost on Frank. He wanted Trapper's friendship, which Hawkeye had. Hawkeye wanted, might want ... what Frank had.
"Oh Margaret!" He laid his head on her shoulder and she made noises of comfort.
He wished he could just tell her everything. She really was his best friend, but he knew it would be the end of everything if he did that. He really did love her. It scared him that it wasn't enough. He...thought...she cared about him but that was never enough either.
"They just don't understand the stress I'm under. Nobody does..." Margaret gave him a look. Frank amended. It wouldn't do to have her think he was keeping something from her. "...except you, my darling."
"My poor baby," she said while petting his head. "Maybe you and I should spend tomorrow night in? See if we can de-stress you a little."
Frank's breath whistled out his nose. His first thought was of whether or not Trapper would want him around tonight. He hadn't said anything, but... Frank's eyes narrowed a little in defiance.
"That would be wonderful."
But then again, if he wasn't with Trapper then Hawkeye would be. But Trapper didn't want Hawkeye...did he? And anyway, Hawkeye wasn't interested... It wasn't paranoia, Frank told himself, he was just wary.
The light had changed, and it reminded him that he no longer measured the days by the coming and going of the sun but by whose shift it was and the ebb and flow of casualties. The sun was just coming up. Margaret would take care of him tonight.
#
Frank had a little sleep before his afternoon shift. He hated the way the nurses looked at him when he came on and the smart-aleck company clerk and the freak who dressed in women's clothes. They were all a disgrace to the army. They were a disgrace to America!
His own small voice inside his head told him that he was a disgrace now; he had let them corrupt him. He quieted that voice by yelling at a nurse.
"Give her a break, Frank."
Frank snapped around to glare at Hawkeye. "You're late, mister! You should have been here to relieve me ten minutes ago!"
"So I slept in?" Frank shoved his clipboard into Hawkeye's chest and went to storm out.
"Wait, Frank. I..." Hawkeye caught himself on the verge of apologising to Frank. He wasn't doing this for Frank's benefit. "What are you doing tonight?"
Frank gave him a look full of apprehension and suspicion. Hawkeye shifted from one foot to the other and reminded himself that his friendship with Trapper was worth this.
"Trapp and I are going over to Rosie's and I wanted to know if you wanted to come." There, he'd said it. "Why? You don't want me there."
Hawkeye huffed. "Yeah, but Trapper probably does." Frank's nose twitched. "Look Frank, give me a break. I'm trying to make an effort here!"
Frank lost a battle with an impending sneer. So Hawkeye was making an effort, eh? Well, far be it for him to stand in the way. Especially if it made Hawkeye as uncomfortable as it obviously would. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, combining with his sneer in what he was sure was an intimidating way.
"Sure," he said.
His perfect exit was marred somewhat when Margaret slapped him in the face.
She wouldn't, couldn't understand why it was more important for him to go with Hawkeye and Trapper than spend the night with her. It was about showing Hawkeye that it was him that Trapper chose. She would be mad at him for a few days, but he'd buy her something nice to make it up to her. Make her understand that he still needed her. He did.
#
Given a choice between Rosie's and the Officer's Club, Frank would pick the O.C. any day. That was at least army. Rosie's Bar was dirty and rough, and the bar staff were so... native. As he entered, Frank found himself wishing for the comfort and familiarity of American army issue tables and khaki green. Something to help forget where he was.
This discomfort, this feeling of being in alien territory, didn't ease up when he saw Hawkeye and Trapper at one of the far tables. Hawkeye waved him over as Trapper sat there looking a little confused.
"Frank," Trapper said, "What are you doing here?"
Frank looked wildly at Hawkeye. He thought Trapper knew, that he had wanted him there.
"I invited him. I thought... um." Hawkeye's hands flittered around him, their flutter explaining his good intention, his confusion and his embarrassment. Trapper smiled at him with an affection that made Frank want to kill them both.
"Why don't you sit down, Frank." Trapper's smile at him was more amused than anything else. Frank sat down stiffly, unable to relax, unable to contribute successfully to the conversation.
Hawkeye could tell that Trapper was appreciating his effort, even if Frank didn't. It was worth it. If it meant that he and Trapper could still be friends, he would not yell at Frank every time he made a stupid comment. And he ignored it when Trapper's hand slipped under the table and Frank squeaked.
He drank a lot, drowning the little pang of jealousy that he acknowledged was because he was used to being the sole beneficiary of Trapper's attention.
