Archive of Our Own

Yesterday, Upon the Stair

One day, in O.R., Hawkeye sees Trapper working across the table from him.

That would be fine, not at all unusual, if not for the fact that Trapper went home a year ago. There’s supposed to be a nurse standing there. He hears himself ask the nurse/Trapper for suction. Somehow, he finishes the surgery on autopilot. He’s just tired, he tells himself. He’s been in the O.R. for six straight hours, it’s no wonder he’s seeing things.

Trapper follows Hawkeye back to the tent. Hawkeye collapses on his cot, telling himself that when he wakes up, Trapper won’t be there anymore.

Somehow, Trapper follows him into his dreams.

He’s back in surgery, in his dream, which figures. He all but lives in there when there’s a push on, can’t even get away from it when he’s asleep. A bloody soldier is carried in and put in front of him. The man hasn’t been prepped for surgery. His eyes are open wide, staring up at Hawkeye, and his chest has been blown apart. Hawkeye stares into his open, dead eyes until he has the horrible realization that it’s Trapper he’s staring at.

The wave of horror that washes over him is enough to drag Hawkeye back into consciousness. His heart is racing in his chest and he struggles to calm his erratic breathing.

Somewhere in the darkness, B.J. asks, “Hey, Hawk. You okay?”

Hawkeye swallows around a lump in his throat. “Yeah, Beej. Just a bad dream.”

It proves impossible to go back to sleep. Worst of all, as Hawkeye’s vision adjusts to the dark, a figure materializes, sitting on the edge of his cot.

“You’re not there,” he mutters and puts his pillow over his head.

Trapper’s voice is almost musical as he recites a poem Hawkeye remembers reading somewhere once.

“Yesterday, upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn’t there.
He wasn’t there again today.
I wish, I wish he’d go away.”

Hawkeye grinds his palms against his temples in a vain attempt to relieve the pressure there.

He listens to make sure B.J. and Charles are both snoring. It’s not lost on him that this Trapper is a figment of his imagination, but it’s still Trapper.

“Why are you here?” he asks the figment.

“Didn’t your old man ever tell you the devil was gonna come and sit on your bed if you didn’t change your wicked ways?” Trapper responds, laughing.

“And you’re my devil?” Hawkeye can’t help but chuckle. At least imaginary Trapper is still funny.

“Who else? Frank?”

The scary thing is, Hawkeye is enjoying this. He has missed Trapper so much and it’s sheer pleasure to be able to talk to him again. There’s so much Hawkeye wants to tell him. But as long as he knows it’s not real, it can’t hurt anything, right?

That settles it. Hawkeye sits up and scoots on the cot so there’s room for them both to sit, cross-legged, facing each other. Trapper makes himself comfortable, smiling at Hawkeye like he used to.

“Frank’s not my type,” Hawkeye says, and he can’t keep the note of fondness from his voice.

Trapper raises his eyebrows at him. “The Lipless Wonder isn’t the man of your dreams?”

They used to joke like this all of the time, flirting with one another, teasing one another. The only rule was that it was just a joke, it didn’t mean anything. Neither of them took it seriously. Or, that was how it was supposed to be.

“Why are you here, Trap?” he asks. “What’s my subconscious trying to tell me?”

“Who says I’m your subconscious? I could be a ghost.”

Sudden fear grips Hawkeye. “You’re dead?”

“Not to my knowledge, no,” Trapper admits. “You’re probably right about me being your subconscious.”

“Geez, don’t scare me like that,” Hawkeye grumbles.

“You know you love me,” says Trapper, and Hawkeye’s heart skips a beat.

This version of Trapper that he has somehow dreamed up is so realistic, Hawkeye can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

Winchester shifts in his cot, yawning. “Pierce?” he calls out. “Are you talking to someone?”

Not-Trapper puts a finger to his lips.

After a long moment of silence, Winchester shifts again. “Well, alright, just keep it down, whatever you’re doing. Some of us are trying to sleep.”

Hawkeye rolls his eyes. Trapper just grins.

This is going to be a long night, Hawkeye thinks.

--

“Hawkeye, you’ve hardly touched your breakfast. I got you extra eggs.”

B.J. is peering at Hawkeye with a concerned expression, like he knows something isn’t right. How he knows, Hawkeye’s not sure, but he seems to have honed in on it. Feeling shamed, Hawkeye brings a forkful of powdered eggs to his mouth, chews and swallows.

“How are they?” asks Trapper. “They look kind of green, are you sure they’re ripe?”

Hawkeye just stares at him and chews his eggs.

“Are you even listening to me?” asks B.J., and no, Hawkeye wasn’t listening to him. He was distracted by the spirit of his not-dead friend. Former friend. Whatever Trapper is.

He looks up at B.J. and blinks. “Were you talking to me?”

“Yeah. I was asking you about that nightmare you had last night.” B.J.’s brow has furrowed even more. “You seem out of it today.”

“I think you look great,” says Trapper reassuringly.

“I didn’t have a nightmare,” Hawkeye says to B.J.

“What? Yeah, you did, I heard you,” B.J. insists.

“Oh, that was just a bad dream.” Hawkeye’s mouth presses into a thin line. He doesn’t want to talk about this here, in the mess hall.

“What’s the difference?”

The lump in his throat has become more pronounced. The nightmare is the least of his problems, but if he’s having nightmares again, Potter will want to call Sidney, and Hawkeye doesn’t need Sidney. He can figure this out on his own this time. There’s a reason he’s seeing Trapper. He just has to figure out what it is.

“Nightmare sounds worse than it was,” he says. “It was just a bad dream about O.R. I know I’m not the only one who has those.”

B.J. looks sympathetic now and he nods.

“We all have our share,” the other man says. “Hawk, if you ever need to talk about anything, you know my door is always open.”

“He thinks you’re completely off your rocker,” Trapper snickers.

That makes Hawkeye flinch back from B.J., his breakfast sticking in his throat as he forces himself to swallow. He tells himself that B.J. doesn’t think that, but of course, Hawkeye is the one who thinks it. And if you think you’re off your rocker, that’s a pretty good sign that you are.

“Uh, thanks, Beej. I’m okay. Really.” He squirms in his seat, trying not to stare at Trapper.

