The touching was back. Trapper, idiot that he was, had been so caught up in his personal crisis that he hadn't even really noticed it had stopped. But once it started again it finally occurred to him that Hawkeye hadn't really touched him at all since that day Trapper had blown up at him for it.

He worried at first that there would be something obvious about it. That everyone would suddenly know that on more than one occasion now Trapper had cornered Hawkeye in the empty X-ray room, or supply tent, or hell, even in the Swamp when the flaps were closed, and they'd taken the time to do extremely thorough examinations of one another's mouths.

But no one seemed to look twice. Hawkeye's touches weren't overtly sexual. They never had been. In fact, when Trapper took the time to scrutinize them, he didn't think there was even anything flirty about them. Hawkeye's touches weren't intended to make his skin tingle and his stomach twist up in anticipation, at least not the casual, public ones he got outside of their oral examinations. The arm over his shoulder, the occasional hand on his back, walking close enough to touch arms - those were just Hawkeye reaching out for connection, for the warmth of another human being.

The touches meant to make his skin tingle? To send shivers up his spine? Those were very different. Those were hands sliding up his shirt as they kissed, ghosting over his abdomen. They were long surgeon's fingers threading into his curly hair and fisting, tight enough to pull but not hurt. They were a palm on the small of his back, forcing him closer until they were flush against one another and Trapper could feel the warmth of him through their shirts.

They hadn't gone any further. Clothes had remained on and even the rubbing was kept to a minimum. Trapper wasn't sure he was ready to go beyond that, and Hawkeye hadn't pushed. In fact, Hawkeye had yet to initiate anything between them. He was always more than willing when Trapper came calling, but he was letting him lead. It was unexpected, honestly. Hawkeye was a sexual force of nature. Trapper had watched a number of nurses fall like palm trees in a hurricane when he turned his sights on them. And yet, he hadn't pursued Trapper at all. He wasn't completely sure what to make of that.

"Can I ask you somethin'?" They were in the Officers' Club, sitting in the very back corner, away from any prying ears. It was pretty full that evening, no wounded were expected for the next couple of days and the camp was making the most of it. Father Mulcahy was playing a song Trapper might have recognized if he wasn't hitting so many wrong notes.

"Well," Hawkeye slurred, mock thoughtfully. They were about half a bottle of gin into the evening. Major Broadshoulders had been shipped off to Seoul, and Trapper had decided that that was cause to celebrate. "That depends." Hawkeye was sliding further and further down in his seat, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Trapper knew he was probably going to be picking him up off the floor later.

"On what?" Trapper asked, chin resting on the palm of his hand. He was pretty sure it was the only way his head was going to stay up.

"On if you're buying the next round." Hawkeye grinned at him and Trapper felt his stomach do that strange little jump and twist it had been doing recently anytime Hawkeye did practically anything.

Trapper, chin still in hand, turned his entire head to look at the bar across the room. "You expect me… you expect me to make it all the way over there?"

"Oh, waitress!" Hawkeye called, arm lifting and waving at Klinger, who was in a pretty backless green number and smoking a cigar.

Klinger raised his eyebrows and came over to their table, heels clicking on the floor. Trapper found himself staring at his shoes, wondering how he managed to walk without falling flat on his face. "What can I do you for, sirs?"

"Next round's on Trapper," Hawkeye told him. "For you too, if you'll be our feet. Ours seem to have wandered off."

"I knew these heels would catch the eye of a fancy fellow tonight," Klinger said, smirking down at Trapper, who finally blinked up at him. "Gimmie the dough and off I'll go."

Trapper dug into his pockets and pulled out some cash. "Here you go, sweetheart. Buy yourself something nice."

"Men. You're all the same." Klinger snatched the money from Trapper and turned on his heel, flipping his scarf over his shoulder as he headed up to the bar.

"How'd I end up buying Klinger a drink?" Trapper said.

"Did you?" Hawkeye asked, as if he had no recollection of the last thirty seconds. He reached out and patted Trapper on the arm. "That was real swell of you."

"I think it was swell of you," Trapper replied.

"Well I'm a swell of a guy," Hawkeye said, before breaking into a bout of giggles. He only giggled like that when he was well and truly toasted. He had his crazed laugh, the one that was loud and high pitched and meant he was just completely tickled about something; he had his obnoxious laugh, the one that was clearly faked and made him sound demented, saved for the purpose of driving Frank and/or Margaret up the wall; and he had the drunken giggle, which was so infectious it always got Trapper going as well. Tonight was no different.

