A/N: Due to ff.net's ban on NC-17 rated works, some significant portions
of this chapter have been removed.
The full version of the story can be found at www . imagesofelsewhere .
150m . com. I hope you decide to take a look. Sorry for any inconvenience.
#
"Frank, wait!"
Frank stopped. He looked back over at Hawkeye and wondered why he thought it would be Trapper. Of course it wasn't. Frank had seen they way Trapper had paraded that...floozy in front of him. It wasn't fair! He didn't know what he had done wrong. He'd given Trapper everything he asked for. Margaret was gone and now Trapper was punishing him.
"Frank!" Hawkeye called out again.
"What do you want, Pierce?
"I need to talk to you."
Frank began walking away again. He didn't want to deal with his drunken tent-mate tonight. He just wanted to go home and pretend this whole miserable day never happened.
"Please?" Hawkeye grabbed his upper arm tight, the way Trapper would sometimes do. "I just want to talk."
Frank said nothing, his eyes pleaded with Hawkeye to let him go.
Hawkeye freed the hand that was holding his coat tight across his body and motioned towards the Swamp with a flutter. He let go of Frank and walked across the near-deserted compound.
A small whine escaped Frank's throat, then he followed.
The Swamp was barely bearable, the small heater insufficient. Hawkeye sat on the closest bunk to the heater, Trapper's, and motioned for Frank to sit next to him.
"I want to know how it happened." Hawkeye's eyes barely seemed to focus on anything as he looked around the room, at Frank. "I want to know what happened what changed. Why?"
Frank's voice was faint, as though the effort of clawing its way out of his throat had almost been too much. "I don't know."
Hawkeye's reply was soft, almost gentle. "What happened?"
"Why do you care? Why does this mean anything to you?"
"I just... I need...I don't..." Hands flew and flailed at each failure. Frank stared at him.
Hawkeye looked desperate, begging.
Then Frank was pushing him back, not sure of how the other man's lips had found their way to his. He shoved hard.
"No," he said, out loud but to himself, "That's not right..."
Hawkeye sat back, his mouth open, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I'm sorry." he whispered, "I'm sorry, I just need to know why." He sat shaking, looking as though all the world had just crumbled around him, as though nothing was right or ever going to be again.
Frank tried to be angry, to be bitter, to be all the things that usually came so naturally. Generally he couldn't stand to see himself reflected in others to recognise something pitiful and know it as his own.
"I didn't ask for this," he said.
"What happened?"
"He wanted me."
And that was it, really. It was all it had taken.
There was silence for a while. Hawkeye got up and poured Frank a drink, taking one for himself before sitting back down.
"I didn't know. I mean that night I came in and you had my robe around your waist..." Hawkeye shook his head. "It never even occurred to me."
Hawkeye took another gulp before continuing. "And you...I know how you feel about this kind of thing. At least, I thought I did. It's all wrong. Everything. "
There was some more silence. Both men finished their drinks. Hawkeye filled them again. Frank tried to speak.
"You don't know what it's like, what he's like." Frank fiddled with his glass, trying to vocalise it all for the first time. "I'm afraid of him."
Hawkeye's brow furrowed . "Why? Has he ever hurt you? Trapper wouldn't..."
"No."
"I don't understand."
Did Frank? He tried to order his thoughts, to force it all to make sense. It was too much; he was too much. Did Hawkeye even know what it was like to be nothing? It's terrifying, being alone. But to be good enough to be somebody's secret, to be the object of someone's attention was almost more frightening than anything else. Almost more terrifying than loosing it.
Somewhere along the line Trapper had become a god. Frank wasn't sure if he could exist without him.
Hawkeye never asked if Frank loved him. It wasn't about that.
Later, Frank would never be able to recall exactly what was said. He talked to Hawkeye about everything. Everything he was afraid of, everything he wasn't. Everything he hadn't been able, allowed, to say before now. He told him everything.
He should have been able to recall the exact words, if any, that Hawkeye had said. There were promises, consolations, comfort. He can still recall the emotion, the feeling that someone cared, that it was going to get better, that he will make it better. Promises not made from real words, meaningless.
The sweetest of nothing at all.
He didn't push him away a second time.
