Author note: Super late posting this chapter - sorry guys! Long story short, I moved house this week and haven't really had much time in the evening to sit down and update. But the good news is that this part is DONE! The bad news is that the next part isn't, but watch this space! Bookmark me or the series for updates, and you can find me on Tumblr under hawkeye-piercintyre.
The air outside was fresh and crisp, refreshing to both the skin and the lungs. Audrey ushered Trapper round to the small space in between the bar and the neighbouring building. It could roughly be described as a parking lot, only there was room for maybe four cars in total, and one of those spaces was occupied by a dumpster. A large sign instructed residents and customers to park round the back or risk towing.
Here, Audrey lit a cigarette, and leaned against the wall. She exhaled slowly, blowing a long column of blue-grey smoke into the night air, and sighing. "So," she asked, her voice a little rougher from her smoke, "how's your first day in the Combat Zone?"
Trapper thought on it. There was almost too much to process! Surely, too much to put into words. "Your wife doesn't like me," he stated at last.
"Dylan don't like nobody at first, until they give her a reason."
"She likes Hawkeye."
"Is that so?" Audrey's response gave nothing away, and the enigmatic smile she hid behind as she puffed away on her cigarette inspired more questions than it did answers.
"Says I don't deserve 'im."
"And you think you do?" Audrey's brows arched as she regarded him with a stern yet compassionate expression. She reminded him, suddenly, of his favourite schoolteacher.
Wincing, Trapper turned away. "No." His breath caught in his throat for a moment, the air too thick, his chest too tight. "Gimme a drag on that, would you?"
Audrey paused, as if thinking it over, and then proffered the cigarette in a smooth gesture. Trapper accepted. "Those things'll kill you," she warned, as Trapper inhaled deeply, the cherry glowing fiercely in the darkness of the little alley.
"Won't everything?" Trapper replied. God, he'd missed cigarettes! His soothing tobacco habit had been sacrificed in favour of dropping more and more of his income on booze. Now, he wished he'd stuck with roll-ups.
"Don't take Dylan to heart," Audrey stated with a small smile. "She looks out for people, doesn't like to see anybody takin' advantage. She may seem a sorta cold to you, but she's got a good heart. Just don't cross her. You won't like it if you do."
"Yes, ma'am," Trapper stated with a nod.
They stood awhile in the little parking lot, enjoying the mild night air and sharing the smoke. The tall buildings around them seemed to shield them from the rest of the city, but the distant sounds of urban life continued to creep through, muffled and distorted. This place seemed to exist in a world of its own, isolated and secluded. What little conversation Trapper could hear nearby was that of the Zone and its inhabitants: the raucous laughter of a group of working girls, and the flirtatious exchange of two young men departing the bar together.
And then, in the distance, sirens.
He saw Audrey startle, but she didn't say anything. She glanced down the alley, and, after a few seconds, assessed that the cops were heading elsewhere, and relaxed once more, her shoulders returning from around her ears.
"One more thing," she said at last, her voice strangely serious. "If ever you're at the bar and the lights turn white, you step away from any guy you're with, you grab one of the girls, an' you start dancin' with her. Everybody here knows the drill, ain't nobody gonna slap you. You just... dance like you mean it, like she's your girl an' you only got eyes for her."
Trapper just stared at her.
"White lights means cops're comin'," she explained, her tone hard as nails, even at a whisper.
This place was a bubble, Trapper thought, enclosed but somehow fragile.
"I thought you had a deal goin'," Trapped noted, his voice soft, like he was afraid he might shatter the protection of the Zone.
"We do, but... once in a while somebody makes a complaint... they have to check it out." Audrey rolled her eyes, shaking her head in disdain. "So, we have a system. Everybody acts heterosexual for a half hour, an' nobody goes to jail." She paused, and took a long drag on her cigarette. "And me? I run out the back door." Turning, she dropped the cigarette onto the tarmac and crushed it under the heel of one tangerine-orange patent pump. "And I think I hear somebody..." Raising a finger, she inclined her head to the right, and sure enough, the sound of a motorcycle echoed down the alley.
The sound grew louder, and the Harley that was making it slowly slid into view around the buildings. It was a large tourer model, ridden by an equally large man in a leather jacket.
Trapper tensed, unsure what to make of this. Bikers were often trouble, and he couldn't imagine this kind of a man taking too kindly to the clientele of the bar, or indeed to Audrey, who had already stepped off the kerb to exchange words – or blows.
"Well, you got a lotta nerve!"
Audrey's voice cut through the night, even over the sound of the engine, and Trapper winced.
He didn't know what to do. Stay in case things got ugly? Go and get help? Step in and hold Audrey back?
The biker killed the engine, and removed his helmet. He had a beard, short clipped and neat, with a heavy brow and fierce eyes. He looked at Audrey with something approaching a scowl, and Trapper clenched his fists and took a step forward.
Audrey seemed not to notice Trapper, and instead of giving an inch, moved in close so her face was mere inches from the man as she stated clearly: "You're late!"
