Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Trapper,

I fucked up today. Wounded came in (don’t they always), and I was on hour umpteen of nineteen. This kid had shrapnel everywhere; I mean everywhere. He’d lost a lot of blood already before he came in with a surprise shipment of new wounded once we had finished with most of the others around 2 am. I was working on him, not long; opened him up and was picking out lead from his diaphragm, intercostals, lung, liver; you name it. His chest was filling up and I realized his vena cava was punctured, so I asked for the DeBakey and was about to clamp it, and at the last millisecond—I mean the very last millisecond—I realized I forgot to check for the phrenic nerve. I almost crushed his phrenic nerve. His breathing was already so stunted, and I almost paralyzed half his diaphragm. I’m a fucking thoracic surgeon and I forgot about the goddamned phrenic nerve. 

You’ll say “You were tired.” “You were almost twenty hours into surgery.” “Anyone could’ve made the same mistake.” “How many times has Frank almost made the same mistake?”

I know you’re right.

I’m a goddamned surgeon and I should know my job. 

Wished you were there with me. 

Trapper,

You would’ve loved last night. Don’t get me wrong; we were doing meatball surgery at 4:30 in the morning on adrenaline and not enough sleep, and Frank was being a bigoted little bitch. Your favorite things, I know. 

You would’ve loved last night because Nurse Cratty had to evacuate the orphanage due to shelling, and camp was packed with kids for almost 24 whole hours. A woman gave birth! We gave the baby Frank’s Purple Heart (earned for an eggshell in the eye) because his little butt was nicked by a sniper bullet in mom’s abdomen. Both are okay, doing well now.

One kid was doing tongue tricks for me, and another played the prettiest piano in the Officers’ Club (4077 M*A*S*H’s newest luxury children’s resort, second only to The Swamp. Only the finest bug nets and the scratchiest army-issue blankets.)

Radar was a sweetheart, even though one of the tykes stole his teddy bear. He’ll be a good dad someday. Klinger relented to being called “Mama-san.”

It was nice to see those kids laugh. 

I thought of you and your daughters. I’m glad they have their dad back.

Trapper,

I’m not always brave, but I’m big enough to admit that I miss you. 

Radar gave a horse to Colonel Potter for his anniversary (long story), and I remembered us riding bareback on that white horse. How did that happen?

I miss doing crazy things like that with you. I miss our practical jokes, our poker games, when you would make us martinis. They don’t taste the same, and it’s not because we’ve started aging them a whole 20 minutes.

I miss being close to you. I haven’t been on a single date, Trapper, I swear, because for some reason now that you’re gone, it’s lost all appeal to me. Makes me feel sick sometimes. Sick with myself, or sick from loneliness, I don’t know. Both.

I miss the way you feel. Next to me 
Against me.  Inside me

Miss how you smell, even when you stink miss your stupid curls and your stupid smirk and your stupid accent and your stupid eyes

Will you ever tell me why you didn’t leave me anything but a goddamned secondhand kiss on the cheek? 

Ever?

Miss you like hell. 

Trap,

BJ is a swell guy, and a swell surgeon. It feels bizarre referring to him as your “replacement,” because he isn’t. Couldn’t be in the ways that count, to me. 

But he is a helluva surgeon for how fresh he is. Fresh as in young and green; don’t worry. 

He’s fun, too; he’s slipped right into your role as my comrade-in-disrespect to Frank Burns. You would like him that way. Frank tried to take advantage of his brief stint as C.O. to mold him in his image, but that first day    he was already too much like you he didn’t stand a chance. BJ is as much a standup, self respecting, all-American, Frank Burns hating, involuntary U.S. Army doctor as you or I ever were. He fits right in, pranking and still swilling and Swamp dwelling and all. Don’t get too jealous of the party of the century we’re having in Korea. 

Trapper,

Fuck, I want you so badly. Had a rough day and night and day in the O.R., exhausted and stressed, but I felt like I was bouncing off the walls. Don’t wanna talk about it. Frank with Margaret, BJ in post-op, Swamp to myself, thank g-d. Wanted    Needed to fuck myself so badly, only had my fingers. Nothing like yours, nothing like you. Thought about your cock inside me and your breath and tongue and teeth on my neck. Hurt so good. Came too quickly, but I needed to. Fuck, getting hard again thinking about you. Remembering you. Touching myself thinking of you. Do you like that? Knowing how much I need you? Knowing how hot you get me, even from 10,000 miles away? Touching myself over my shorts sitting in my chair now. No shirt. Pinching my nipple. Can you picture me? I’m picturing you with your pants around our ankles and your cock hanging low, filling while you only look at me. Balls over your underwear’s waistband, getting so tight and heavy. Your fucking eyes on me. G-d. Trap, I want you so bad. Writing this and my hand’s shaking. Remembering your lips on my neck, a little teeth, just how I like it. Remembering how you taste. I’m fuckin’ dizzy. Getting wet for you. Your hands are on me, touching me everywhere, making me moan, grabbing my ass and pulling it towards you, smacking my ass, putting your fingerprints into me. Your hand’s around my neck and my blood is rushing and I’m filling up, getting so hard for you, it hurts, gotta feel myself, stroke myself. Fucking my fist for you just how you liked to watch me do it. Wish you were here so you could touch me. Stick your fingers in my mouth. Make me taste you. Wanna taste you again so bad, mouth is watering. Fuck. Fuck me Trap fuck me I need you so bad, need your fingers, need your cock, want you to pull my hair, want to hear you, want to make you come, want you to come in my mouth, come inside me, want to come together fuck fuck fuck I’m close I need

Trapper, 

Ashamed to say the week of wounded and wounded and more wounded took a toll on me, and my usual self control around gin (I have great self control, thank you very much) faltered and resulted in a big, embarrassing mess from my mouth onto the ground right outside the Swamp. I’ve got a headache big enough for three people; you should be very impressed that I’m writing this now, with my eyes open. 