“Sure thing.” B.J. gets up from the table and carries his empty tray out of the tent.

“He seems nice,” says Trapper with a shrug. “Not as good looking as me. Nice mustache, though.”

“I hate that mustache,” Hawkeye replies under his breath.

“Sir?” Klinger touches Hawkeye’s shoulder, surprising him. Hawkeye startles, but manages to force a smile.

“Yes, Klinger, what can I do for you?” he asks with a sigh.

“Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Klinger apologizes. “I just wanted to tell you that I saw you in O.R. yesterday and you tried your best for that kid.”

Hawkeye stares at him. “Kid?”

“The guy with the chest wound,” says the clerk. He peers closer at Hawkeye. “Are you sure you’re alright, sir?”

“Oh, right.” The memory floods back to Hawkeye. Of course. The kid that got put in a bodybag last night while Hawkeye failed to sleep.

Is that why Trapper’s here, then? He’s feeling guilty about not saving this kid. Trapper was always the same as Hawkeye when it came to losing patients. He was a sore loser.

“I heard that,” Trapper warns him. “You better say something else before Klinger figures out that you’re crazier than he is.”

Hawkeye clears his throat and hurries to say, “I’m fine, Klinger, just didn’t get a lot of sleep and the coffee is crunchy today.”

This seems to satisfy Klinger and he goes on his way. Hawkeye stands up to dump his neglected breakfast tray when an announcement goes out over the loudspeaker. Wounded incoming, all hands on deck.

If he’d been thinking about telling someone about his new shadow, Hawkeye knows he for sure can’t do it until they get through this batch of wounded. Potter would want to bench him and if Hawkeye can’t work on these kids, more of them will die.

Who knows how long it might take at that point to convince them all that he’s fine? It’s better if none of them ever know about this.

“Just another secret,” says Trapper. “You got a lot of those, don’t you, Hawk?”

--

He’s swimming in the pond he used to play in with his cousin, Billy. Billy is six years older but Hawkeye - Benny, as he’s known at this age - loves him like a brother. He and Benny play together all of the time. They’re not supposed to be swimming in the pond but Benny has fallen in.

Benny’s lungs start to fill with water and he sinks. This is the first thing that Billy does to Benny. He pushes him into the pond, lets him nearly drown, and then pulls him back out, cementing himself as a savior in Benny’s eyes.

Then it’s not Billy pulling him out of the water anymore. It’s Trapper, looking at him with that wounded expression.

“How long are you gonna do this to yourself?” Trapper asks, dragging him to the shore. Hawkeye coughs up liquid and shivers.

“How could you do that?” Hawkeye asks him miserably. “How could you push me in and let me think you were saving me?”

Trapper shakes his head, his jaw clenched. “I’m not him, Hawkeye. That wasn’t me.”

And he’s back in O.R., still dripping wet with pond water, a scalpel in his hand, and the boy with the mangled chest wound is back. His hair is curly and fair, just like Trapper’s hair.

He wakes up and holds his breath in the silence of the tent, hoping he didn’t make any noise in his sleep. No one else stirs, so he thinks he’s in the clear. He doesn’t need B.J. monitoring his nightmares.

“You got me for that,” Trapper reminds him, sounding cheerful.

“Why are you still here?” Hawkeye asks, drawing his blanket over his head. “Go home already.”

Trapper chuckles and starts reciting that poem again.

“When I came home last night at three,
the man was waiting there for me.
But when I looked around the hall,
I couldn’t see him there at all.”

“I hate that poem,” says Hawkeye.

“You love this poem,” says Trapper. “You’re the one who picked it out, dope.”

“Someone should have stopped me.” The poem is creepy, that’s his issue with it. It’s creepy that his subconscious is pretending to be his former best friend and reciting creepy poetry to him. Although, it is sort of a funny poem. Funny in a sad way.

Please, Hawkeye thinks. Just go away.

--

It’s pleasant weather outside. Hawkeye sets himself up a chair and umbrella in the sun, makes himself a martini, strips down to his boxers and his bathrobe, and gets comfortable. He’s picked a good spot. It’s near the nurses’ tents. The scenery is fantastic.

He doesn’t remember putting out a second chair, but Trapper is lounging in it, holding a martini of his own.

“I’m going crazy,” Hawkeye says, taking a gulp of his drink.

“Are you seeing things?” Trapper asks.

“Yes,” Hawkeye says.

“Are you hearing things?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“That does sound pretty crazy,” admits Trapper.

It’s not that Hawkeye wouldn’t be glad for an excuse to get out of the army. He’s just worried that he might be getting out of the army and right into a straightjacket and padded walls. Nightmares, sneezing, psychosomatic pain, repressed memories from his childhood and now this.

He’d thought he was done thinking about Billy and the pond. It’s back with a vengeance if last night is anything to go by.

“Who are you talking to?”

B.J. is staring down at him, his hands tucked into his pockets.

“Myself,” says Hawkeye. “Have a seat, B.J., join us.”

“You’ve got the only chair, Hawk,” says B.J.

“Oh, right.”

B.J. chuckles and shakes his head. “You know, sometimes, you’re just like Peg.”

Now Hawkeye knows how Margaret felt every time Frank brought up his wife. Well, it’s not quite the same, but it’s similar.

“Oh, really?” he sneers, slouching in his chair as he sips at his drink. “What, pray tell, do Mrs. Hunnicutt and I have in common?”

“A stubborn friend who loves them even when they’re having a hard time and they don’t want to talk about it.”

With that, B.J. fetches his own chair and settles it next to Hawkeye.

With a sigh, Hawkeye looks over at B.J. and decides to forgive the man for comparing him to his wife.

“Beej, do you think,” he says in a halting voice, “do you think, once the war is over, things will be easier?”

“Of course,” says B.J. “No one will be shooting at us, for one thing.”

“There’s that,” Hawkeye agrees.

“I can’t wait to see my whole family again,” B.J. goes on. “I’ve got cousins I haven’t seen in years and I’m gonna visit every single one of them.”

Cousins. The word makes Hawkeye tense. Last night’s dream about cousin Billy and the pond comes back to him. Why is he dreaming about that again? He figured it out with Sidney’s help. He’d gone around his whole life thinking Billy had saved him but Billy had pushed him in. That was just like Billy, he thinks.

