Finished slash
Nov. 19th, 2002 11:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ravenI think I was being morbid in my last post. Please, ignore it, and if you haven't read it, don't. I have spent the last half an hour trying to to tease a snippet of 641 words into shape. It's a tiny tiny snippet... but it is something. An actual M*A*S*H fic.
The problem is, I don't know where to post it. I don't think I have the courage to put it on the mash-slash group, or![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
mash_slash, but I might as well put it here. There are people here who might give me their opinions...
“Any tea left in that kettle?”
“Shhh!”
Trapper had barged into the Swamp to find Hawkeye lying face-down on his cot, head propped up on his elbows, staring intently at the still. His eyes were half closed. It was all very serious.
“Hawk?” Trapper said quizzically. Hawkeye was still wearing surgical scrubs under his clothes. To Trapper’s experienced eyes, he looked like someone in the onset of schizophrenic paranoia.
A moment passed. Trapper thought it was safe to lay a hand on the still-
“Don’t touch that!”
“Hawkeye..."
“Ah! No! It’s aging!”
Trapper shrugged expressively, and sat down on his cot, grabbing a magazine. He’d read it twice before, and it hadn’t been all that interesting to begin with, being Popular Mechanic, but it wasn’t as if there was anything else to do. Five minutes later, Hawkeye hadn’t moved. Trapper sighed.
Ten minutes later, Trapper had just about flicked through the magazine again, and he took a moment to look across the tent. Hawkeye was still motionless. He might have been asleep; it was difficult to tell the difference.
It wasn’t until another ten minutes after that Trapper looked up at the sound of two olives being thrown expertly into two glasses, followed by a couple of splashes of what could only be vermouth being added to both.
Trapper looked at his right hand – there was suddenly a Martini glass in it. “Look who’s back from the dead,” he said sarcastically to his unusually silent companion.
Hawkeye looked supremely pleased with himself. “It’s aged a whole twenty-five minutes,” he said, then took a sip from Trapper’s glass. “Ah, sweet juniper..."
Finding his own glass, he drank about half of it and sat back on his cot. Immediately, his eyes half-closed again, and Trapper, with the eyes of a doctor, admittedly a rather tired and inebriated doctor, noticed it again. Hawkeye twitched and shifted uncomfortably. “Blood soaks right through these,” he complained quietly, meaning the white surgical scrubs. “I never wear anything underneath them.” He paused, and then, with a glance at Trapper, added, “But then you knew that.”
Trapper might have unconsciously licked his lips; it was hard to tell. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I knew that.”
And then, with a sudden realisation that they had no need to be so discreet, he asked, “Where’s Frank?”
Hawkeye looked thoughtful. “Take one guess.”
“‘Knock before entering?’”
“Precisely.”
Suddenly, their eyes met. The darkness of the night suddenly seemed to encroach in on them, making their oasis of light the only place in the world, just for a moment...
They were already together, wrapped up in each other, perched on the same cot, trapped in the same hell...
Thoughts wandered. Hands wandered. But even as he began to lose himself in the moment, Trapper knew that something was wrong. Hawkeye shuddered, and Trapper knew he was losing him…
The darkness receded. The moment had passed, like it always did. Noises in the compound hit Trapper’s ears, pulling him back to reality.
Hawkeye’s eyes had closed, finally. Trapper gently laid him down on the cot, and rolled him over. Hawkeye had fallen asleep, eyes tightly closed, lips slightly parted, totally abandoned to sleep as only children and tired doctors can be. He was so soundly asleep his eyelids didn’t even flicker, although he did murmur and twitch in his sleep, almost as if he were already dreaming. Trapper stood up and drew the blankets over his friend, and then sat back for a moment, watching him sleep, watching him dream.
Trapper leant down and kissed Hawkeye gently. Straightening up slowly, he pushed the hair out of his friend’s eyes, letting his fingers linger...
He opened the door. The cold night air rushed in, and Hawkeye moaned in his sleep. Trapper looked behind him for a moment...
The door closed. He was gone.
*fin*
I hope you like. Laugh, cry, throw rotten tomatoes, whatever.
The problem is, I don't know where to post it. I don't think I have the courage to put it on the mash-slash group, or
mash_slash, but I might as well put it here. There are people here who might give me their opinions...“Any tea left in that kettle?”
“Shhh!”
Trapper had barged into the Swamp to find Hawkeye lying face-down on his cot, head propped up on his elbows, staring intently at the still. His eyes were half closed. It was all very serious.
“Hawk?” Trapper said quizzically. Hawkeye was still wearing surgical scrubs under his clothes. To Trapper’s experienced eyes, he looked like someone in the onset of schizophrenic paranoia.
A moment passed. Trapper thought it was safe to lay a hand on the still-
“Don’t touch that!”
“Hawkeye..."
“Ah! No! It’s aging!”
Trapper shrugged expressively, and sat down on his cot, grabbing a magazine. He’d read it twice before, and it hadn’t been all that interesting to begin with, being Popular Mechanic, but it wasn’t as if there was anything else to do. Five minutes later, Hawkeye hadn’t moved. Trapper sighed.
Ten minutes later, Trapper had just about flicked through the magazine again, and he took a moment to look across the tent. Hawkeye was still motionless. He might have been asleep; it was difficult to tell the difference.