"Twenty-five minutes," the biker said. "Come on!"
"And you can stay twenty-five minutes extra for 'em!"
The biker groaned, shaking his head. "You're a hard woman, Audrey."
"I know." Audrey sounded proud. Smug, even.
And Trapper? Trapper was confused.
Glancing back at him, Audrey shot him a smile. "Relax, new boy. I'd like you to meet Dr. Jack Henry Cook, psychiatrist to the good people of the Combat Zone, and my part-time bartender – who's almost half an hour late for his shift." She grinned at Jack, who gave a little shrug.
"I'll be right there," Jack assured her, securing his bike. "I had somethin' to attend to. My work doesn't always run to a schedule."
"Actually," Audrey said, her tone suddenly gentler, "why don't you take five? I'll see you behind the bar when you're ready. Mine's a Scotch Old Fashioned." With this, she smiled again, blew Jack a kiss, then turned on her heel to trot back to the bar. As she did this, Trapper thought he saw her – although he couldn't be sure, as the movement was lost in the flurry of Audrey's body language – nod briefly in his direction.
And then he realised.
He was being set up – with a psychiatrist.
The rattle of the fire exit door signalled Audrey's departure back into the bar, and Trapper was left alone with the large man with the motorcycle and the degree in head-shrinking.
Funny. The only psychiatrist Trapper had ever known was Sidney Freedman. Jack looked worlds away from Sidney, but then Sidney was worlds away from what he had expected.
"So," he said, moving a little closer as Jack dismounted and tucked his keys into his pocket. "You're a headshrink, huh?"
"That's the day job," Jack replied with a grin. "Not all that different from my moonlighting one."
Trapper laughed a little at that, and extended his hand. "Dr. John McIntyre, surgeon." And then, after a pause: "Ex surgeon."
Jack took his hand, pumped it vigorously a couple of times, then released it. "Nice to meet you."
"It's funny," Trapper said with an awkward smile, "you don't look like a doctor."
"Neither do you," Jack replied with a slightly cocky grin.
Trapper glanced down at himself – grubby jeans and an old button down shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. "I never wear my scrubs to a party," he quipped.
"Is that so?" Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of Marlboros, lighting one with a large, silver zippo lighter bearing a Harley Davidson logo.
"Yeah." Trapper licked his lips, watching as Jack took a drag and exhaled smoke into the night air. "So uh... are you taking on new patients right now?"
Jack didn't seem remotely surprised, and Trapper couldn't help but wonder if Audrey was in the habit of shoving local basket-cases in Jack's direction on a regular basis. "I could fit you in," he said. "Depends when you're free, of course. A lot of my regulars have a routine now, and I don't like to disrupt that."
"That won't be a problem," Trapper replied with a nervous laugh. "I'm not working right now." And then, realising how bad that sounded, he quickly added. "But... I can pay. That is... uh... we can pay."
"Okay," came the reply. Totally unremarkable, unquestioning. Zero judgement.
"Situation's kinda fucked up," he blurted out in a hushed tone. "I'm livin' with... this guy. He's kinda... he's payin' my way, for now at least. I'm not sure..."
"I'm gonna stop you there, my friend." Jack held up a hand, and then, fishing in his pocket again, he produced a business card. "Don't tell me your personal business here, because any passing asshole can hear it, and I'm not on the clock. Call me on that number, make an appointment. My rates are cheap as hell because people around here don't earn shit."
Blinking, Trapper accepted the card. Jack's rates were listed on there, along with his phone number. And he wasn't kidding – they were cheap as hell. "So uh... why do you work around here?" he asked, a little suspicious.
Looking up, Jack spread his arms wide and beamed. "Why do you think?" He took a drag from his smoke and then, suddenly thoughtful, added, "Look, I could go interview with a hospital any time I like, go earn big bucks, get an office with my name on the door. But is it worth having to pretend? This way I get to live my life the way I want, helping people who need it the most. And if that means I gotta undercut the market, live in a tiny apartment on the rough side of town and work a couple of bar shifts from time to time, well then... that's the way it is. At least I can help the people I wanna help. And it's not like they have many options when it comes to the service I offer."
And Trapper nodded. There was something... disarmingly relaxed about the man, like nothing fazed him. But then... that was probably part of the job. Trapper remembered that Sidney Freedman had the same thing going on, in a different way, but Trapper didn't feel quite so... exposed around him. Then again, Trapper had never signed up as one of Sidney's patients, not even for warzone-related problems, and definitely not for longstanding alcoholism and a propensity for domestic violence towards his estranged gay lover. And now, in some idly curious part of his mind, Trapper wondered what Sidney might have said if he did.
Suddenly anxious, Trapper stepped a little closer, his hands clenching and unclenching, nails digging into his palms. "Your... service," he questioned, biting his lip. "You ain't gonna try an'... straighten me out, are ya?"