Frank drank a lot, too. It gave him something to do with his hands and mouth and took his mind off the fact that if someone were to look under the table right now they'd be in a lot of trouble. He couldn't believe Trapper sometimes. And in front of Hawkeye!
Trapper watched his best friend and his...Frank, as they each got pickled. He had to relieve Henry in the oh-so-very-early hours of the morning and he considered himself a better doctor than to rock up drunk. He spent most of his time distracting Hawkeye from Frank. Frank was at the giggling stage of drunk. Drunken Frank was a playful Frank and drunken Hawkeye had very little tolerance for drunken Frank.
Hawkeye slipped off to thank Radar for helping him out, but ended up with the feeling that the kid was hiding something from him. He went to tell Trapper his theory on the matter when he noticed that Trapper and Frank were gone.
He stumbled back to the Swamp, stopping once at the request of his stomach, which was revolting. He giggled; his stomach was revolting...and revolting! A revolution! Perhaps that last whisky had been a little unnecessary.
He was still giggling when he sat down on his bunk and began talking to Trapper. He noted, absently, that his friend had a blanket over a bundle on his lap. They had been mid way through a rather one-sided conversation when it dawned on him that the legs sticking out of the blanket weren't Trapper's. It set him off giggling again. Trapper caught the wicked glint in Hawkeye's eye mere seconds before his friend opened his mouth.
Hawkeye winked at Trapper. "Jeez Frank! Can you not slurp so loud? We're trying to talk." Trapper's mouth dropped open.
Then he heard it. Quite possibly the whole camp heard it.
It was the loudest, longest, wettest, most disgusting slurp in the history of mankind.
Trapper lost it. Tears rolled down his cheek as he struggled for breath. The lump underneath his blanket also shook with not-so-silent sniggers. Hawkeye managed to gather himself together enough to choke out, "That's disgusting!" before falling back into his cot under the weight of his own laughter.
"I'll leave you guys to it, shall I?" Hawkeye kicked off his shoes and sidled into bed. As an afterthought he added, "Don't be too noisy."
He was drunk and they were quiet. But he wasn't as ok with it as he wished he was.
Frank was sulking in Margaret's tent. He'd gone straight there as soon as he got out of the O.R and hadn't come out since. It wasn't as if the thing with the patient was even his fault.
"He's just jealous, Frank." "Jealous?" "Yes, because you're a better doctor." She smiled reassuringly at him. "And a Major!"
Frank nodded. Yeah, he was probably jealous. Jealous of him and Trapper! Frank's mouth parted a little in surprise. Did that mean that Hawkeye was...? He didn't really think so, but you never knew these days. The irony, if that was actually the case, wasn't lost on Frank. He wanted Trapper's friendship, which Hawkeye had. Hawkeye wanted, might want ... what Frank had.
"Oh Margaret!" He laid his head on her shoulder and she made noises of comfort.
He wished he could just tell her everything. She really was his best friend, but he knew it would be the end of everything if he did that. He really did love her. It scared him that it wasn't enough. He...thought...she cared about him but that was never enough either.
"They just don't understand the stress I'm under. Nobody does..." Margaret gave him a look. Frank amended. It wouldn't do to have her think he was keeping something from her. "...except you, my darling."
"My poor baby," she said while petting his head. "Maybe you and I should spend tomorrow night in? See if we can de-stress you a little."
Frank's breath whistled out his nose. His first thought was of whether or not Trapper would want him around tonight. He hadn't said anything, but... Frank's eyes narrowed a little in defiance.
"That would be wonderful."
But then again, if he wasn't with Trapper then Hawkeye would be. But Trapper didn't want Hawkeye...did he? And anyway, Hawkeye wasn't interested... It wasn't paranoia, Frank told himself, he was just wary.
The light had changed, and it reminded him that he no longer measured the days by the coming and going of the sun but by whose shift it was and the ebb and flow of casualties. The sun was just coming up. Margaret would take care of him tonight.
#
Frank had a little sleep before his afternoon shift. He hated the way the nurses looked at him when he came on and the smart-aleck company clerk and the freak who dressed in women's clothes. They were all a disgrace to the army. They were a disgrace to America!
His own small voice inside his head told him that he was a disgrace now; he had let them corrupt him. He quieted that voice by yelling at a nurse.
"Give her a break, Frank."
Frank snapped around to glare at Hawkeye. "You're late, mister! You should have been here to relieve me ten minutes ago!"
"So I slept in?" Frank shoved his clipboard into Hawkeye's chest and went to storm out.
"Wait, Frank. I..." Hawkeye caught himself on the verge of apologising to Frank. He wasn't doing this for Frank's benefit. "What are you doing tonight?"