BJ is an angel of a nurse, and poor Radar helped to clean up my mess, or so I’m told. I’ll have to think of a way to thank him other than trying to set him up on a date. A case of grape Nehi maybe, if I can get one. Frank is Frank. 

Do you still touch the stuff? Gin, I mean, not Nehi. I think once the war’s over I might become a strictly scotch man. For now, I’ll tentatively continue to love a lady called Martini. No matter how she gets me down, she’s my woman.

Trapper,

Did a nephrectomy today you’d be proud of. My suturing was gorgeous. 

Trapper, 

Did I tell you about the time I was dead? Army clerical screwup led to a guy named Digger coming to collect my body. They sent the letter to my dad and everything. We held a wake for me in the Swamp; I wish you could’ve been there. 

A damn communications blackout meant it was days before I could reach my dad to tell him I was still alive. He’d already given away my golf clubs, can you believe that?! But really, he was torn up and I hated hearing him like that. Things were pretty rough after my mom died, and I can’t imagine what he must’ve been going through thinking I was dead too. 

Anyway, it took weeks and about a million forms in triplicate for the army to get me back on payroll. 

No sir, I am not dead, and I’ll make it back home just like you did, with my life and money intact.

Trap,

Is it as cold in Boston as it is in Korea? It is frigid here. BJ’s too skinny to provide much body heat. Although I guess you could’ve said the same about me. We made do. 

Hope you’re warm and well. Keep your girls warm. 

Trapper,

G-d, I miss you. I really fuckin’ miss you. Tearing myself up trying to figure out why you didn’t write. My big ego thinks it must be something to do with me, something I did. But you’re probably just eager to leave all this behind, even if it means leaving us behind. I understand. It hurts, but it’s okay. I hope you’re happy in your old life. You deserve it. Take care, Trap.

Chapter Text

Trapper,
Jesus Christ dropped by our O.R. today. Former bombardier. Real nice guy. 
Wouldn’t answer to his real name (which we eventually found out after some digging, because he didn’t have his tags).
Sid came to talk to him, and would you believe it he came to the conclusion that that was Jesus Christ. Or at least that he really thought he was. Radar was pretty taken with him; I think he might’ve believed it too. 
You wanna know a crazy thing I was thinking? I wish he really was. You know I’m agnostic, and Jewish at that, but hell if we couldn’t use somebody to save us now. Or fucking something. Maybe he could’ve ended this war, and all future others. The kids don’t stop coming, Trap. You left, Henry died, and they don’t stop coming. 
Anyway, maybe I should see Sid if I’m engaging in this kind of wishful thinking. I know it could never be true, but, damn if it could just be true. 
Never pictured Jesus as a blond, though.

Trap,
I’m impotent. You read that right. I finally had a damn date, with Nurse Abel—who, as you know, is gorgeous beyond belief—but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. BJ says it’s stress, the war and all. I think I’m a little stressed out by your leaving too. What do I know.

Trap, 
Finally getting to write this after I’ve mostly recovered from a concussion I got recently. Didn’t get thrown to the ground by shelling, no; I wrecked a jeep swerving to avoid hitting three little kids. Korean kids, about 20 miles away from camp outside their house. I think I just about talked their ears off blabbering to stay awake until someone came to get me. We had some real heart-to-hearts about the magnificence of the human body. Performed Shakespeare for them, too. Not sure if they loved that one. 
One of them was pregnant, and I gave her my information to contact me when the baby’s ready to come. You ever think about what kind of world those kids will grow up in? I know you have your daughters, and stateside it seems okay. I doubt they’ll ever see someone blown up by a land mine in Massachusetts. I hope not. 

Trap,
You’ll never guess who rolled into camp today. No really, you’ll never guess. Somebody else who left me without a word. 

Trap, 
You’ll never guess who left camp today. Maybe you will. That’s right, the same mystery woman who left me and showed up in my life again, only to leave me again. 
You don’t happen to have any hunter green walls, do you?

Trapper,
A guy came to interview the camp today for a news picture. Maybe you’ll get to see it. It felt… I don’t know, I guess it felt good to tell someone about what it’s like here other than the people who already live in this hellhole. 
I don’t really remember what I said; I guess I’ll have to wait to see the picture too. Something about pistachio ice cream. And a lot about fear, he asked about fear. 
I made sure to tell him how good the nurses are; they really don’t get enough credit like we Hero M.D.s do. 
Well, I hope you’re getting all the credit you deserve now. Or none of it. However much you want.