Just like Billy? He’s not sure why he thought that. What other complaints does he really have against Billy?

“Hey, Hawk.” B.J. smiles when Hawkeye’s gaze focuses on him. “You looked kind of lost for a moment.”

“Did I?” he asks. Trapper is wandering about in circles nearby. Hawkeye’s gaze is drawn to his long, thin shadow.

“Look, Hawk, maybe you should find a willing nurse and take some time for rest and recreation, if you know what I mean.”

“What?” Hawkeye blinks at him, surprised. “Why?”

B.J. touches his shoulder. “I just think you must be lonely. At least it might get you out of the funk you’re in. If something’s going on, I wish you’d tell me.”

It’s amazing how much B.J. sees, and yet, doesn’t see at the same time.

“Sure,” Hawkeye agrees, but the lump is back in his throat.

--

There’s something about Benny that makes him look like a sissy. That’s what Billy says, at any rate, and he’s almost sixteen years old and Benny worships him. His school friends don’t like Billy that much, for some reason. Tommy says that Billy gives him the creeps.

Benny is staying at his aunt’s home for the weekend and Billy has a girlfriend over. Aunt Jen isn’t home from work yet. Billy and the girl have been making out for almost an hour. Benny can’t put his finger on why, but this disturbs him.

He looks over at Billy, but instead of Billy, it’s Trapper with the girl. He doesn’t stop kissing the girl but his eyes lock on Hawkeye’s face and he doesn’t look away. His gaze is so intent, and Hawkeye can’t make sense of it.

The air erupts in sound as an explosion rocks the dream version of his Aunt Jen’s house. Hawkeye is coughing in the rubble as the air clears. He looks around for Trapper and the girl. The girl is gone, but Trapper is lying in a twisted heap. Hawkeye knows that he’s already dead, but he searches in vain for a pulse.

When he wakes up this time, Hawkeye is all nerves. He jumps up and grabs his robe, pulling it around himself as he sticks his feet hurriedly into his boots.

“Going somewhere?” B.J. asks, sounding groggy.

“Gotta make a call.”

“A call? Hawk, it’s 3 in the morning.” B.J. sits up, watching Hawkeye with that concerned expression again.

“It’s important,” Hawkeye says, sweeping out of the tent and leaving B.J. to struggle to pull his boots on so he can follow.

Klinger is asleep when Hawkeye bursts into his office. Hawkeye grabs him by the shoulder and roughly shakes him.

“Klinger, wake up, I need to make a call!”

The shorter man sits up in his cot, groggy. “Sir, it’s 3 o’clock in the morning,” he says, blinking at Hawkeye in confusion.

“I have to make a call,” Hawkeye repeats.

“To who?” Klinger looks exasperated as he climbs out of bed.

“Trapper John.” Hawkeye has to talk to Trapper. He has to know that his friend isn’t dead, because between these nightmares and his Trapper-sized hallucination, he’s starting to think the universe is trying to tell him something.

The clerk stares at him like he’s gone nuts. “You guys haven’t talked since he went home.”

“You’re right, it’s been too long, so get him on the line already!” Hawkeye snaps, raising his voice. Trapper watches him from across the room.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Colonel Potter bursts in, followed by B.J. “Everybody in this camp is trying to get some valuable shut-eye, Pierce, and you’re running about yelling in the middle of the night. Explain yourself, son!”

“He says he wants to call Captain McIntyre,” Klinger tells the colonel.

They’re all staring at Hawkeye now and he feels chastised. Patronized. He just wants to talk to Trapper, that’s all, and make sure he’s alright. Can’t they understand that?

B.J. approaches him and reaches out to touch his shoulder. “You’re tired, Hawk. Come on, let’s go back to bed and Klinger can put a call through to Trapper first thing tomorrow morning.”

It’s like they think he’s a little kid or a senile old man.

“No,” he says, pulling away from B.J. “I need to talk to him, I need to know he’s okay. Don’t you get it? I can’t go back to sleep until I know that nothing’s happened to him.”

The colonel and B.J. share a look, then Potter nods at Klinger.

“See if you can track down Captain McIntyre,” he says. “In the meantime, Hunnicutt, why don’t you bring Pierce into my office and we’ll all have a drink.”

Hawkeye lets B.J. lead him into Potter’s office, feeling relieved. He sits down in a chair with a sigh and accepts the glass of bourbon Potter pours for him.

“What’s this all about, Pierce?” Potter asks, sitting down at his desk. His tone is soft; he’s got on the kid gloves.

Before Hawkeye can try to explain, B.J. speaks up. “He’s been having nightmares again, Colonel. Every night for the last three nights.”

The look Hawkeye shoots at B.J. must be horrible because B.J. actually shrinks away from him.

“Have you been spying on me?” Hawkeye demands.

“Spying on you? Hawk, you’re paranoid!” B.J. seems disturbed. “I’m just trying to make sure that you’re okay.”

Hawkeye’s heart is beating 90 miles an hour. He struggles to regulate his breathing. But B.J. is supposed to be his friend and friends don’t rat each other out. B.J. can call him paranoid, but the thing he was so paranoid about is happening right now. They think he’s gone crazy again.

“Were you having nightmares, son?” Potter asks him.

Hawkeye gives a reluctant nod. He stares at the wall instead of at Potter.

“Like you had before, the ones about your friends dying?”

“Just one friend,” Hawkeye admits.

“Okay,” Potter says with a half-smile. “Well, we’ll see if Klinger can’t get Captain McIntyre on the horn so we can make sure everything is hunkydory.”

He’s being humored, Hawkeye knows, but the most important thing right now is finding out if Trapper is okay. He forces himself to give a wan smile in return and sips at his bourbon.

“As I understand it, the two of you didn’t part on good terms,” Potter remarks.

Hawkeye hasn’t been quiet about how much it upset him that Trapper left without a note. The whole camp knew something was wrong between the two of them anyway by the time Trapper left. Left, just like all the kids who died in O.R. because Hawkeye couldn’t save them. Hawkeye knows that it isn’t the same, that Trapper is alive and healthy, but he’s out of Hawkeye’s reach.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says around the lump that’s back in his throat. “He was my best friend and I have to know.”

