- In Love And War -
Chapter Six: Love

Potter said the fighting had cooled down for a bit, which was a relief after a nineteen-hour shift in the O.R.; add to that the joy of having Frank away on R&R, and I was feeling downright giggly; add to that a generous amount of gin, and I was flying high. BJ was in post-op for the night, which meant Trapper and I had the Swamp to ourselves for the first time in forever; so I wasn't really surprised when he started stumbling around turning off lights before crawling onto my cot with me for a little midnight groping.

In the pre-BJ days, we'd gotten good at being quiet late at night; Frank slept through almost anything, so as long as Trapper didn't make me scream, we'd figured we were safe. Habit kept us quiet still, even though we were the only ones in the Swamp; a few gasps, a little soft moaning into each other's shoulders, the slight creaking of my bunk—not much to break the nighttime silence.

In the darkness, I could look up into Trapper's face; and in the darkness, where I could only see the flickering light of passion in the inky pools of his eyes, I could pretend they were blue—depthless blue eyes I could get lost in so easily, a blue I wanted to drown in. In my mind I could pretend the eyes were blue, not brown, could allow myself to wonder (and to hope) if those eyes would someday be blue and not brown, if I wouldn't have to pretend to see blue because it really would be blue, that wonderful, perfect blue…

He rolled off me afterwards, grabbed his bathrobe off the floor and wrapped himself in it, then sat in the chair near my bunk. Still sprawled on my back I asked him sleepily, "Something on your mind?"

"Yeah," he said, pursing his lips. "I'm going to ask you two questions, and I want you to answer honestly. Can you do that?"

"Is that the first question?"

He leaned forward and grabbed my chin, dragging my face and the rest of my body up, so I was sitting and staring into his eyes. I would have pushed him away, but he held me immobile by the sheer force of his will. Very softly, he asked, "You were thinking about him, weren't you?"

I did what I thought was a pretty good impression of a fish, opening and closing my mouth a dozen or so times, and not blinking. I finally choked out, "No—" but his level stare made me revise the negative to an affirmative with a soft, embarrassed, "Yes."

"Okay, that's one. Now for the big one: Are you falling for him?"

I couldn't look away, and so by not answering, I gave him the most honest answer he was ever likely to get out of me. But I had to make at least some small attempt to defend myself and my honor: "It's just…his eyes. I think I'm in love with his eyes."

"Uh-huh." Trap said skeptically, finally releasing my chin. He knew better than to believe me. "You're setting yourself up for a lot of pain, you know. He's a married man."

"So're you."

He stood up and went back to his own cot, saying over his shoulder, "You're not in love with me." A simple fact, true beyond all doubt—this wasn't love, this was just sex. And for once, I couldn't think of a single thing to say.

In the darkness, I lay back down on my bunk, staring up at the shadows on the ceiling. Love. It couldn't be love. It was just…a very deep friendship. A recognition of my appreciation of his mind and his body. Not love. Trapper didn't know what he was talking about. Trap never knew what he was talking about.

"You know what you need?" he said into the darkness. "A few days of R&R. Make the rounds of all the geisha-houses. Have anonymous sex a couple dozen or so times. Get your mind off…things."

"What I need," I corrected, grabbing my bathrobe and heading for the door, "is a walk."

It was cool outside, the Korean summer changing rapidly into winter. It'd probably be subzero by the end of the week. I realized belatedly that it would have been smart to put pants on, but now that I was outside, I didn't want to go back in. So I let my feet move themselves forward, taking me wherever they willed; but my feet were unoriginal, and I ended up making circles around the compound—which was fitting, since that was the same shape my mind was making.

I can't be in love with him. That would be just plain foolish—and I know I'm not the most intelligent guy around, but I can't be that stupid, can I? I suppose I could be. I probably am.

Damnit.

It's his eyes. That's all it is. I just have an intense appreciation for the beauty of his eyes. And of course, what's behind his eyes. And the face his eyes are in. An appreciation of every aspect of his being. That's not love.

So what if it is love? That wouldn't be terrible, would it? Yeah, it probably would be. Except for the parts of it that would be good. Really good. A few bad parts, but it'd be mostly good. Almost all good. But it can't be love, so it can't be good, so why am I even thinking this?

I finally forced my feet and my mind to stop, and stood in the compound, hands shoved deep into my pockets and staring out into the night. " 'Lest he should wander irretrievably from the right path,' " I told the darkness with a sigh, " 'he stands still.' "

"Hazlitt," a voice said to my left: BJ, standing just outside post-op, leaning against the wall and watching me with a smile. "Trouble sleeping?"

"I think too much. I can't ever seem to stop thinking. I'm always thinking."

"I know the feeling," he said, wandering over to stand at my side. "What's got you walking in circles?"

"You've been watching me," I accused—not angrily, just a statement of fact. And an easy way to avoid answering the question.

He shrugged. "I saw you through the window, and there's nothing exciting going on in post-op, so I figured I'd come join you—unless you want to be alone with your over-thinking."

"No, please, my mind could use the break."

"You want to keep going in circles, or would you mind coming to the supply tent with me?"

Cue shock. "The…the supply tent?"

"Yeah, I wanted to grab a few extra blankets. A little birdie told me winter's coming."

Get your mind out of the gutter, I ordered myself, and gave BJ a smile. "This is nothing!" I said as we started towards the supply tent, motioning down towards my bare legs (which were feeling quite chilly, though I wasn't about to reveal that). "Just you wait until winter really gets here."

"I can't wait," he said wryly.

As we browsed through the supply tent, searching for blankets (since I only knew where the spare mattresses were), I asked him, "So, what do you think so far about our merry little hellhole?"

"It's terrible. I don't think I'll ever figure out how you can stand this place."

I gave a small, surprised laugh. "What makes you think I can stand it?"

"You cope with being here better than anyone else I've seen. You—you go through all this, and you can still crack a joke at the end of the day. You manage to stay sane."

"Beej, I don't know if you realize this, but the jokes are what keep me sane. I have to go insane to stay sane, or else I'd go crazy."

"Hawkeye Pierce," he said with a laugh, "I have never met anyone like you."

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment, but that's how I'm going to take it."

We finally found the blankets and took them back to post-op. Since I 1) was not feeling tired, and 2) didn't particularly want to leave present company, I showed BJ where we hid the deck of playing cards meant to pass the uneventful late-night shift, and we played a few hands of gin at the duty station before my body and brain decided to gang up on me and send me stumbling back to the Swamp. I collapsed facedown onto my bunk, and fell asleep with a little smile on my face.

TBC