Everything was different. Hawkeye's skin was ridiculously soft, like that of a small child. There were noises, small soft words, and a look of uncertainty when they were lying side by side naked, as if Hawkeye didn't know what to do next.
Frank dug out the lubricant that Trapper kept under his bunk and prepared himself, for once not self conscious of the show as Hawkeye watched, amazed.
(Edited for ff.net)
It was nice. And Frank wasn't afraid.
(Edited for ff.net)
Oh. (Edited for ff.net)
He whimpered a little.
Hawkeye didn't hear. He lowered himself back onto Frank, mumbled something, and then went quiet. Frank needed to pee, Hawkeye was lying on his bladder but Frank didn't want to move. He was warm. He was wanted.
"Not in my bunk."
Nothing lasted.
"Not in my bunk."
Frank was still. Hawkeye stirred, looked across the tent and smiled.
"Oh, hi, Trapper," he said, sitting up and reaching for his robe, "I didn't think you'd be back so soon. What happened? That nurse give you the slip?"
"Get out."
"Are you kidding?" Hawkeye protested. "It's freezing out there! You want..."
"Get. Out."
Trapper's eyes never left Frank, who didn't move, couldn't move.
Hawkeye sneered as he passed Trapper on the way out the door. "He's all yours now."
He left. Trapper didn't move. Neither did Frank.
"Why?" Trapper asked, his voice flat. Frank didn't answer.
"Why him?" Trapper finally lost his temper. "Why in MY GODDAMN BUNK!"
There had been times in the past when Trapper and Hawkeye had done cruel things to Frank, terrible things. Frank had whined, reported, threatened, and, very rarely, he had gotten back at them. But of all the terrible things they had done, all the horrible things that had happened to him in Korea he hadn't cried. Tears were beaten out of him at an early age. It was something he was proud of.
Frank wept.
Trapper went to say something but couldn't. He didn't know what to do, so he did nothing.
There were voices outside the tent.
Trapper's head snapped around as Hawkeye and Henry entered the tent, the latter thoroughly soused and midway through some nonsensical tale. Trapper watched in horror as they made their way toward the still. He hadn't realised how drunk Hawkeye was, how drunk he'd have had to be to bring their C.O. into the middle of this.
"Hawkeye, get him out of here!"
"If I wasn't invited," Henry slurred, "then why'd you invite me here in th' first place?" He narrowed his eyes, trying to get them to focus. "Hey, what's wrong with Frank?"
"Fine, jeez Trapp, you don't have to yell." Hawkeye set down his glass and grabbed Henry by the arm.
"What the hell are you playing at, Hawk?" Trapper made a threatening move towards his friend. Henry Blake tripped and landed on Hawkeye's bunk.
"You have no idea what I've been through, Trapper! Leave me alone!"
"Get him out!"
Hawkeye grabbed Henry while continuing to yell at his tent-mate. They made it as far as the door when Frank's shrill voice cut them down in their tracks.
"I hate you! Do you think it's funny? You've had your fun now, huh! You bastards, you don't give a flying fuck what happens to me. Go ahead, line up, have your turn! Don't even bother to pay the whore!"
Each yell was punctuated with sobs, each sentence broken by gasps. Frank was standing now, clutching a blanket around his waist. Yelling and screaming until his voice was too raw and the sobs were too many. Frank broke down.
Nobody moved. Henry gaped.
There was a knock at the door and the quiet voice of Father Mulcahy spoke. "Is everything all right in there?"
"Get him out." Trapper's voice deserted him.
Hawkeye, sobered, pulled Henry out of the door. Trapper half heard him spinning a tale to Henry and the small crowd that had gathered outside their tent, but his eyes were focused on the man collapsed, sobbing in silence now, on his bed.
"Frank?" It was barely a whisper. Trapper reached out and put his hand on Frank's back. Frank didn't acknowledge it.
"I..." Trapper sat down next to him. "It wasn't meant to be like this, Frank."
He pulled Frank close and held him for a while, as he had done for his daughters when they cried.
"It wasn't meant to hurt you. We don't think of you like that, never." He lifted Frank's chin so that he could meet his eyes. "You're not a whore."
"You hate me," Frank whispered.
"We don't hate you. We're friends aren't we?"
