Title: Different World
Author: Am-Chau Yarkona
Rating: R (sex)
Pairing: Hawkeye/Trapper John
Disclaimer: Not my characters.
Summary: An sort-of answer to Princess Twilite’s Challenge:
*1500 words at least (can be more).
*Romance - or not - okay.
*A character gets ONE day in a life they've never had, based on a decision they
made and might regret. ONE day. No more than that.
*Any fandom. Any character. Any genre. If you want them to be happy about
returning, go ahead. If you want them to despair over it, make it so!
*Any rating. Anything goes. See a pattern here?
*Let me know if you've written it, because I would enjoy reading it.
Author’s notes: Its slightly short on the word count, and it doesn’t quite deal with a whole day. But, you know, I tried. M*A*S*H has more constraints on ‘odd and slightly magical things’ than some fandoms.
* * *
“One day?” Hawkeye asked, squinting into the bright light that shone down at him. “Just the one?”
“That’s right. Change any choice you make, and have one day of the results. Then you’re back where you are now, plus the memories of that day.”
“Okay,” he said, figuring that any chance to get out of a war zone was worth taking, no matter how completely impossible it was. “I want to know what would have happened if I hadn’t been drafted.”
* * *
Hawkeye groaned, and rolled out of bed without fully waking up. When his feet hit wooden boards instead of packed dirt, he had a brief moment of panic—where was he? He’d been in the Swamp, dozing off after hours of surgery, and he’d had the strangest dream: and now he was here, in a tiny room, about to… go on duty.
That was right, he was on duty in the ER tonight, and he was late.
But that was wrong—he’d left this job just a few weeks into it, to go to Korea. He’d been drafted.
But this was right—he hadn’t been drafted.
It didn’t make any sense.
He shrugged, pulled on some clothes, and went in search of coffee, hoping that when he woke up a little more the world would make more sense.
In the canteen, he met Trapper, also gulping coffee in an attempt to become alert enough to deal with the day. “Trap? Something strange is happening to me.”
The other man looked at him as if he was crazy. “Hawkeye? Something strange must be going on. My name’s John, and why are you holding my arm?”
Hawkeye looked at his hand on Trapper’s—John’s—arm, and realised that somehow, where he thought he’d been, in Korea, he’d been much more physical with him. Actually, he remember getting /very/ physical with Trapper on more than one occasion. He let go. “Can we sit down?”
“Sure. What’s going on?”
“I had—I don’t know. It must have been a dream, but it was a least a year long. I was drafted, and I had to go out to Korea. You too—you were there. And we…” Probably not such a good idea to tell this not-Trapper, who didn’t like him touching him, that he thought they’d—he dreamed that they’d—oh, what ever it was, there was sex with Trapper in it. And that couldn’t be good. Although at the time (and in memory) it feel great.
“Hawkeye, you’re talking rubbish. Neither of us will ever be drafted—4Fs, remember?”
“No, we were. And you had a nickname—Trapper. I’m sure that’s right. And there was this guy—Frank Burns, our tent mate. Whining little ferret of a man.”
“Dr Burns was in your dream as well? Yesterday you said you hadn’t met him yet.”
“You mean he’s real? Not just something my subconscious dredged up to torture me with?”
“He’s the new head of minor surgery for the ER. And ‘ferret face’ fits him quite well, but I can’t see how you’d know.”
“That’s spooky, Tr—John.”
“Yeah.” They were silent for a moment. Hawkeye peered into his coffee as he tried to make sense of this world that was both new, in that it was utterly different to where he thought he should be, and old, in that he remembered most of it and it was familiar. Even down to the fact that it was the same as it had been before the infamous ‘Trapper’ incident.
John watched his friend, wondering what was going on and what he wasn’t being told—something had happened in Hawkeye’s dream that he thought John didn’t want to hear. Thinking back to his own dreams of the night before, John indulged a momentary fantasy that it could be the same thing, and then dismissed the notion.
Hawkeye was as straight as they came, after all. Look at how hard he’d chased Carlye!
When Hawkeye still didn’t speak, John started to get worried about his friend.
“Are you okay, Hawk? Can you cope with being on duty all day?”
The dark-haired man looked up, meeting John’s eyes, and he was reminded of his dream. Those blue eyes—he could drown in them, he was sure of it.
“I guess I’ll have to,” Hawkeye said.
“You could go off sick. I can cover for you, if I have to.”
“Are you sure, John?”
“Yeah. You don’t look well.”
“I think it’s just ordinary tiredness.”
John reached over to feel Hawkeye’s forehead—suddenly a very intimate gesture. He stroked the dark hair back as part of the movement, and looking into blue eyes, feeling the silky texture of hair, he realised that he was getting excited.
“You need some more sleep—you’re cold.” John took his hand away as quickly as he dared—this was getting worse every moment.
Hawkeye stood up, swaying slightly, and it quickly became clear that he wasn’t going to be walking anywhere on his own. Reflexively, John got up and put an arm round him, supporting him.
The tingle that ran through his body made him think it wasn’t a good idea, but he couldn’t let go of Hawkeye. “Come on,” he said, and felt Hawkeye shiver too—not that he let himself hope that it was anything but exhaustion.
In the doorway, they passed Dr Ernest, the surgeon in charge of their shift. “Good party last night, Hawkeye?” he asked, dryly, familiar with the behaviour of his underlings.
“I don’t think that’s what’s happening, actually, Doctor,” John said, and half-helped, half-carried Hawkeye on.
Once they reached Hawkeye’s tiny room, John dumped his friend onto the bed.
“Oh, Hawkeye. What am I going to do with you?”
Without fully realising who he was speaking to, Hawkeye muttered, “Kiss me.”
It was only standard between them, in many ways: they were both flirts, so they flirted with each other. Nothing new there. What was different this time was that John took him seriously. It was just too tempting to do so.
He checked that he’d kicked the door fully closed on the way in, took a deep breath in case things went badly, and, leaning down, pressed his mouth to Hawkeye’s.
Hawkeye showed no surprise at all, not so much as a passing frown, let alone the anger or rejection that John had steeled himself for. He simply put his hands on John’s back, pulled the curly-haired man closer, and deepened the kiss. John realised that a deep breath was useful when things went well, as much as when they didn’t.
John felt himself growing hard, excited by the physical contact. He put an arm across the bed, meaning to lean on something and steady himself, but realised, when Hawkeye groaned and shifted beneath him, that he’d found Hawkeye’s erection.
“Please…” Hawkeye breathed in his ear, and John very nearly leaped on top of him.
“Hold on,” he managed to gasp. “Aren’t you supposed to be exhausted?” /And straight?/ he didn’t say. That could wait.
“No—scared,” said Hawkeye, and it was easy to believe. “Please, John. Make it go away.”
Blue eyes met hazel, so close it was hard to focus. John gave in. “Okay. I’ve never done this with a guy before, but I guess the ‘too many clothes’ rule still applies.”
* * *
Hawkeye woke, to find hazel brown eyes, bathed in the dull olive green that meant a tent in daylight, looking down into his. “Hawkeye?” Trapper asked. “Bad dream?”
“Trapper?”
“That’s me.”
“It’s good to be back.”