It wasn’t until another ten minutes after that Trapper looked up at the sound of two olives being thrown expertly into two glasses, followed by a couple of splashes of what could only be vermouth being added to both.
Trapper looked at his right hand – there was suddenly a Martini glass in it. “Look who’s back from the dead,” he said sarcastically to his unusually silent companion.
Hawkeye looked supremely pleased with himself. “It’s aged a whole twenty-five minutes,” he said, then took a sip from Trapper’s glass. “Ah, sweet juniper..."
Finding his own glass, he drank about half of it and sat back on his cot. Immediately, his eyes half-closed again, and Trapper, with the eyes of a doctor, admittedly a rather tired and inebriated doctor, noticed it again. Hawkeye twitched and shifted uncomfortably. “Blood soaks right through these,” he complained quietly, meaning the white surgical scrubs. “I never wear anything underneath them.” He paused, and then, with a glance at Trapper, added, “But then you knew that.”
Trapper might have unconsciously licked his lips; it was hard to tell. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I knew that.”
And then, with a sudden realisation that they had no need to be so discreet, he asked, “Where’s Frank?”
Hawkeye looked thoughtful. “Take one guess.”
“‘Knock before entering?’”
“Precisely.”
Suddenly, their eyes met. The darkness of the night suddenly seemed to encroach in on them, making their oasis of light the only place in the world, just for a moment...
They were already together, wrapped up in each other, perched on the same cot, trapped in the same hell...
Thoughts wandered. Hands wandered. But even as he began to lose himself in the moment, Trapper knew that something was wrong. Hawkeye shuddered, and Trapper knew he was losing him…
The darkness receded. The moment had passed, like it always did. Noises in the compound hit Trapper’s ears, pulling him back to reality.
Hawkeye’s eyes had closed, finally. Trapper gently laid him down on the cot, and rolled him over. Hawkeye had fallen asleep, eyes tightly closed, lips slightly parted, totally abandoned to sleep as only children and tired doctors can be. He was so soundly asleep his eyelids didn’t even flicker, although he did murmur and twitch in his sleep, almost as if he were already dreaming. Trapper stood up and drew the blankets over his friend, and then sat back for a moment, watching him sleep, watching him dream.
Trapper leant down and kissed Hawkeye gently. Straightening up slowly, he pushed the hair out of his friend’s eyes, letting his fingers linger...
He opened the door. The cold night air rushed in, and Hawkeye moaned in his sleep. Trapper looked behind him for a moment...
The door closed. He was gone.
*fin*
I hope you like. Laugh, cry, throw rotten tomatoes, whatever.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2002-11-19 03:25 pm (UTC)Rotten tomatoes? Man, have you seen "A Knight's Tale"? If someone throws rotten tomatoes at you, I'll go all Wat on their asses.
*returns to dreamy sighing*
no subject
on 2002-11-20 06:33 am (UTC)Glad you liked it. That dreamy sigh... music to my ears...
no subject
on 2002-11-20 01:38 pm (UTC)But, specifically, I was thinking about this one part where William (Heath Ledger)--who's character's been impersonating a knight--is in the stocks, all chained up, and the townspeople are gathered around him, a few throwing things at him, and Wat comes up and gets all extremely protective in his angry-Wat way and yells "I WILL FONG YOU ALL!" (I have no idea what a 'fonging' consists of, but as he puts it earlier--"Pain...lot's of pain...")
:D Tis a very cute movie. You should watch. Was the first thing I ever saw slash in, actually.
Re:
on 2002-11-20 01:41 pm (UTC)Fonging?!
That is without a doubt my new favourite word.
Fonging!
no subject
on 2002-11-19 03:56 pm (UTC)You probably have as much insight into how tired doctors get as I do into how guilty preachers are.
I hope Flick reads this.
no subject
on 2002-11-20 02:02 am (UTC).... any particular reason?
Because ...
on 2002-11-20 04:34 am (UTC)Because you're so good at encouraging us when we need it.
Because you give such good feedback.
Enough?
Re: Because ...
on 2002-11-20 05:18 am (UTC)Oh, okay then.
I did like it. She's a very clever young lady, is
Re: Because ...
on 2002-11-20 06:31 am (UTC)no subject
on 2002-11-20 12:34 am (UTC)no subject
on 2002-11-20 06:35 am (UTC)(And you know when you went past me by the lab this morning? Oh, the amount of explaining I had to do to the normal people to explain what that conversation was about!)
no subject
on 2002-11-20 07:38 am (UTC)no subject
on 2002-11-20 02:05 am (UTC)I knew I'd get you.... mwahhhahahaha
Oh, that's superb, sweetie. Please do post it to the list - they're all really lovely people, and it's been so quiet recently!
Yes: we like!
itty bitty: repetition of lose/losing in fifth from last para - jars slightly to me
no subject
on 2002-11-20 06:04 am (UTC)no subject
on 2002-11-20 06:30 am (UTC)As for not seeming finished... I excel at 500 word plotlessness. Structure and beginning/middle/end are utterly alien concepts to me.... *laughs*
no subject
on 2002-11-20 06:56 am (UTC)no subject
on 2002-11-20 10:03 am (UTC)Re:
on 2002-11-20 01:32 pm (UTC)And hopefully, yes! When the muses come back from extended sabbattical in Lourdes or whatever it is they're doing...