Jack's expression darkened a little, and for the first time, Trapper saw something that looked like discomfort on the man's face. "If that's what you want," he stated firmly, "you're looking at the wrong guy. I got a few opinions about the docs that try and do that, but, situation as it stands at the moment, I'm just one tiny fucking fish in a big goddamn ocean trying to swim against the current. Another reason why I quit the hospital." He gave a tight smile.
"I don't want that." Trapper shook his head firmly. "I feel like I only just started gettin' to grips with all this, feelin' like it might actually be... part of me. Pretty stupid, right? Gettin' to be middle aged and I'm only just figurin' it out! I mean, how crazy is that?" He gave a nervous laugh.
But Jack merely smiled. "That's okay. Crazy is my specialty."
The rattle of the door made Trapper startle. They had company, and this wasn't a conversation Trapper wanted passers-by overhearing.
"Hello hello hello!"
And now, Trapper's heart did an entirely different backflip. "Hiya, Hawk."
"Your other half?" Jack deduced, nodding towards Hawkeye.
"Former," Trapper corrected. "But... yeah. That would be him." Trapper smiled. Even in the depressing shadow of estrangement, there was an almost euphoric joy that came with such openness about who Hawkeye was to him! He didn't think he would ever get used to it! He almost didn't want to!
Trapper's delight was clearly not lost on Jack, who nodded and smiled back. "We'll pick this up later. You have my number."
With those words, Trapper's unlikely saviour shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and sauntered into to the bar, the studs in his leather jacket glinting on his retreating back.
Hawkeye watched him go, his smile fading slightly as he turned back to Trapper. "Am I interrupting something?"
"No, you ain't. Come on out."
Hawkeye accepted the invitation, joining him at the kerb. "Who was that guy?"
For a moment, Trapper wondered if he was detecting a hint of possessiveness – something he hadn't seen from Hawkeye in a long time – but he wasn't about to flatter himself by dwelling on that. "As of this week, he's my therapist."
The look on Hawkeye's face said it all. Relief. Delight. Perhaps even shock. He gaped at Trapper for a moment, his jaw hanging open. And then, at last, his goldfish impression transformed into a broad grin. His eyes crinkled as he embraced the stunned Trapper in a fierce hug. He was laughing, and Trapper almost winced. The pealing cackle hurt his ear, but he didn't dream of pulling away. This was the first time Hawkeye had held him like this in months! He almost wanted to weep! Hesitantly, he closed his arms around him, feeling the strange familiarity of him once more, slight and lean, and a little bit bony. He closed his eyes, resting his head on Hawkeye's shoulder.
They stood, gently swaying on the sidewalk. In any other neighbourhood, it would be unthinkable! The whole thing felt like a bizarre dream!
All too quickly, Hawkeye pulled away, almost embarrassed by such a display. Trapper couldn't help but wonder if maybe they were being a little melodramatic. After all, this wasn't the end by a long shot – it was just the beginning.
"Sorry." Hawkeye composed himself, realising that he might have overstepped a line. "I just… Trapper, that's great. You know what that is? That's progress! I'm excited for you!"
His enthusiasm was heartening, but Trapper cast a knowing glance in the direction of the glass of clear liquid in his hand. "How many of those have you had?"
"Oh, this is my fifth, but I don't think it's making any difference. See?" He held the glass out for Trapper to sniff.
Trapper's eyes widened. "It's water?"
Hawkeye shrugged. "Consider it solidarity. Also, we're broke."
"I thought maybe the girls had bought you a drink or two. You three seemed to be hitting it off."
"Dylan offered, but uh... I figured I'd be a rotten friend if I didn't at least join you on your wagon for a little while."
"That's real sweet of you. I appreciate it." Trapper was grinning from ear to ear. It was the tiniest of gestures, but somehow it meant the world.
"It's not sweet. You're ignoring the broke part."
"I don't care!" Trapper laughed. His head was spinning slightly, and, a little overwhelmed, he moved away to sit on the kerb, his arms wrapped around his knees like a child. Hawkeye joined him. They sat quietly, the noise of the bar faded into a quiet hum of music and conversation, while around them, the din of the city buzzed on, blissfully unaware of the little pocket of a community that thrived and revelled in this particular corner beside Chinatown.
A car sailed past, and Trapper tensed, half expecting somebody to jump out and start a fight.
Nobody did. It continued on its way.
"You okay?"
It was Hawkeye who spoke, and Trapper breathed through his fear, and shot him a smile. "I'm great. I'm actually… I mean this is incredible!"
"It is, isn't it?" Hawkeye beamed, glancing back at the lights of the bar and the swaying silhouettes of bodies just visible through the windows. "Thank you for making me come out tonight. This was worth it."
"Don't mention it." Trapper smiled.
There was a pause, and then Hawkeye learned in. "But you could have just told me, you moron! You didn't have to drag me all the way out here just to persuade me to give you seventeen bucks for a... well, for whatever it is they call bribing Boston PD so they don't go around locking up the locals."