When Klinger returned with a gin for each of them, they were both cracking up so badly they couldn't speak. He set their drinks down in front of them. "I'll keep the change as a tip," he said, tucking it down the front of his dress when it was clear neither one was going to say anything for a while. "Thanks for the drink."

Trapper eventually wiped the tears from his eyes and caught his breath, picking up the drink and somehow not spilling it all over himself when he took a sip. "Okay. Okay wait," he said. "You said I can ask you something."

"Sounds like something I'd say," Hawkeye replied. He wasn't so lucky when it came to spilling his drink, but Trapper wasn't sure he noticed some of it sloshing onto the table.

"Who was it?" Trapper said.

Even sober Hawkeye probably wouldn't have had enough information to answer that non sequitur. Three sheets to the wind Hawkeye blinked owlishly before saying, "That was Klinger. That or a nurse who needs a shave."

"No, no," Trapper said. He lowered his voice and Hawkeye had to lean in to hear him over the music and talking. Trapper vaguely had the thought that they probably looked like his daughters did when they were telling secrets, heads almost touching as one listened too intently to the other. "You told me before, you said you played this game before."

"Trapper," Hawkeye said, and Trapper was too focused on trying to lift up his drink to look at him, though he could hear the amusement in his voice. "Trap. We're not playing any games."

"No," Trapper tried again. "In the exam room."

"Which time?" When Trapper looked at him, the grin Hawkeye was wearing was absolutely devilish.

"The first one," Trapper said. He set down his glass. "You said, it's not worth a friendship and that you'd played this game before."

The grin slipped a bit. "You can't remember who Klinger is, but you remember that?" Hawkeye asked. He leaned back again, drooping in his chair once more.

"You said I could ask." Trapper felt like maybe he shouldn't have. He might have just killed the good mood.

"Ah," Hawkeye said, pointing a finger at him and taking a sip of his gin. "But I never said I'd answer."

Trapper almost argued the point, but his head was really heavy and he was suddenly so tired. He decided draping himself over the table was the correct course of action, resting his cheek on the crook of his arm. His eyes had closed and he couldn't get himself to open them, even though the room had started spinning.

Hawkeye reached out and pet his hair, and the action was gentle and fond. Trapper was too drunk to really worry about what it might look like to anybody watching. Besides, Hawkeye was always more affectionate than usual when he had a few belts in him. Everyone knew that.

"What are you two doing?" a voice said above them.

"Henry!" Hawkeye said to the newcomer. "Come here, let me give you a kiss!"

Case and point.

"I still don't see why I had to come along," Hawkeye called over the rush of wind, one hand on his helmet, the other holding onto the back of his seat. Trapper was driving, dirt kicking up in a cloud behind them as they headed back to camp from the orphanage. It was two days after their drunken night in the Officers' Club, and, fortunately, the war seemed to be taking a bit of a break. They hadn't seen any casualties in almost a week, and as far as they knew, none were expected anytime soon. Sister Teresa had requested a doctor come by to give the kids a checkup, and Trapper had forced Hawkeye to go with him.

"It was the nurses' request," Trapper called back, slowing the jeep as he took a turn. He was probably the only person in camp who didn't drive like a madman. That's why he'd taken the wheel. Whenever Hawkeye drove, he spent most of the trip praying to a God he wasn't completely sure he believed in that they wouldn't flip the jeep and die.

"What!" Hawkeye exclaimed in mock outrage. "They wanted to get rid of me?"

Whenever Hawkeye got bored, he tended to revert to nurse chasing as a passtime. The nurses needed a break. At least that's what Trapper had decided. "Can you blame them?" he asked.

"I certainly can!" Hawkeye said.

"The kids were cute, weren't they?" Trapper said.

"They make them pretty adorable over here," Hawkeye agreed.

Trapper was about to mention that there were two sisters that had reminded him of his girls when a loud explosion went off about thirty feet behind him. He started so badly he swerved dangerously, but managed to keep the jeep on the road. "What the hell was that!" he yelled.

Hawkeye had turned in his seat to look back. "Either a mine or a mortar," he called back.

There was another explosion to their right. "Mortars!" Trapper replied, swerving again.

"Pull over!" Hawkeye yelled. "We need to get off the road!"