Potter nods like he understands. “I’ll see if Klinger’s making any progress. You two just stay here.”

He leaves Hawkeye and B.J. alone.

In the chair next to Hawkeye’s, B.J. awkwardly clears his throat.

“Is this because of that kid you couldn’t save?” the other man asks at last.

“You’ll have to be more specific, Beej, there’s been more than a few of those.”

“The chest wound a couple of days ago?” B.J. prompts.

Hawkeye shrugs. “He looked… he had curly hair.”

“You have a thing for curly hair?” B.J. teases with a sad smile.

Trapper gives Hawkeye a look. “Good question.”

“Alright, everyone needs to get out of my face,” Hawkeye snaps, jumping up from his chair to pace the room.

“I’m the only person here,” B.J. points out.

The younger man looks baffled by all of this. Hawkeye wonders if B.J. grew that mustache to make himself look older. He reminds himself that he’s only a year older than B.J., but he feels like an old man compared to B.J.

He feels… manic. Maybe he does need to talk to Sidney. What if this just keeps getting worse until it pushes him over the edge?

“Beej, if I tell you something, can you keep it between us?” he asks. He stops pacing and holds B.J.’s gaze until the other man nods. “I’m experiencing hallucinations. Of Trapper. He follows me around everywhere.”

B.J.’s eyes grow wide. “Are you serious? You’re not just messing with me?”

“No, I’m being serious!” Hawkeye throws his hands in the air. “It started when I was working on that kid. When… When I realized he was a lost cause, I looked up and Trapper was there.”

“You’re making a mistake, telling him,” Trapper warns. “They’re gonna throw you in the looney bin.”

“I really think you should talk to Colonel Potter about this,” B.J. cautions. “I won’t say anything but… You and I both know that if you’re having hallucinations, you need to talk to Sid. It’s okay, you know, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Hawkeye gives him a sharp look. Nothing to be ashamed of? The platitude itself implied the opposite of its meaning. It was the sort of coddling relegated to very small children and crazy people.

“Look, just, I need to talk to Trapper,” Hawkeye tries to reason. “Once I know he’s alright, I’m sure the hallucinations will go away. It’s just like those dreams I was having before. As long as I know he’s okay, I’ll be fine.”

A long moment transpires between them and B.J. nods. “Okay, but if you’re still seeing him after that, we’re telling Potter so he can call Sidney.”

Colonel Potter steps back into the room and clears his throat. “Klinger managed to get a call to McIntyre in San Francisco.”

“He did!” Hawkeye starts to head for the door but Potter holds up a hand to stop him. “What, he’s on the phone, right?”

“He was,” says Potter. “I’m sorry, Pierce. He said he didn’t wish to speak with you, but to tell you that he’s fine and you don’t need to worry about him. End of message.”

It takes a minute for Potter’s words to sink in. Trapper doesn’t want to talk to him. Why? They were friends, best friends, until Trapper went home. And now he won’t even talk to Hawkeye on the phone?

He sits down in his chair again, feeling drained. Potter and B.J. are quiet, just watching him.

“Maybe I still need space,” Trapper suggests with a little shrug.

Hawkeye puts a hand over his eyes so he can’t see Trapper or anyone else.

“Pierce? You okay?” Potter asks after a moment.

“Huh? Yeah. I’m fine.” Hawkeye takes a deep breath and lowers his hand again. He looks up at them and tries to smile. “At least I know he’s alright.”

Potter claps his shoulder. “Get some rest, son. We’ll revisit this in the morning.”

Feeling humiliated, Hawkeye allows B.J. to lead him back to the Swamp. B.J. even helps him into bed and pulls a blanket over him.

“You must think I’m crazy,” Hawkeye mutters.

“No more so than I’ve always thought you were,” B.J. teases. He sits down in the chair next to Hawkeye’s cot. “Please, Hawkeye. If you need help, let me help you.”

There’s very little Hawkeye wouldn’t do for B.J., especially if B.J. asked the way that he just asked. It’s not that Hawkeye doesn’t want B.J.’s help, it’s just that he wanted to feel like he could deal with this on his own. It’s happened too many times now. What’s he going to do when the war is over, when he goes back to Maine, and it happens there and he doesn’t have his friends to pull him back out of it? Will his dad know what to do? Hawkeye’s starting to really worry that he’s going to end up in a psychiatric hospital.

“I’m trying to keep it together,” he admits to B.J. “After everything it’s put me through, I don’t want this goddamn war to have this kind of power over me. I like to think I’m a smart guy, so why can’t I figure this out on my own?”

“Maybe you can figure it out on your own, given time,” B.J. replies. “But what if it’s the hard way of dealing with it and you’re ignoring a better alternative because you’re trying to prove something to yourself?”

Christ, he hates that B.J. makes sense. Hasn’t he suffered enough humiliation tonight?

“Potter’s probably already calling Sidney,” Hawkeye says softly.

“Maybe,” the other man agrees. “You were very upset. Maybe you need to talk to Sidney.”

Hawkeye closes his eyes and breathes through his nose. It’s not so bad, he reasons. He likes Sidney, Sidney is smart and knows what he’s doing and Hawkeye learns something new every time he sees the man.

Still, it somehow feels like a defeat.

--

The dream starts out nice. He’s with a nurse, a very attractive nurse, in the supply hut. They’re all cuddled up, swapping saliva. It’s nice to have the comfort of another warm body pressed against his. Hawkeye has always been very tactile. His mother and father doted on him as a child, always picking him up when he asked until he was too big to carry. And even then, after his mother passed, Hawkeye’s father had all but smothered him with attention, trying to make it easier.

The body of the nurse somehow becomes the body of a man in the dreamscape, but Hawkeye doesn’t mind. It’s still a pleasant embrace, though not the sort he lets himself indulge in very often.

He should have known that when he looked at the man holding him, he’d see Trapper looking back at him.

Did he ever entertain notions of being with Trapper? Yes, on occasion. They’d been very close and Trapper was attractive, and Hawkeye doesn’t often find himself so drawn to another man. They were on the same wavelength. Except Trapper never gave Hawkeye any indication that he was interested in more than friendship, and it isn’t an easy thing to ask your friend about. What if Trapper reacted badly? Hawkeye had been scared of that. He’s had bad experiences in the past with other friends he’d confided in.