"It wasn't just the seventeen bucks." Trapper flapped his hand dismissively. "I wanted you to see it for yourself. Not just the place, the people! Y'know, I feel like I made better friends here in a single afternoon than I have for the past nine years?"
"Oh, well you got that right. Those girls are amazing."
"Yeah, tell me about it!"
"I spoke to Dylan."
Trapper shivered a little, remembering Dylan's threat, which he didn't doubt for a second was a hundred percent sincere. "Yeah?"
"Yeah, she's a sweet lady."
Trapper laughed – he imagined Dylan probably could be sweet, although given that she'd been the one laying down the law to him and threatening to kick his ass if he fucked up, he had yet to see it. "Well, I... can't say I saw that side of 'er, but she's a trooper, an' she gets us. An' Audrey's been... well, she's been just swell. Made me feel like... like I weren't alone, y'know. And she makes me laugh!"
"Oh – she's fantastic! You know, I don't think I've ever met a lesbian drag queen!"
"Actually, she don't like the term 'drag queen'. She ain't in drag, that's just her, twenty-four-seven. Also, she's bisexual. Y'know, like us."
Hawkeye smiled. The addition of 'like us' hadn't slipped his notice. He knew that must have taken some courage for Trapper to just… come out with it like that. He knew how much he struggled with the labels used to describe his sexuality; saw the way he licked his lips before the statement, the way he swallowed after, like the words were a challenge to get out, like they were liable to come back and bite him. Seeing him like this, fighting to come to terms with himself, tentatively trying the term on for size instead of swearing or shuddering or spitting it like it were poison, Hawkeye felt a pang of sympathy.
Trapper glanced cautiously at him in the silence. "What?"
"Nothing. Just... never heard you say it like that before."
Trapper nodded, and fixed his gaze on the buildings across the street once more. "It's been a help, y'know? Talkin' to people. I know I got a long way to go, but... it's been a good day."
Hawkeye cast another glance towards the lights of the bar. "Sounds like you're making friends."
"Yeah…" Trapper stared thoughtfully into his glass of orange juice. It had been an eventful kind of a day, filled with so many new people and new ideas. He'd had no idea how much he'd been craving something like this until he'd come face to face with it! All these years and he'd never known what he was missing. "Hawkeye?"
"Mmm? Yeah?" Hawkeye looked over, tearing his eyes away from the window.
Trapper thought on his next words carefully, not wanting them to sound confrontational, not intending to make an accusation. "How come you never brought me to a place like this?"
Blinking at him, Hawkeye stared at him. "Really? You? You really have to ask that question?" Uneasy, Hawkeye pushed to clarify his point: "I mean, you didn't even want to use the words. You wanted to hide behind closed doors, keep it quiet, be 'normal', at least in public. I didn't think an underground gay bar would be the thing to break you out of your shell."
"Hm, I guess." Trapper looked away, clasping his hands together. He had to admit, he was probably right. Once again, Hawkeye had him all figured out.
"Besides, I didn't know this place was here. You found this! All on your lonesome!"
"But you must'a had an idea…"
Hawkeye shrugged. "I heard on the grapevine there used to be a few places up near Scollay Square, but, as Judy Garland is my witness, I wouldn't know a single address. They don't exactly advertise – and places get shut down, raided, moved on. Urban renewal, city clean-ups, gentrification."
"But you're the one with all the–"
"Trapper!" Hawkeye cut him off, laughing and shaking his head. "I've never once been on the scene in Boston. I've been to one bar – some underground joint under a railway arch in Chicago – and it wasn't exactly the best date in the world. I went in with one guy and left with someone else. Forgive me if I'm wrong, but, your own personal identity crisis aside, it didn't exactly seem like a good idea to bring my long-term squeeze to the sort of place I used to go during my internship to pick up guys whose names I couldn't remember!" A pause, as Hawkeye contemplated his next utterance. "And despite what you think, I wasn't about to go shopping around for a replacement boyfriend!"
"Yeah, I know you weren't." Trapper frowned. He knew well enough he'd been a jealous son of a bitch for a while now. He knew deep down that he wouldn't have been able to handle a place like this until now. As much as he hated to admit it, there was something about Hawkeye, with all his experience and pride, that intimidated him. "I just... I thought you were… y'know… experienced. No offence."
"Experienced?" Another laugh. "Trapper, I fooled around! We didn't sample the nightlife! You don't exactly get in on the secret underground when all you're doing is making out in empty lecture halls and screwing in college dorm rooms. I realise I've got a few more notches on my homosexual bedpost than you, but don't go thinking I'm some sort of… connoisseur of gay culture, because I'm not."
"Still a damned site more'n me…" Trapper mumbled into his glass and polished off the last of his orange juice. "Y'know I'm jealous of you? You got all this worked out in your twenties! You figured out who you were, an' you dealt with it! An' here's me, comin' up on forty-two, an' I still ain't sure if I like guys in general or just you."