He didn't have to tell Trapper twice. He pulled off the road in a move that was Hawkeye levels of reckless. They were both out of the jeep and running for cover almost before it was fully stopped. The shells were really coming down now, it seemed like there was one every few seconds. All Trapper could think about was how many pieces they could end up in if one hit anywhere near them, and who would be left to fix them? Frank?

"I thought they'd paused this war thing!" Hawkeye yelled as another one hit and the ground shook, nearly knocking them off their feet.

"Why don't you go ask them what the big idea is?" Trapper replied as they ran. Then he spotted it. "Hey! There!" There was what looked like a small opening to a cave in the hillside. At least it would be some cover. He grabbed Hawkeye's wrist and tugged him along, barely managing to hold back a scream as another mortar dropped.

They were almost at the cave entrance when he stopped letting Trapper lead him along. "Are you crazy?" Hawkeye asked, voice pitched high.

"Hurry up!" Trapper said, yanking him forward. "It's better than being out here!"

"It could cave in!" Hawkeye replied, stopping completely. If Trapper hadn't had a firm grip on his wrist, he might have turned and run the opposite way.

"That's a maybe, sure, but if we stay out here we could definitely be blown into tiny pieces!" Trapper said, trying to get him moving again.

Hawkeye wasn't budging. "I think I'll take my chances!"

"Hawkeye, come on!" Trapper exclaimed.

A mortar landed near enough that they could both feel the heat of the explosion. Luckily they weren't close enough to take any shrapnel, and it seemed to scare Hawkeye badly enough to let Trapper drag him into the cave. It was small; they both had to duck to avoid cracking their heads. It went back far enough they could be fairly sure they were safe from any more shells, and there was just enough room for the two of them. Hawkeye took one look around and immediately tried to turn and leave.

"Hawk, are you out of your mind?" Trapper demanded, grabbing him by the shoulders. "It's not safe!"

"I can't breathe!" Hawkeye said, and it was then Trapper noticed the shallow breaths he was taking. He was looking around wildly, like a caged animal about to make a break for it, and even in the dimness of the cave, Trapper could see he was almost unnaturally pale.

Trapper suddenly understood. "Claustrophobia?"

Hawkeye only nodded, his breaths coming in short gasps. He was trying to back out of the cave, but another shell hit outside and the noise was almost deafening. Hawkeye let out a scream that sounded like a mixture of terror and frustration. "I hate this!" he yelled, hands gripping at his hair as his words echoed loudly in the cave.

"Hey," Trapper said, still firmly gripping his shoulders. "Look at me." Hawkeye's eyes were screwed tightly shut. "Hawkeye, come on, look at me."

His breathing was still erratic, but he eventually listened, locking his blue eyes on Trapper.

"You're okay," Trapper said. "You're gonna be fine."

"I can actually feel the air being sucked out of here," Hawkeye said. He was trembling.

"It's not," Trapper said. "I promise. You're fine." He suddenly found himself praying to that God he wasn't sure he believed in that no shell would hit and trap them. He couldn't stand that look of terror Hawkeye's eyes, and he didn't want to be made into a liar. "You've gotta calm down, Hawk. Breathe, okay?" The man was practically hyperventilating. Trapper wished he had a paper bag for him to breathe into. "Match my breaths. In and out. Slow and steady."

Trapper inhaled and exhaled at a slower pace and Hawkeye focused on trying to do the same. They both nearly jumped out of their skins as more mortars fell outside, but Trapper stayed calm through nothing but sheer force of will and after several minutes that felt like hours Hawkeye's breathing had returned to something closer to a normal pace. Trapper didn't release his shoulders. He still looked unsteady and pale, and he was afraid Hawkeye might do something nuts like run into the shelling to get out of the cave.

"I'm sorry," Trapper said. "I had no idea."

Hawkeye had turned his focus to the light coming from the entrance of the cave. "It's not your fault I have a completely irrational fear of enclosed spaces." Another deep breath. "It's been like this since I was a kid. I mean, objectively, scientifically, I know there's air in here. I know the walls aren't closing in around me. It's all in my head." Trapper had noticed that whenever Hawkeye wasn't entirely in control of a situation he tended to ramble. "And even though I know that, I literally can't stop shaking."

More shells fell outside. "Here," Trapper said. "Sit down." He guided Hawkeye to the ground, then sat next to him and grabbed his hand. It was both meant as comfort and also a way to keep hold of him in case he tried to make a break for it. "Tell me something."

"Huh?" Hawkeye said, finally tearing his eyes from the cave entrance and looking at him.