It feels wrong, all of a sudden, to indulge in this fantasy any further. If Trapper doesn’t want to talk to Hawkeye, he definitely doesn’t want to be making out with Hawkeye in his dreams. Hawkeye’s skin crawls. He feels like he’s crossed a line. He pushes Trapper away from him.

And then it’s Billy, holding Benny down.

“I would never hurt you,” says Billy. “I saved your life.”

“I don’t like this,” Benny whimpers.

“I would never hurt you,” Trapper breathes in Hawkeye’s ear. The dream is getting so jumbled up, it’s hard for Hawkeye to differentiate between Trapper and Billy.

Then B.J. is shaking Hawkeye awake because it’s time for breakfast.

Hawkeye blinks the sleep out of his eyes and goes through the motions of getting dressed, getting shaved, brushing his hair. B.J. hovers, as though he wants to do something for Hawkeye, but he doesn’t know what Hawkeye needs.

“Beej, I’m not an invalid,” Hawkeye admonishes him. “You don’t have to keep looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” B.J. wants to know.

“Like you feel sorry for me.” Hawkeye glances at Trapper, still hanging out in the corner of the tent.

B.J. follows his gaze and gives him a grim smile. “You’re still seeing him?”

“I guess so.”

“Anymore nightmares?”

Was his dream a nightmare? Hawkeye’s not sure. Part of it was pleasant enough, even if other parts were disturbing. Especially disturbing were the parts with Billy in them, which seem so incongruous.

He settles for shrugging his shoulders.

“Hawk.” B.J. surprises him by enfolding him in a hug. Hawkeye is caught off guard, but he reciprocates the hug on instinct, hiding his face against B.J.’s shoulder.

Compared to some men, maybe, Hawkeye and B.J. are pretty affectionate with one another. Still, it’s a rare thing to be held by B.J. like this.

Trapper was always a wildcard, unpredictable, but B.J. is more reliable. He’s calm and steady.

And married, Hawkeye reminds himself.

“I was married too,” says Trapper helpfully, reminding Hawkeye of his presence. Hawkeye groans in dismay.

“What’s the matter?” B.J. asks.

“Nothing. Everything.” Hawkeye doesn’t let go of his friend.

With one arm still wrapped around Hawkeye, B.J. uses his other hand to stroke Hawkeye’s hair. Hawkeye wonders if this is how B.J. holds Peg when she’s upset.

What is he to B.J.? B.J. is his best friend. They’re even closer than he ever was with Trapper. He knows B.J. cares about him, has never been given any reason to doubt that. Meeting B.J. for the first time was like running into an old friend. But what are they more than that? Do friends hold each other like this? Although Hawkeye can see no reason why they shouldn’t, he knows that most men would never allow another man comfort them like this. Maybe it’s just because they’re at war together. War does funny things to people.

They stay like that for several long moments. A shiver runs down Hawkeye’s spine when B.J. presses a chaste kiss to the top of his head.

“I’m worried about you,” B.J. murmurs.

“Me too,” says Hawkeye, fighting that lump in his throat again.

“Me three,” says Trapper, “or do I count?”

“I just feel like, like a wimp.” Hawkeye is trying to ignore Trapper. He hates that Trapper is here, intruding on this private moment, even though Trapper isn’t really here.

“You’re not a wimp,” B.J. assures him. “You’re just, you know, sensitive.”

Sensitive? What does that mean? Hawkeye pulls away from B.J. and clears his throat.

“Breakfast is getting cold,” he says.

“It was already cold,” B.J. replies with a grin. “I prefer it that way. When they heat it up, it activates the smell.”

--

Sidney turns up around dinnertime. Hawkeye puts him off as long as possible, making all of his rounds with his patients for the evening and then making them again for good measure. Unfortunately, Sidney is the most patient man Hawkeye has ever met and he watches from a distance until Hawkeye gives up and leads him to the Swamp for a private discussion.

“Potter tells me you’re having nightmares again,” Sidney says, making himself comfortable in a chair while Hawkeye pours him a martini.

“Just bad dreams,” Hawkeye says, pouring himself a glass as well.

“B.J. said you would say that,” the psychiatrist remarks. “He said that you said the difference between the two is severity.”

“Yeah, in a nutshell,” Hawkeye agrees, sitting down in the other chair.

“Well, last night, Potter says you woke up the whole camp yelling about Captain McIntyre’s safety because of your dream,” says Sidney, like Hawkeye doesn’t know what he did. “How would you rate the severity of that one?”

Instead of admitting that Sidney’s right, Hawkeye decides to cut to the chase. Now that Sidney’s here, he might as well let the man help him. Besides, he’s tired of this. He’s tired of Trapper’s ever-smiling face watching him all of the time.

“The dreams are not the issue. I’m hallucinating. Or rather, I’m having one hallucination, but it’s constant. I’m seeing Trapper. I see him here in the tent right now.”

This news seems to catch Sidney off guard, which Hawkeye notes as evidence that B.J. kept the secret to himself.

“When did this start?” asks Sidney, peering at him with renewed interest. That’s one of the things Hawkeye’s always liked about Sidney. He loves his patients, sure, and takes good care of them, but Sidney’s a psychiatrist because he finds the human brain fascinating.

Hawkeye sometimes thinks he might have liked going into psychiatry himself, but he has doubts about how good he would be at it.

“A few nights ago.” Hawkeye stares at his hands as he speaks. “Kid came into the O.R. and I knew there was no saving him. But he looked… you know, not exactly like Trapper, but he had the same hair and eyes. What he didn’t have was a chance in hell of leaving the operating table alive. And then Trapper was just there, instead of the nurse, and I worked on the kid until he died.”

“You operated while experiencing a visual hallucination?” Sidney clarifies.

“Look, I know it sounds bad, but what else was I supposed to do?” Hawkeye snaps, finally meeting Sidney’s gaze. “It’s my job to save as many of these men as I can. I couldn’t just not even try. I was his only chance. Besides, I’ve had to do it since then - he follows me everywhere.”