"Well, I can't help you there." Hawkeye gave a slightly uncomfortable smile. "I guess if you really wanna know, there's probably a fair few guys in there who'd be willing to help you figure it out."
"Yeah, maybe." Trapper cast a glance over his shoulder towards the bar. A handful of couples had met up and started to leave, some meandering off to find somewhere more private, one pair not seeming to care and simply necking in the porch. The sailor and his young paramour were long gone – Trapper had watched them swan off down the street without a care in the world, hands in one another's back pockets. It was a sight Trapper had never imagined he'd see. Yup, this place was hot alright. Not to flatter himself, but he probably could score if he really tried… "I just ain't so sure I wanna get with some other guy." He glanced back at Hawkeye. "If I did, I reckon I'd just be reboundin', which probably wouldn't be great for anybody. So I guess it don't matter whether I'm a three-point-oh on the Kinsey scale or a one-point-three, 'cause it's all kind of academic anyways."
Hawkeye shifted a little uncomfortably. "Yeah, well… you'll get there."
"I guess…" Trapper's reply was little more than a grumble. He already felt like he'd said too much. He noted Hawkeye's nervousness and the way he looked away, and hastily sought to backpedal from what was possibly too emotional a statement for a point so early in his recovery. "An' just so ya know, I ain't tryin'a make ya feel bad."
"Oh, I know."
"Don't go thinkin' I'm tryin'a twist your arm, because I ain't about to do that."
"I know you're not!" Hawkeye's reply was too abrupt, too sudden, and he instantly regretted his tone. Emotional as ever, he'd given too much away. "Would it surprise you to know the idea of you running off with somebody else doesn't exactly fill me with the joys of spring?"
"I had noticed." Trapper hesitated with regards to that topic, hovering at the cusp of the conversation they both needed but were too afraid to have. He'd seen Hawkeye's jealousy flare in the bar earlier. Floundering a little, Trapper spoke at last: "I ain't plannin' on runnin' off anywhere." Again, he paused, licked his lips, took a deep breath, and plunged forward. "What about you?"
Hawkeye stared at him.
"I mean, just so as I have a fair warnin'?"
Trapper's question was unassuming, as neutral as it could be given their situation, but heavy with implication, and a plea for a reconciliation that Hawkeye just wasn't ready to give. Was this a discussion they had to have now? Was it even appropriate, so soon after their split? How long was long enough? "Am I... going anywhere? Is that what you're asking?"
"Well, y'know, we ain't a thing anymore. I'd hate to be the one holdin' ya back."
"To be honest, I… I didn't really plan this far ahead," Hawkeye confessed with a nervous shrug.
"That's okay, I didn't think I'd make it this far." Trapper laughed, covering the awkwardness.
"Yeah, me neither." Hawkeye wasn't laughing. He was solemn and remorseful and… Trapper thought maybe he caught a hint of sadness. "You've surprised me," he admitted, "which is… good, I guess." He licked his lips, looking away for a moment. "But now I'm not too sure how I feel about that."
Trapper took a breath. He didn't want to go dragging Hawkeye down any more emotional trajectories – he'd done that enough tonight – but for all this place had to offer, he needed to know where he was going to be standing in a month or two, when Hawkeye, too, had found new friends in this surprisingly diverse part of town, and was able to move on from being Trapper's keeper. He exhaled, and bit the bullet. "Look, you don't have to have all the answers. An' I know I ain't exactly got a whole lot to offer you. Deep down, I still figure you'd probably be better off with somebody who ain't got all this baggage to deal with – somebody who's comfortable with 'emselves – like... I dunno, like that… Quentin guy I know ya liked."
"Oh! Trapper, no!" Physically recoiling at the mere mention of Quentin's name, Hawkeye screwed his eyes closed. His words were almost a shout, and Trapper stared at him, baffled.
"What? I thought you had a thing for him? I thought he was all… Mister Perfect Doctor Guy, college sweetheart and all round philanthropist?"
A look of repulsion shuddered across Hawkeye's features. "Not a chance! Believe me, I could not think of anything less appealing than shacking up with that… hair-dying, over-priced-car-driving, own-department-running, 'look at my wonderful life that has everything you don't have' nepotistic palm-greaser!" He spat the words like they left a bad taste in his mouth. "So don't go there."
"Oh, he really pissed ya off, huh?"
Hawkeye snorted. "Did you know I let him copy off me for two whole semesters? Because I thought he was cute! And he knew it, too, so he kept cutting class, and then he'd turn on the charm, and I'd hand everything over. What a rotten little fink! Taught me everything I know, but still…" He looked away, his right hand rising to his lips so he could chew on his thumbnail – a gesture which was not lost on Trapper – and spat a splinter of nail onto the sidewalk before turning away, arms folded, head down.
And suddenly, Trapper's delight turned to concern. "This ain't about college…"
Hawkeye shuddered. "No, it's not."
Trapper went cold. "What the hell happened, huh? There somethin' you ain't tellin' me?"