"Talk about something," Trapper said. "It'll distract you." Another shell exploded and he realized his hand was squeezing Hawkeye's hard as he tried to rein in his own fear. "And me for that matter."

Hawkeye said nothing about how tightly Trapper's hand was gripping his - probably because his own grip was like a vice. "I'm not a performing chimp, sir." It was meant as a joke, but it lacked his usual bluster. "Why don't you talk about something?"

"Because you're the talker," Trapper said. It wasn't that Trapper didn't speak. He just usually said his piece and then shut up. Hawkeye could babble on for hours about nothing if the mood struck.

"It'd be easier if I wasn't in the middle of a scene out of my literal worst nightmare," Hawkeye said.

"Come on," Trapper encouraged. "Tell me about Maine. Or, I dunno, your dad."

"My dad," Hawkeye said, taking a shaky breath. Trapper could tell he was still terrified, trying desperately to hold it back. He started to dig through his medical bag with his free hand, and Trapper realized for the first time that he'd actually had the foresight to grab it when they'd fled the jeep. Hawkeye pulled out an envelope. "He can talk for both of us." He leaned his head back against the rock wall of the cave and handed the letter to Trapper.

"You want me to read your dad's letter?" Trapper asked, looking down at it.

"I can't think right now," Hawkeye admitted. His breathing was slow but forced, like he had to keep reminding himself to do it.

Trapper didn't let go of Hawkeye, instead using his free hand and his teeth to get the letter open. He unfolded it and smoothed it out on his thigh, before picking it up and clearing his throat. The lighting was dim, but if he held it close to his face and squinted, he could make out the words.

"Dear Ben," Trapper began, before immediately stopping to say, "He calls you Ben?"

"Depends on his mood," Hawkeye said, eyes closed. "He must be lonely." Another measured breath. "That's what mom called me."

Trapper considered that for a moment - Hawkeye almost never spoke of his mom - then continued reading. "When I read your letters, I almost feel like you're here again, regaling me with the stories of your latest hijinks from college. I always read them in the kitchen, with a beer in hand, just like I would when you'd perch on a stool and talk about the latest professor you'd driven into early retirement."

"One," Hawkeye interrupted. "Just one."

Trapper grinned, and continued on. The letter was mostly updates on several citizens of Crabapple Cove, all of whom the older Doctor Pierce confirmed were in good health. "I must admit, son, if you have to be over there, I'm glad you're at the 4077th. I can tell by the way you write about them how fond you are of all your fellow comrades in arms (except, I suppose, for the two Major Adulterers)." Trapper paused reading to laugh at that, and Hawkeye was grinning lightly. "I think I'd like Trapper in particular-"

"You made that up," Hawkeye interrupted.

"I didn't, it says so right here." Trapper scanned a little further. "He says he wants to meet me and I remind him of George. Who's George?"

Hawkeye didn't seem to be listening though. He was staring at the cave entrance. "Hey - listen," he said.

"What?" Trapper replied.

"Silence," Hawkeye said. "The shelling stopped!" He immediately tried to stand, but Trapper wasn't letting go of his hand just yet. "Trap, come on, I have to get out of here." He tried to pry Trapper's fingers off of him.

Trapper listed a few more moments, but it seemed like Hawkeye was right, the explosions had stopped. He finally let go and watched Hawkeye bolt for the entrance, hunched over to avoid hitting his head.

"Air!" Trapper heard him calling from outside.

He slowly pushed himself to his feet and gathered up the medical bag, folding up Daniel Pierce's letter and tucking it back in.

"Beautiful, lovely, life giving air!"

Trapper exited the cave and his eyes hadn't even adjusted before Hawkeye grabbed him and kissed him. It was the first time Hawkeye had kissed him, and as his knees weakened he wondered if this is what the nurses felt like when Hawkeye's attention was theirs alone. It was chaste and Hawkeye pulled back after only a few moments, then lightly brushed his lips over Trapper's again before pulling away completely. "Thanks," he said.

"For what?" Trapper asked, a bit dazed. Goddamnit, Hawkeye really was a good kisser. Possibly the best kisser he'd had the pleasure of kissing. Goddamn him.

"Keeping me together," Hawkeye replied. "In body and mind."

"Uh. Anytime," Trapper said. He almost wished he could drag Hawkeye back into the cave. It was probably the closest thing they'd get to total privacy in the army. "Now let's hope the jeep's still together, or we're gonna be walking the rest of the way to camp."