Sidney nods his head slowly as he digests this information. Hawkeye imagines he can see the cogs turning in Sidney’s head. Somehow Sidney will know the answer, even though Hawkeye has searched for it high and low and cannot come up with it.

“What are the dreams about?” Sidney aks.

With a scoff, Hawkeye says, “I just told you, the dreams aren’t the problem.”

“They’re part of the bigger picture, Hawkeye. You can’t put a puzzle together without using all of the pieces. What were the dreams about?”

Hawkeye goes back to staring at his hands. “I dreamed the boy I lost was Trapper, that Trapper was dead on my operating table.”

“Makes sense,” the other man says. But he’s regarding Hawkeye with a cool look that says he knows Hawkeye is holding back.

“The other stuff doesn’t make sense,” Hawkeye tries to explain. “There was some stuff with my cousin…”

“Your cousin Billy?” Sidney asks, his eyebrows rising. “The one who pushed you into the pond?”

How does Sidney remember all this stuff, Hawkeye wonders? It’s like he never forgets a conversation.

“Yeah,” he admits. “I dreamt he pushed me in and he pulled me back out and I was angry with him. But then he wasn’t Billy anymore. He was Trapper.”

“That would suggest that you’re comparing the two of them for some reason. You might ask yourself what you think the two of them have in common.”

Laughter escapes Hawkeye as he shakes his head. “Are you kidding? They’re nothing alike. Billy tried to drown me and then pretended he saved me. Trapper was my friend.”

“Apparently your subconscious self doesn’t always see him that way,” Sidney says. He gives Hawkeye a wry smile. “It could mean nothing at all, but it’s smart to cover all of your bases, wouldn’t you agree? There could be something you’re suppressing. Your subconscious might be protecting you from it, but until you confront it, it has power over you.”

It does make sense, and Hawkeye likes logic. Everything in this godforsaken place is illogical, Hawkeye can’t organize it all in a way that makes sense to him. But somehow Sidney has that ability. Then again, Sidney doesn’t have to stick his hands inside dying boys’ bodies, try to piece them back together and pick out the fragments left behind by bullets and bombs.

He tries to think of some connection between Trapper and Billy, but he draws a blank.

“Tell me about Billy,” Sidney suggests. “Last time we talked about him, you said you idolized him.”

“Everyone loved him,” Hawkeye agrees, shrugging. “I thought he saved my life and everyone loved him, he was the golden child. I wanted to be like him, but I… I was angry with him. He used to tease me, you know? He used to tell me I was a sissy.”

“A sissy?” Sidney laughs. “I don’t know about that.”

Hawkeye cracks a smile. “Right? A ninny, maybe. A coward, sure. But a sissy?”

“You’re none of those things,” Sidney says. His tone becomes solemn, strange after their moment of brevity. “Take it from someone who both admires you and considers you a good friend. You’re a braver man than I am, Gungadeen.”

“Well, I wasn’t brave back then.” Hawkeye looks away from Sidney, feeling self-conscious. “Of course, I was just a kid. There was nothing I could do about Billy.”

“He made you feel small,” Sidney suggests.

“Yeah,” Hawkeye admits. “I was… afraid of him.”

“Understandable. He nearly drowned you.”

It wasn’t just that, Hawkeye thinks. There was something else about Billy, or maybe it really was because of the pond incident, but he remembers always being nervous in his older cousin’s presence, like he couldn’t anticipate what Billy’s next move would be.

“I had one dream,” he says, “where I was at Billy’s house and Billy was there with a girl. And he and the girl were kissing on the couch. It felt, it felt wrong, I was very uncomfortable. Then he turned into Trapper again and he was still kissing the girl but he was… was staring at me. And then the house exploded and Trapper was dead.”

Sidney considers this for a moment before he speaks again.

“Why do you think it would make you uncomfortable to see Billy kissing a girl?”

“I don’t know,” Hawkeye says honestly, because he doesn’t understand the dream at all. “In my dream, I was a little kid again. Maybe that’s why? But then, when he turned into Trapper, I think I was myself again.”

“And Trapper was watching you while he kissed this girl?”

A silence falls over the tent, somehow different than their earlier pauses in conversation. Hawkeye realizes he’s never spoken to Sidney about his physical attraction to men. For Hawkeye, it’s something about himself that he just takes in stride. After all, he is a great lover of women as well. Still, other people are not so open-minded on the subject as Hawkeye. Men go to prison for being homosexual.

“I don’t know why,” Hawkeye says in a lame attempt to distance himself from the implications about his sexuality.

He can see Sidney struggling to figure out what to say next. It makes his skin crawl. If Sidney finds out, will he be disgusted? Will they still be friends? He’s always thought of Sidney as a reasonable, fair person. Maybe Sidney won’t hate him for this.

“I don’t want you to be angry with me for suggesting this,” Sidney says at last, “but did you and Trapper ever… comfort one another?”

“Did we ever sleep together?” Hawkeye clarifies, astounded that Sidney spoke the words out loud. “Of course not! We never could have gotten away with that. Do you know how dangerous that is?”

“I do,” Sidney acknowledges.

“We weren’t like that,” says Hawkeye. “Not that we, I, have a problem with, you know, homosexuals. I mean, I can admit that some men are attractive, even Trapper was attractive, but it never went anywhere.”

“But you wanted it to?”

Hawkeye swallows. “... Would you think differently of me if I said yes?”

Sidney chuckles and shakes his head. “Hawkeye, what I have come to understand about you is that you love all people, even the ones you hate. You’re a physical person, and there’s nothing wrong with that in my mind. Things like gender, I don’t think they matter very much to you, do they?”

“I don’t know.” Hawkeye’s face feels warm. “People are… I don’t see everyone as the same, okay? Everyone is different, and that’s my favorite thing about them. Trapper, he was just… he was like me.”

“Like you?” Sidney prods.

“Not, you know, not a homosexual, not that I’m a homosexual,” Hawkeye babbles. “Uh, we never did anything, like I said. We just understood each other. We saw life the same way. But now, I guess we don’t anymore. He wouldn’t talk to me on the phone.”

The psychiatrist nods. “Potter told me as much.”

