Author's Note: Hey guys... sorry it's been a while. Got very caught up in RW stuff recently. Thanks for all your wonderful feedback. I've tried to take on a bit of what's been said, mostly trying to be a little more sympathetic to BJ, but it was tough with this chapter, as I wanted a reversal of what everyone sees as the norm. I'll be nicer tohim next time, I promise. Sigh Writing BJ is harder than I thought. He's far too straight forward and nice! Lol! Oh, and any ideas for new chapters are welcome btw! ;-)
Fidelity.
It's one of those words which to them simply doesn't mean anything. An abstract concept at best, not something of any import in their day to day lives. They are recklessly, shamlessly, gloriously unfaithful, Lothario and Lucifer by equal turns, lovers in jest alone. To him especially, fidelity has no meaning. He laughs, and flirts, and seduces his way through every heart in the camp, and when they tire of him, he moves on. Like an impish blond firework sparking flames that he has no power to control. To Trapper, love is not something to be measured, guarded jealously and doled out in carefully divided portions. Not something to be kept in check, or analysed, or really thought about at all. It just is. And he needs it in the same way that he needs the alcohol; because it is an escape, because it drives him away for a while. And he's not faithful. Trapper John is never faithful. He's swift and fleeting, golden sand slipping through their fingers, no matter how tight they seek to grasp him. Always the player, the womaniser, the lying, cheating bastard. But, though few people know it, he is a family man too. Becky, and Kathy, and Lousie – his talisman, something that is far too precious to share. He never talks about them. Guards them with a jealously which surprises even Hawkeye. He never claims to be a loyal husband. Father Mulcahy used to say that he and Hawkeye had a great capacity for love. It doesn't seem to matter who or how, or even why, it's just love. And it's all careless, and light hearted, and no strings attatched, because Trap's that kind of guy. Here one day and gone the next. A kiss on the cheek, a knowing smile, a mocking laugh, and he is gone.
Doctor Fidelity, I used to call him. I used to tease him about it, laugh at the idea that any man could stay faithful in the middle of a war ten thousand miles away from home. It was a running joke. I'd try to catch him out, invite him to help with the nurses' physicals, try to hook him up with cheap geishas in Tokyo, that sort of thing. He never fell for any of it. He was too principled to let me lead him so far astray, too sure of himself to let me mould him as I would. Perhaps I thought then that I could make of him another Trapper, a new and improved model, and that by doing so I could lessen the pain of losing the old. But if BJ is anything, he is his own man, and he refused. Refused to be moulded or reshaped, refused to become the replacement I sought. He was strong, and noble, and loyal, and I know that a fair few of the girlswould have fallen over backwards for him if he so much as asked. But he never did. Never. Doctor Fidelity, I called him. Until, one day, something snapped, and I was left looking at a guy who fell off the fidelity wagon. I can't blame him. Can't even be surprised. Every other guy I know has fallen, and few as often as Trapper John. But somehow, not one of those guys ever fell as hard as BJ. And -funny thing - somehow, with BJ, it suddenly seemed like a sin. Like something low and despicable and beneath contempt, where before it had simply never mattered. I cried that night. Not with tears, but inside. I dreamed of Peggy, all in white, with BJ kneeling in the mud before her, and of little Erin with flowers in her hair, dancing and smiling, and refusing to meet her Daddy's eyes.