Frank gave him a look full of apprehension and suspicion. Hawkeye shifted from one foot to the other and reminded himself that his friendship with Trapper was worth this.
"Trapp and I are going over to Rosie's and I wanted to know if you wanted to come." There, he'd said it. "Why? You don't want me there."
Hawkeye huffed. "Yeah, but Trapper probably does." Frank's nose twitched. "Look Frank, give me a break. I'm trying to make an effort here!"
Frank lost a battle with an impending sneer. So Hawkeye was making an effort, eh? Well, far be it for him to stand in the way. Especially if it made Hawkeye as uncomfortable as it obviously would. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, combining with his sneer in what he was sure was an intimidating way.
"Sure," he said.
His perfect exit was marred somewhat when Margaret slapped him in the face.
She wouldn't, couldn't understand why it was more important for him to go with Hawkeye and Trapper than spend the night with her. It was about showing Hawkeye that it was him that Trapper chose. She would be mad at him for a few days, but he'd buy her something nice to make it up to her. Make her understand that he still needed her. He did.
#
Given a choice between Rosie's and the Officer's Club, Frank would pick the O.C. any day. That was at least army. Rosie's Bar was dirty and rough, and the bar staff were so... native. As he entered, Frank found himself wishing for the comfort and familiarity of American army issue tables and khaki green. Something to help forget where he was.
This discomfort, this feeling of being in alien territory, didn't ease up when he saw Hawkeye and Trapper at one of the far tables. Hawkeye waved him over as Trapper sat there looking a little confused.
"Frank," Trapper said, "What are you doing here?"
Frank looked wildly at Hawkeye. He thought Trapper knew, that he had wanted him there.
"I invited him. I thought... um." Hawkeye's hands flittered around him, their flutter explaining his good intention, his confusion and his embarrassment. Trapper smiled at him with an affection that made Frank want to kill them both.
"Why don't you sit down, Frank." Trapper's smile at him was more amused than anything else. Frank sat down stiffly, unable to relax, unable to contribute successfully to the conversation.
Hawkeye could tell that Trapper was appreciating his effort, even if Frank didn't. It was worth it. If it meant that he and Trapper could still be friends, he would not yell at Frank every time he made a stupid comment. And he ignored it when Trapper's hand slipped under the table and Frank squeaked.
He drank a lot, drowning the little pang of jealousy that he acknowledged was because he was used to being the sole beneficiary of Trapper's attention.
Frank drank a lot, too. It gave him something to do with his hands and mouth and took his mind off the fact that if someone were to look under the table right now they'd be in a lot of trouble. He couldn't believe Trapper sometimes. And in front of Hawkeye!
Trapper watched his best friend and his...Frank, as they each got pickled. He had to relieve Henry in the oh-so-very-early hours of the morning and he considered himself a better doctor than to rock up drunk. He spent most of his time distracting Hawkeye from Frank. Frank was at the giggling stage of drunk. Drunken Frank was a playful Frank and drunken Hawkeye had very little tolerance for drunken Frank.
Hawkeye slipped off to thank Radar for helping him out, but ended up with the feeling that the kid was hiding something from him. He went to tell Trapper his theory on the matter when he noticed that Trapper and Frank were gone.
He stumbled back to the Swamp, stopping once at the request of his stomach, which was revolting. He giggled; his stomach was revolting...and revolting! A revolution! Perhaps that last whisky had been a little unnecessary.
He was still giggling when he sat down on his bunk and began talking to Trapper. He noted, absently, that his friend had a blanket over a bundle on his lap. They had been mid way through a rather one-sided conversation when it dawned on him that the legs sticking out of the blanket weren't Trapper's. It set him off giggling again. Trapper caught the wicked glint in Hawkeye's eye mere seconds before his friend opened his mouth.
Hawkeye winked at Trapper. "Jeez Frank! Can you not slurp so loud? We're trying to talk." Trapper's mouth dropped open.
Then he heard it. Quite possibly the whole camp heard it.
It was the loudest, longest, wettest, most disgusting slurp in the history of mankind.
Trapper lost it. Tears rolled down his cheek as he struggled for breath. The lump underneath his blanket also shook with not-so-silent sniggers. Hawkeye managed to gather himself together enough to choke out, "That's disgusting!" before falling back into his cot under the weight of his own laughter.
"I'll leave you guys to it, shall I?" Hawkeye kicked off his shoes and sidled into bed. As an afterthought he added, "Don't be too noisy."
He was drunk and they were quiet. But he wasn't as ok with it as he wished he was.