His voice was gentle, but his question made Hawkeye shake a little, and he wrapped his arms around himself as if he was somehow cold despite the heat of the summer evening. He thought long and hard about how to answer, realising there was no easy way to say what had to be said, and that if anything was to be said at all, he would have to say all of it. 'The whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me…' He wiped his hands on his knees, his palms sweaty. "Okay, but just so you know I didn't plan for this to happen, alright?" Turning away, he ran a hand anxiously through his hair, unable to meet Trapper's gaze. "He made a pass at me. Okay?"
Trapper went cold. There was something about Hawkeye's tone that suggested this was only a fraction of the story, and he couldn't help but feel that, one way or another, he wasn't going to like the rest of it. "And?"
"I talked to him. About us. You know, things were bad, I needed someone to talk to. It was nothing at first, but… I don't know, things got a little… intense." He swallowed, licked his lips, and continued: "I don't know how it happened. We kissed. Or… or rather he kissed me." The words tumbled out of him, unstoppable, and he could only hope he was making the right call. He was in too deep now. "But I didn't try and stop him. Not the first time. Second time I did, but uh… he didn't seem to pay much attention to that, so…" Hawkeye gave a weak shrug, casting a cautious glance in Trapper's direction before gazing into the gutter. "So, now you know why I quit the best job I've had since I left the army."
Trapper stared at him, his emotions an awful, confusing mix of horror, betrayal, and protective rage. He couldn't get the words out! "You're tellin' me," he managed to utter at last, "he forced himself on ya?"
"What? No!" Hawkeye's brow creased as he tried to get his head around Trapper's meaning. He hadn't really thought about it in those sort of terms. He hadn't particularly dwelled on it at all, until now, save for the flashes that invaded his thoughts at inopportune moments, making him shudder. At last, he shrugged. "Okay, a little. I guess. I don't… know. Whatever it was... this was one personal assistant who didn't fancy getting all that personal. So I… I told him to take his job offer and shove it. Which I guess is why I never made it past probation."
Trapper looked away, shaking a little as he released a long, steady breath, trying to calm himself. "Fuck."
"I knew you'd be angry."
"Of course I'm angry! I hope he wraps his goddamn Mercedes around a tree, the son of a bitch!"
Hawkeye let out a cackle of a laugh – albeit one born out of resentment than good humour – before falling silent again. He tapped his glass of water against Trapper's orange juice. "Motion carried." He set his glass down on the kerb and, suddenly solemn, added: "Well, I guess we're even anyhow."
"Even?" Trapper felt his stomach sink at the memory of his own transgression, only one short week ago. "That weren't exactly somethin' I was lookin' to keep score on."
"Yeah…" Hawkeye gazed across the street, frowning. "We fucked up."
Trapper paused for a moment, thinking that statement over. "I fucked up," he corrected. "You were doin' just fine on the fidelity front 'til I pushed ya away. You ain't ever given me cause to doubt you. An' it makes me feel kinda cruddy that I ever did. So I'm gonna chalk that one up to extenuatin' circumstances, right?"
A little surprised, Hawkeye raised an eyebrow. "Where'd this high opinion of me come from all of a sudden?"
Meeting his gaze, Trapper shrugged. "I guess I'm just seein' ya a lot more clearly now I ain't squintin' at ya through the bottom of a beer glass."
And Hawkeye looked away again, but not before Trapper caught a glimpse of a smile.
And, for just a second, Trapper felt warm and comfortable in a way he hadn't in a long while.
"So," Hawkeye said, dropping his head, "about that apartment."
Trapper went cold, and Hawkeye, once again, was all business.
Trapper hesitated to pick up his side of this conversation, swallowed hard, and steeled himself. He had no idea what had transpired between Dylan and Hawkeye, in that back room, other than that Hawkeye had agreed to cover the rent. But... beyond that? "What about the apartment? What's wrong?"
Hawkeye smiled, but narrowed his eyes. "It's a very nice apartment. Nice price. Nice location."
"I know." Trapper wet his lips. "And?"
"And a very nice establishment downstairs, full of nice, rich, varied clientele, possessing a colourful array of identities and orientations – fairies and butches and bears, oh my! – not to mention the single, solitary pachyderm sitting in the corner wondering why nobody seems to have noticed him." Hawkeye gave Trapper a pointed look.
Trapper almost laughed, were it not for the serious note of the conversation: Hawkeye did have such a way with words! "I noticed 'im. An' I get what you're hintin' at. So, let's say it."
"Trapper?" Hawkeye blinked a few times, as if trying to clear a mental path to Trapper's way of thinking so he could try and see his rationale. "It's a bar. The apartment is over a bar!"
"Over a gay bar," Trapper clarified.