“Last night’s dream…” Hawkeye wasn’t going to share this one, but now that Sidney has said he doesn’t have a problem with his… proclivities, it seems important to get his opinion on this one. “I was with a woman, but then it was a man. And that’s not, you know, very weird for my dreams. But then the man was Trapper. And I guess, you know, I’ve had dreams like that about Trapper before, but… It felt wrong, so I pushed him away.”

It’s getting harder to talk about this dream, but Hawkeye pushes through it.

“Trapper, he, uh, he wasn’t Trapper anymore, he was Billy. And he was holding me down and telling me that he’d never hurt me, but I didn’t want him near me. And then he was Trapper again, but he was still saying he would never hurt me.”

He looks over at Sidney, who looks alarmed.

“What?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

Sidney says, “Did Billy make you do things you weren’t comfortable with?”

The blood in Hawkeye’s veins turns to ice.

“What do you mean?” he asks, fighting to keep his voice even.

“I can’t just tell you what I think your dream means,” Sidney says, forcing a sad smile. “You have to come to your own conclusions.”

Hawkeye tries to remember, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to remember. If there are things so dark locked up in his mind somewhere, he’d rather they stayed locked up.

That summer his mother died, when he spent so much time in his aunt’s house - maybe it was then. He was ten years old. Billy would have been sixteen. Hawkeye remembers that he was excited about the prospect of spending so much time with his cousin, at first. By the end of the summer, he’d begun spending most of his time at home, avoiding his aunt’s house.

“Would I have just… blocked it out?” he asks.

“Possibly,” says Sidney. “You blocked out the fact that he pushed you into the pond.”

A horrible thought occurs to Hawkeye. “If he, you know. If things happened. Is that why I, uh, I find…some men attractive?”

“I don’t think so,” Sidney replies. “Like I said before, I think you love people. They’re all different, yes, but you pointed out yourself that you enjoy their differences. It’s the way you were raised but it’s also just who you are. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Oh yeah? So, have you ever…”

“Oh, no, I’m a staunch heterosexual,” says Sidney with a twinkle in his eye. “Though I will admit that if you were a woman, I think I’d have a hard time keeping things professional between us.”

The unexpected compliment makes Hawkeye grin.

“So, are you sticking around a while? Got time for a poker game?”

--

Benny is reading The Last of the Mohicans again. It’s his father’s book, and even though Benny is only ten, he’s already read it himself once. He knows the story well because his father used to read it out loud to him before bed when he was smaller. The book is worn from use, almost falling apart, but Benny treasures it.

It keeps Benny distracted from thinking about his mother, about her funeral a couple of months ago and her slow decline before that. If he has his nose buried in a book, he can’t see his father’s grief, which the man tries so hard to hide from his son, but which shows on his face plain as day. Benny can’t stand looking at his father, knowing he feels lost, left behind. He knows that’s how his father feels because that’s how Benny feels.

Aunt Jen’s house is a welcome reprieve, but even here, Benny hides in his book. Billy just got home from school and he’s telling Aunt Jen some amusing story and they’re both laughing and Benny can’t focus on his book. Frustrated, he snaps his book closed and gets up from the couch to stalk to the back bedroom, Billy’s room, for a little quiet.

There’s an old rhyme his mother taught him. “Yesterday, upon the stair, I met a man who wasn’t there.” She was bookish, his mother. Always reading something, not like his dad, who reads a variety of medical text books and rereads the book that Benny now has tucked under his arm. His mother knew all kinds of interesting stories and poems and facts. Benny misses her so much.

Benny makes himself comfortable on Billy’s bed and raises his book again. Of course, Billy walks in then, interrupting Benny’s reading once more.

“Whatcha reading, Benny?” the gangly teenager asks, flopping down on the bed next to Benny.

Instead of speaking, Benny just shows him the cover. He doesn’t like being alone with Billy.

Billy takes the book from him, putting it on the nightstand.

“Mom’s gone into town,” he says, leaning closer to Benny, encroaching on the younger boy’s personal space.

Benny turns away from him, trying to roll off the bed to escape, but Billy moves his arm to trap him.

“Relax,” Billy coos. “I would never hurt you.”

There are so many things Benny could say to that, but his shame keeps the words locked in his throat. He knows he can’t make Billy stop and it’s not like he can tell anyone about this, or any of the other times it has happened. Everyone loves Billy. He can do no wrong. Benny, on the other hand, is an outspoken, insubordinate child. No one, not even his father, will believe him.

He makes himself relax and think of something else. The rhyme is still playing over and over in his head.

“When I came home last night at three,
the man was waiting there for me.
But when I looked around the hall,
I couldn’t see him there at all!”

Benny is not here at all. He is somewhere else.

--

Hawkeye wakes up sobbing into his pillow. He hides his face against the fabric, trying to muffle the noise he’s making, but he hears someone in the tent stirring. Moments later, B.J. is at his side, rubbing his back and speaking soft nonsense words to calm him down.

“It was just a dream,” B.J. assures him. “Relax, Hawk, you’re okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Hawkeye chokes out, shaking his head. “Christ, I, I can’t stop crying.”

“Just get it out then,” the other man says. “I’m right here with you.”

Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Hawkeye reaches out for B.J. and the other man opens his arms and draws Hawkeye close, perched on the edge of Hawkeye’s cot while he holds him. Hawkeye struggles to stop crying, but it takes him several minutes to calm down enough.

The dream has opened the floodgates of his memories. The shame he felt in the dream is still present, almost crippling in its intensity. He can’t tell B.J. about this. He doesn’t have the words for it, or he doesn’t like the ones he has, like “sexual assault” or “childhood abuse.”

Worst of all, Trapper is still there, sitting in a chair next to the still and watching Hawkeye without a word.

It doesn’t seem fair. If Hawkeye has remembered what he repressed, why is Trapper still hanging around? Shouldn’t he be gone, just like the dreams and the sneezing went away?

“Okay now?” B.J. asks when Hawkeye’s sobs have been reduced to sniffles.

“Yeah,” Hawkeye croaks. “Sorry I woke you up.”

“Don’t be sorry,” his friend says. His arms tighten around Hawkeye momentarily before he draws away. “I’ve got an idea, maybe it’ll help you sleep. Hang on.”