Frank nodded; it was what he wanted, after all. Eventually he crawled out of Trapper's bunk and into his own.
Hawkeye came back.
"I'm sorry."
#
"Frank, wait!"
Frank stopped. He looked back over at Hawkeye and wondered why he thought it would be Trapper. Of course it wasn't. Frank had seen they way Trapper had paraded that...floozy in front of him. It wasn't fair! He didn't know what he had done wrong. He'd given Trapper everything he asked for. Margaret was gone and now Trapper was punishing him.
"Frank!" Hawkeye called out again.
"What do you want, Pierce?
"I need to talk to you."
Frank began walking away again. He didn't want to deal with his drunken tent-mate tonight. He just wanted to go home and pretend this whole miserable day never happened.
"Please?" Hawkeye grabbed his upper arm tight, the way Trapper would sometimes do. "I just want to talk."
Frank said nothing, his eyes pleaded with Hawkeye to let him go.
Hawkeye freed the hand that was holding his coat tight across his body and motioned towards the Swamp with a flutter. He let go of Frank and walked across the near-deserted compound.
A small whine escaped Frank's throat, then he followed.
The Swamp was barely bearable, the small heater insufficient. Hawkeye sat on the closest bunk to the heater, Trapper's, and motioned for Frank to sit next to him.
"I want to know how it happened." Hawkeye's eyes barely seemed to focus on anything as he looked around the room, at Frank. "I want to know what happened what changed. Why?"
Frank's voice was faint, as though the effort of clawing its way out of his throat had almost been too much. "I don't know."
Hawkeye's reply was soft, almost gentle. "What happened?"
"Why do you care? Why does this mean anything to you?"
"I just... I need...I don't..." Hands flew and flailed at each failure. Frank stared at him.
Hawkeye looked desperate, begging.
Then Frank was pushing him back, not sure of how the other man's lips had found their way to his. He shoved hard.
"No," he said, out loud but to himself, "That's not right..."
Hawkeye sat back, his mouth open, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I'm sorry." he whispered, "I'm sorry, I just need to know why." He sat shaking, looking as though all the world had just crumbled around him, as though nothing was right or ever going to be again.
Frank tried to be angry, to be bitter, to be all the things that usually came so naturally. Generally he couldn't stand to see himself reflected in others to recognise something pitiful and know it as his own.
"I didn't ask for this," he said.
"What happened?"
"He wanted me."
And that was it, really. It was all it had taken.
There was silence for a while. Hawkeye got up and poured Frank a drink, taking one for himself before sitting back down.
"I didn't know. I mean that night I came in and you had my robe around your waist..." Hawkeye shook his head. "It never even occurred to me."
Hawkeye took another gulp before continuing. "And you...I know how you feel about this kind of thing. At least, I thought I did. It's all wrong. Everything. "
There was some more silence. Both men finished their drinks. Hawkeye filled them again. Frank tried to speak.
"You don't know what it's like, what he's like." Frank fiddled with his glass, trying to vocalise it all for the first time. "I'm afraid of him."
Hawkeye's brow furrowed . "Why? Has he ever hurt you? Trapper wouldn't..."
"No."
"I don't understand."
Did Frank? He tried to order his thoughts, to force it all to make sense. It was too much; he was too much. Did Hawkeye even know what it was like to be nothing? It's terrifying, being alone. But to be good enough to be somebody's secret, to be the object of someone's attention was almost more frightening than anything else. Almost more terrifying than loosing it.
Somewhere along the line Trapper had become a god. Frank wasn't sure if he could exist without him.
Hawkeye never asked if Frank loved him. It wasn't about that.
Later, Frank would never be able to recall exactly what was said. He talked to Hawkeye about everything. Everything he was afraid of, everything he wasn't. Everything he hadn't been able, allowed, to say before now. He told him everything.
He should have been able to recall the exact words, if any, that Hawkeye had said. There were promises, consolations, comfort. He can still recall the emotion, the feeling that someone cared, that it was going to get better, that he will make it better. Promises not made from real words, meaningless.
The sweetest of nothing at all.
He didn't push him away a second time.
Everything was different. Hawkeye's skin was ridiculously soft, like that of a small child. There were noises, small soft words, and a look of uncertainty when they were lying side by side naked, as if Hawkeye didn't know what to do next.
