Title: If I Had a Gun, There'd Be No Tomorrow
Author: Katie
E-mail:
Fandom: MASH
Pairing: Frank/?
Rating: R
Series: A Miracle Everyday
Warning: Drug implications, swearing, slurs, sexual references.
Disclaimer: I own Jen and his stepdad. Everyone else is somebody else's. I
don't own the Barenaked Ladies.
Archive: To lists, all others ask.
Summary: In Vietnam Era, a runaway is brought back to whom he ran from.
Notes: "Tooter" is hippie slang for someone who snorts drugs. For example,
"My dad lost his sense of smell from being a tooter." Thanks to Mommy for
that gem. Also, the title comes from a Barenaked Ladies' song.
"You don't have to do this, y'know," Jen spat, bitterly. "It's not like I want to go back."
Hawkeye glared at him and turned back onto the main road. "Do you know how worried your parents are?"
Jan snickered. "What parents? Do you mean the slut and the fruitcake?"
"So, I see you get those attributes from your folks."
"Fuck you."
"Don't you wish?"
"Who the hell are you anyway? One of those Neighborhood Watch cronies? Or one of my father's sodomite friends?"
"I met your father in Korea."
"Old war buddies. How pleasant."
Hawkeye snickered.
"Don't tell me you two were..."
"No. No! Frank Burns was—is the bane of my existence."
"At least you don't have to know he's part of you. Just thinking that prick is my father makes me sick."
"Frank may be responsible for half of your genetic make-up, but he doesn't have to control your every move."
"What makes you think he does?"
"You ran off because of him. You started shooting because of him. I bet you tried to fuck that guy last night because of him."
"Shut your goddamn mouth," Jen said, tightening his muscles.
Hawkeye smiled. "You got Daddy's temper, too."
Jen grated his teeth. "I hate you."
"So do I, kid."
---
Jen sat on Hawkeye's couch with his shoulders slumped over. The old man was making phone calls to milk carton makers or whoever to report him no longer. He thought of running, but that was useless. The fuzz knew he was in Maine and his shoulder hurt like a bitch. However, he knew a special medicine that would take care of that. If only he could get his hands on some.
A familiar nausea edged through Jen's stomach. He doubled over and pinched his knee.
Hawkeye stretched the phone cord from the kitchen into the living room. "Yes, it is a blessing I found him. Uh huh," he said charismatically. "He's right here. Yeah. He'd love to talk to you." Hawkeye reached the phone out to Jen.
"Go to Hell!" the adolescent yelled.
Hawk put the phone back to his ear. "He's feeling a little fatigued right now. I bet when he gets back, he'll be as happy as a lark."
Jen flipped Hawk the bird. The elder returned the favor.
"He's a sweet boy. Just like the pictures. A little taller, but pretty much the same. Well, you've got arrangements to make... I'll be here when you call back. All right. Take care. Bye." He hung up the phone and sat next to Jen.
"You lied. I look nothing like on the flyers. Why?"
Hawkeye sighed. "A mother doesn't want to know that her little boy has hair down to his ass and is practically a beanpole from being such a tooter."
"She's gonna find out eventually... if I decide to go back."
"When she sees you, she's going to be so happy she won't even notice."
"You obviously have never met my mother."
"Believe me, she'll care."
"All she cares about is what the people at the country club think."
"She might be different. A lot can change in three years."
"Do I sense a bit of veteran angst?"
"No, actually I was referring to a little boy turning into an addict."
"You're such a fucking hypocrite! You smell like my stepfather after the Lions lose!"
Hawkeye stood up in protest. "And Douglas is never one bit a charlatan. Never little Dougie Burns. Not the boy who condemned his father for being homosexual and feels up guys on Mrs. Detmer's lawn."
Dazedly, Jen got up and put his face to Hawkeye's. Mano y mano. "At least, I'm not a war-time lush."
"I'm not the one on trial here, boy."
Jen gripped his stomach. "I'm not either, it's my fucking pare—"
Jen took that time to vomit on Hawk's shirt.
Hawkeye glanced at the boy and groaned, "I couldn't say it any better myself."
"You don't have to do this, y'know," Jen spat, bitterly. "It's not like I want to go back."
Hawkeye glared at him and turned back onto the main road. "Do you know how worried your parents are?"
Jan snickered. "What parents? Do you mean the slut and the fruitcake?"
"So, I see you get those attributes from your folks."
"Fuck you."
"Don't you wish?"
"Who the hell are you anyway? One of those Neighborhood Watch cronies? Or one of my father's sodomite friends?"
"I met your father in Korea."
"Old war buddies. How pleasant."
Hawkeye snickered.
"Don't tell me you two were..."
"No. No! Frank Burns was—is the bane of my existence."
"At least you don't have to know he's part of you. Just thinking that prick is my father makes me sick."
"Frank may be responsible for half of your genetic make-up, but he doesn't have to control your every move."
"What makes you think he does?"
"You ran off because of him. You started shooting because of him. I bet you tried to fuck that guy last night because of him."
"Shut your goddamn mouth," Jen said, tightening his muscles.
Hawkeye smiled. "You got Daddy's temper, too."
Jen grated his teeth. "I hate you."
"So do I, kid."
---
Jen sat on Hawkeye's couch with his shoulders slumped over. The old man was making phone calls to milk carton makers or whoever to report him no longer. He thought of running, but that was useless. The fuzz knew he was in Maine and his shoulder hurt like a bitch. However, he knew a special medicine that would take care of that. If only he could get his hands on some.
A familiar nausea edged through Jen's stomach. He doubled over and pinched his knee.
Hawkeye stretched the phone cord from the kitchen into the living room. "Yes, it is a blessing I found him. Uh huh," he said charismatically. "He's right here. Yeah. He'd love to talk to you." Hawkeye reached the phone out to Jen.
"Go to Hell!" the adolescent yelled.
Hawk put the phone back to his ear. "He's feeling a little fatigued right now. I bet when he gets back, he'll be as happy as a lark."
Jen flipped Hawk the bird. The elder returned the favor.
"He's a sweet boy. Just like the pictures. A little taller, but pretty much the same. Well, you've got arrangements to make... I'll be here when you call back. All right. Take care. Bye." He hung up the phone and sat next to Jen.
"You lied. I look nothing like on the flyers. Why?"
Hawkeye sighed. "A mother doesn't want to know that her little boy has hair down to his ass and is practically a beanpole from being such a tooter."
"She's gonna find out eventually... if I decide to go back."
"When she sees you, she's going to be so happy she won't even notice."
"You obviously have never met my mother."
"Believe me, she'll care."
"All she cares about is what the people at the country club think."
"She might be different. A lot can change in three years."
"Do I sense a bit of veteran angst?"
"No, actually I was referring to a little boy turning into an addict."
"You're such a fucking hypocrite! You smell like my stepfather after the Lions lose!"
Hawkeye stood up in protest. "And Douglas is never one bit a charlatan. Never little Dougie Burns. Not the boy who condemned his father for being homosexual and feels up guys on Mrs. Detmer's lawn."
Dazedly, Jen got up and put his face to Hawkeye's. Mano y mano. "At least, I'm not a war-time lush."
"I'm not the one on trial here, boy."
Jen gripped his stomach. "I'm not either, it's my fucking pare—"
Jen took that time to vomit on Hawk's shirt.
Hawkeye glanced at the boy and groaned, "I couldn't say it any better myself."