"I know, but did you think this through? I mean, coming here for one evening to bask in the fabulous glory of a slowly emerging community is one thing, but did I forget to mention that you've got an addiction problem? One bad day and you're gonna be down those stairs–"
"–An' straight into the supervisor's office for a stern talkin' to off one o' the girls. They know I'm on the wagon here, an' the only thing I'm gettin' served in this place is soda water an' lectures. Besides –" he glanced up and down the street – "if things got bad, I could walk into any one o' these places. It's Boston, Hawk! Can't get away from it. May as well learn to live with it on my doorstep, because it sure as hell ain't goin' anywhere."
Hawkeye fell silent, but the look on his face was almost pained. "Are you sure?"
"Hawk, I'm sure! You've seen this place! You've met the girls!"
"I know..."
"It ain't about the bar – it's about everythin' else this place has got goin' for it."
Hawkeye glanced up and down the street. "Yeah, Chinese food and strippers always make for a top notch location." Trapper laughed and gave him a playful nudge. Hawkeye thought for a moment, then smiled. "Okay. If an apartment in Gaysville Massachusetts is the thing that's going to help you deal with, then... let's try it for a few weeks." He clasped his hands and wrapped his arms around his legs as he crouched there on the kerb, quiet and thoughtful. "Seventeen bucks, due on Friday. And a payslip, given that I'm subsidising your rent."
Trapper chuckled. "That's good. Because I already gave them a hundred and forty bucks."
"I notice you'd signed the lease, too."
"I did."
"But we can still back out. Dylan said. It's not binding until Audrey takes it in to the landlord. You can take a couple of days, think it over." He gave Trapper a look.
"Hawkeye?"
"If you in any way hesitant, any way at all..."
"Hawk?" Trapper smiled, and gave Hawkeye's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I'm sure." So there it was. It was a done deal. Between the two of them, they'd secured a small apartment over a gay bar in the Combat Zone of Boston, safe and infamous all in one. Hawkeye glanced at Trapper. Trapper nodded. "Thanks, Hawk."
"But… just go with me on this... even if they don't pour you a drink here, isn't there a temptation? Just walking in there?"
"Hawkeye." His tone was firm, his expression uncommonly sober. It was a good look on Trapper, Hawkeye decided. But his words sent a cold shiver through him. "Just stop. You don't have to do this anymore."
"Do what? What was I doing? I wasn't doing anything."
Trapper took a deep breath. "I ain't your responsibility."
The cold shiver traded up to an unpleasant sinking feeling that Hawkeye neither liked nor understood. "I never said you were, but I'm just… y'know, I'm…"
"An' what I'm sayin'," Trapper stated slowly and carefully, "is that I ain't your patient an' I ain't your boyfriend. I'll be okay. An' if I ain't, then that's my problem."
Acquiescing, Hawkeye relaxed, the emotion vanishing from his face, like he'd just forced it back into the bottle. "Right. Of course."
"So... how do you wanna play this?"
His question, loaded with serious implications of a life-changing nature, was worded so casually, so utterly without pressure. In fact, it was spoken more with the presumption that Hawkeye was about to up and leave, and Trapper was gently offering to walk him to his car. Hawkeye's brow furrowed. "Good question."
"I mean, as of Friday, I'm all set up here for a month. You figure you're gonna be payin' my rent for a while? Fine. I'm grateful. But for how long?"
Hawkeye sighed deeply, staring across the street. "Well... I'm not sure."
"Well, be sure. Because I ain't gonna be foolin' around here. I'm gettin' better, an' I'm gettin' a job. You'll see. So, gimme a timeframe. A cut-off point. Somethin' I can work towards. An' then you can move on."
"Move on? You're kicking me out already? We only just signed up for a new place! With... with the bisexual lady in charge and her butch wife! And... everything!"
"I'm just sayin'..." This was backfiring, Trapper realised. Hawkeye was looking at him like he'd just kicked his favourite puppy. "I mean, you don't wanna be stickin' around forever, hangin' around with a former... well, whatever I am to ya. You got your own life."
He tried to be noble. He tried to be the one to lay out a sensible, workable plan, with reasonable limits and a suitable timeframe. No matter how much it hurt, he had to do what was best for Hawkeye.
And Hawkeye, being Hawkeye, laughed. It was the only way he knew to realise the strange, nervous tension that was creeping through his body. Feeling strangely short of air, he tugged at his collar. "Why do you keep doing this?"
"Keep doin' what?"
"Trying to get me to leave. Every time we sit down and have a nice talk, or spend twenty minutes together, you try to push me out the door!"
"That's not what–"
"Or set me up with some other guy?"
Trapper shrugged, bristling a little but trying not to let his irritation get the better of him. "It's what you want, isn't it?"
"What? Another guy?"
"To get out!" Trapper heard his voice crack. He felt the tears stinging his eyes. "I ain't holdin' out much hope for us as a couple, an' the last thing I wanna do is keep ya here any longer than I have to. You've done so much, more than I deserve, an' I ain't about to take advantage o' that. So when you're ready to leave, I'm just sayin'... I'm not gonna stop you. I'd just like some warnin', so I can get myself together."