Frank dug out the lubricant that Trapper kept under his bunk and prepared himself, for once not self conscious of the show as Hawkeye watched, amazed.
(Edited for ff.net)
It was nice. And Frank wasn't afraid.
(Edited for ff.net)
Oh. (Edited for ff.net)
He whimpered a little.
Hawkeye didn't hear. He lowered himself back onto Frank, mumbled something, and then went quiet. Frank needed to pee, Hawkeye was lying on his bladder but Frank didn't want to move. He was warm. He was wanted.
"Not in my bunk."
Nothing lasted.
"Not in my bunk."
Frank was still. Hawkeye stirred, looked across the tent and smiled.
"Oh, hi, Trapper," he said, sitting up and reaching for his robe, "I didn't think you'd be back so soon. What happened? That nurse give you the slip?"
"Get out."
"Are you kidding?" Hawkeye protested. "It's freezing out there! You want..."
"Get. Out."
Trapper's eyes never left Frank, who didn't move, couldn't move.
Hawkeye sneered as he passed Trapper on the way out the door. "He's all yours now."
He left. Trapper didn't move. Neither did Frank.
"Why?" Trapper asked, his voice flat. Frank didn't answer.
"Why him?" Trapper finally lost his temper. "Why in MY GODDAMN BUNK!"
There had been times in the past when Trapper and Hawkeye had done cruel things to Frank, terrible things. Frank had whined, reported, threatened, and, very rarely, he had gotten back at them. But of all the terrible things they had done, all the horrible things that had happened to him in Korea he hadn't cried. Tears were beaten out of him at an early age. It was something he was proud of.
Frank wept.
Trapper went to say something but couldn't. He didn't know what to do, so he did nothing.
There were voices outside the tent.
Trapper's head snapped around as Hawkeye and Henry entered the tent, the latter thoroughly soused and midway through some nonsensical tale. Trapper watched in horror as they made their way toward the still. He hadn't realised how drunk Hawkeye was, how drunk he'd have had to be to bring their C.O. into the middle of this.
"Hawkeye, get him out of here!"
"If I wasn't invited," Henry slurred, "then why'd you invite me here in th' first place?" He narrowed his eyes, trying to get them to focus. "Hey, what's wrong with Frank?"
"Fine, jeez Trapp, you don't have to yell." Hawkeye set down his glass and grabbed Henry by the arm.
"What the hell are you playing at, Hawk?" Trapper made a threatening move towards his friend. Henry Blake tripped and landed on Hawkeye's bunk.
"You have no idea what I've been through, Trapper! Leave me alone!"
"Get him out!"
Hawkeye grabbed Henry while continuing to yell at his tent-mate. They made it as far as the door when Frank's shrill voice cut them down in their tracks.
"I hate you! Do you think it's funny? You've had your fun now, huh! You bastards, you don't give a flying fuck what happens to me. Go ahead, line up, have your turn! Don't even bother to pay the whore!"
Each yell was punctuated with sobs, each sentence broken by gasps. Frank was standing now, clutching a blanket around his waist. Yelling and screaming until his voice was too raw and the sobs were too many. Frank broke down.
Nobody moved. Henry gaped.
There was a knock at the door and the quiet voice of Father Mulcahy spoke. "Is everything all right in there?"
"Get him out." Trapper's voice deserted him.
Hawkeye, sobered, pulled Henry out of the door. Trapper half heard him spinning a tale to Henry and the small crowd that had gathered outside their tent, but his eyes were focused on the man collapsed, sobbing in silence now, on his bed.
"Frank?" It was barely a whisper. Trapper reached out and put his hand on Frank's back. Frank didn't acknowledge it.
"I..." Trapper sat down next to him. "It wasn't meant to be like this, Frank."
He pulled Frank close and held him for a while, as he had done for his daughters when they cried.
"It wasn't meant to hurt you. We don't think of you like that, never." He lifted Frank's chin so that he could meet his eyes. "You're not a whore."
"You hate me," Frank whispered.
"We don't hate you. We're friends aren't we?"
Frank nodded; it was what he wanted, after all. Eventually he crawled out of Trapper's bunk and into his own.
Hawkeye came back.
"I'm sorry."