B.J. stands up and pulls his own cot over so that it is next to Hawkeye’s cot. He lies down in it and scoots close to Hawkeye, who relaxes and curls up against his chest.

He wonders if B.J. would be so happy to hold him like that if he knew about what happened when he was a kid. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to admit it to him.

“You know I care about you, right?” B.J. asks in a soft voice.

Hawkeye listens a moment for the sound of Charles breathing, making sure he’s asleep before he replies.

“I know,” he says. “I care about you too. Too much, I think, sometimes.”

It’s good Frank isn’t around anymore. If Frank heard Hawkeye crying over a dream, he’d have never let Hawkeye hear the end of it. That’s one thing he can say for Charles; the man won’t mention this, even if he did hear any of it.

“Hawk… If I wasn’t a married man…”

His heart skips a beat at B.J.’s words. Is he saying what it sounds like he’s saying?

“I know,” he says again.

It’s only a matter of time before B.J. is out of reach forever. Maybe that’s for the best. There’s something between them that Hawkeye has a hard time ignoring, and he doesn’t want to pull B.J. away from his wife and daughter.

Trapper’s voice cuts through the quiet, though Hawkeye knows he’s the only one who hears it.

“Last night I saw upon the stair,
A little man who wasn’t there.
He wasn’t there again today.
Oh, how I wish he’d go away…”

--

“I don’t understand,” Hawkeye tells Sidney the next day. “I’ve remembered everything, so why isn’t Trapper gone? Why is he here in the first place? He doesn’t have anything to do with Billy.”

“You’re sure about that?” Sidney asks.

How many psychiatric sessions is Hawkeye going to have to have with Sidney in this tent, he wonders? It’s better than having them in the looney bin, he figures, but he’s tired of feeling like this place is going to be his undoing.

“He never did anything that made you uncomfortable?” the psychiatrist pushes. “You never did tell me why the two of you broke off your friendship.”

“The two of us?” Hawkeye lets out a bitter laugh. “He just left while I was on leave, didn’t leave me a note or anything.”

If he’s being honest with himself, he still hasn’t forgiven Trapper for that. How could he just leave without a word, knowing Hawkeye was stuck here, that the war was slowly killing him?

Had they argued before Hawkeye went on leave? He hasn’t let himself think about that in quite a while. Henry had just died and Hawkeye hadn’t been in a good place. He knows he lashed out at Trapper a few times.

“You loved him,” says Sidney.

“I guess so,” Hawkeye agrees. There’s no point in denying it, not now that he knows Sidney won’t hold it against him.

Not-Trapper leans forward in his chair, like he’s interested in the conversation. Hawkeye frowns at him and wishes he’d disappear.

“Did you ever tell him?”

“Almost,” Hawkeye says. “After Henry died, right before he left. We had the tent to ourselves because Frank moved himself right into Henry’s tent, the ghoul. I guess I had too much to drink one night and…”

He trails off as the memory of the night comes back to him. He remembers how they’d toasted Henry time after time until they were toasted themselves.

“We were both drunk, I guess, and… You know, I haven’t thought about this in so long. Trapper, he kind of touched my hand, and I turned and… he kissed me.”

How could he have forgotten about this? Maybe he hadn’t really forgotten it, just put it aside because it was too much to deal with. The feel of Trapper’s mouth on his comes back to him, how at first he’d relaxed into the kiss and returned it, and then…

“I… I guess it reminded me of, you know,” Hawkeye chokes out. “I don’t know why. I’ve kissed dozens of women in my life, Sidney, and it never made me think of Billy. Not once. And I wanted Trapper to kiss me, I wanted it so bad, but then he did and I… I pushed him away.”

He remembers now how he shoved Trapper back from him, because for a moment Trapper hadn’t been Trapper anymore. Hawkeye’s mind had replaced him with that spector from his childhood and all he’d wanted then was to get away.

He’d shouted at Trapper, said things he’d wanted to say as a child. “Stop it! Get the hell away from me, what do you think you’re doing?”

The way Trapper had looked at him, how he’d turned white as a ghost, it makes Hawkeye’s heart break now.

“I told him not to touch me,” he whispers. “I… I called him a pervert. I didn’t mean to say it to him. No wonder he left, he probably thinks I’m some bigot. How could I do that to him? He was my best friend.”

Sidney gives him a sad smile. “Hawk, I’m sorry. But you can’t beat yourself up for that. Maybe one day, you’ll have the chance to explain it to him. It wasn’t your fault or his fault.”

Maybe that’s true but Hawkeye feels crushed. He puts his head in his hands and though he feels his eyes burning, he refuses to cry. Lately, he’s felt too vulnerable. Besides, even though it hurts to remember all of this, he realizes that he feels more in control right now than he has in several days, and maybe even longer than that.

He looks up again at Trapper’s chair, but it’s empty. Looking around the tent, he can’t see the hallucination anywhere.

“Looking for someone?” Sidney asks.

“Trapper,” says Hawkeye. “He’s gone.”

“Incoming!” comes over the loudspeakers. “Incoming wounded, all personnel report to O.R.!”

--

Exhausted from hours of meatball surgery, Hawkeye and B.J. lean against one another as they shuffle back to the Swamp, where Charles has already fallen asleep in his clothes.

“Sidney already left?” B.J. asks while Hawkeye pours them both a drink.

“Said his work here is done,” Hawkeye replies with a grin. “I think I figured a few things out. By the way, my invisible companion seems to have gone home.”

“Trapper’s gone?” B.J. sounds relieved. “That’s great, Hawk. Did Sidney know why you were seeing him?”

In that moment, Hawkeye realizes he could tell B.J. He could tell him about everything that happened to him as a kid, about what happened with Trapper, and B.J. wouldn’t judge him. And even though things between them can’t ever be more than what they are now, because B.J. does love Peg, Hawkeye knows that B.J. cares about him.

He’s still afraid that his place is going to make him really crack up. But for now, he’s overcome a hurdle and has his hands back on the wheel.

“Just needed to work through something,” he tells B.J. “And Beej? Thanks for last night.”

“Don’t mention it,” B.J. says.

“Cheers,” says Hawkeye. They raise their glasses, tapping them together with a little clink.

END