And Hawkeye fell silent. He stared at Trapper with curious eyes, watching him struggle to hold back, listening to the hitch in his voice as he tried so hard to let go and move on, and to do so gracefully and without anger.
Why was it that even after so much progress, on a night when they had achieved so much, it still felt like an argument was only a misspoken word away?
Hawkeye thought carefully. "You know what?" he began, hesitating and careful with his words, "there were a lot of times these past few weeks where I wanted nothing more than to load up the car and get the fuck out of Massachusetts. I thought about that, I really did."
Trapper waited, hanging on his words like a knife edge. "And now?"
"Now?" Hawkeye hesitated, feeling the surge of anger drop and the tension ease. "I'm not so sure."
Trapper's eyes widened. His hands shook ever so slightly. And yet, he tried with every fibre of his being not to react. "You wanna stay?" There was such hope in his voice, such promise in Hawkeye's words, and yet… "I mean... I know we talked about this. Do you want... to give it another shot?"
"See, I don't want that either." Hawkeye spoke with haste, quickly shooting down Trapper's hopes in flames. "But that doesn't mean I want to uproot my life, abandon you to the will of the fates and give up all hope."
"Hope? You're tellin' me there's hope now?"
Hawkeye stopped, like he'd said something that he hadn't mean. Or said something he had meant but hadn't meant to say. Or didn't know he meant. "I don't know," he replied softly, sad yet sincere. "I really don't."
"You don't know if you want me back or not?"
A pause. Hawkeye looked away, rubbing at his knees with his palms. "No," he said at last. "Right now I don't. But to tell you the truth I..." Another moment of silence. Trapper sat, and waited.
"What do you want?" Trapper pushed, gently.
Hawkeye turned away. Trapper's questions were too probing, too intimate. It was too soon to be sharing this. One wrong phrase and he might give away too much, leave Trapper clinging to a life raft that wasn't yet seaworthy. "I want to want you back."
Trapper baulked. He didn't know what to do with that. As much as he adored Hawkeye, he could be so vague at times, so cryptic in his flowery words and poetic turns of phrase that Trapper didn't know where to start with unravelling his meaning. "You're gonna have to explain that one to me, Hawkeye."
"I mean... I like the idea but can't say I want the reality until I got a better idea of how that reality's work out! Things were bad, Trapper! Really bad! For a long time! I don't want to go back to that with the past two years hanging over our heads. I want you to ask me that question and for me to be able to give you a straight answer without... scrambling around in the wreckage of my own head trying to piece together a coherent feeling! I want to feel like it's absolutely the best thing for the both of us. And then... and then I could just sweep you onto that dance floor and put a slow song on the jukebox and we would... we would dance together in front of all of those people... and then you'd kiss me and it would feel right. Because it would be!"
Trapper nodded, his eyes stinging a little at the image Hawkeye had just painted. "But it ain't, is it?" he replied, his voice little more than a whisper.
Hawkeye swallowed. "No. It's not."
Trapper gave a melancholy laugh and turned away. "An' you're not gonna... do any of that stuff, are ya?"
"No, Trapper. I'm not."
Taking a deep breath, Trapper forced a laugh. "There'd be no complaints from me if ya did!" His voice trembled as he spoke, and all humour was lost. Instantly, he regretted his words. This conversation had gone to a place he shouldn't have been to. He wasn't sure who was responsible, but either way, he knew he had to be the one to stop it. This wasn't fair on either of them. "Sorry," he said in a whisper. "That wasn't... I shouldn't have said that."
"Yeah, I know." Hawkeye shot him an apologetic look. "I just... It's been a week! And not a great one. I mean, cleaning up vomit, stopping you from clawing your way through the walls, and trying to get sedatives down your throat – these are not the things true love is built on. But there have been… moments."
"Moments?"
"Moments when it looks like you're turning back into somebody I like. I can't make a decision based on seven days, a chunk of which you spent, unconscious, cranky, or screaming at the TV. But this? Right now? What we are at this precise minute, and… and when we sat out by the beach eating ice cream? I like this. So, can we just... be this for a little while longer?"
Trapper exhaled, and nodded, his hope fading but not forgotten. He smiled. "Sure," he said, leaning a little closer and gently nudging Hawkeye's shoulder with his own. "Let's be this."
There was, as always, so much left unsaid. But Trapper feared any further conversation might just take them round in ever-decreasing circles until frustrations and tempers ran high again, and that wasn't something Trapper wanted. Not tonight. And so, for the time-being, 'this' would have to remain an unknown; something unnameable and mysterious, caught between a romance and a friendship; something a little more than a fleeting arrangement while Trapper detoxed and sought a more permanent address, but without the certainty of a future. 'This' still held a whisper of a promise of a chance, but that was all, and that would have to be enough. Although, Trapper had to admit, as he sat in quiet contemplation beside his former-lover-slash-roommate, the question of what precisely 'this' was, hung over him, unanswered and unasked, and probably would remain so for quite some time.