(no subject)
Title: Cherry Pie (because I suck at titles)
Author: hawkeyesmartini
Fandom: M*A*S*H
Medium: television
Genre: slash
Pairing: Hawkry
Theme: P is for point-blank - Straightforward; blunt
Disclaimer: I wish there was a radio up in heaven, so I could sing to mother everyday. (That means, of course, that this is a fictional work produced of my own mind and this never happened. That we know of.)
Notes: Thanks to hawkeyecat for the beta. x-posted to slashhappened.
good.”
“She’ll have to use canned.”
“Fresh ones are better,” Henry argued.
Hawkeye made a “tsk” sound. “Cherries are out of season, Henry,” he said.
Henry gave him an exasperated look that seemed to say, ‘How would you know?’
Hawkeye finished his drink. “We have a cherry tree back in Maine. They don’t grow in March. They only grow from about May until August. If your wife’s looking for cherry trees, you might say she’s got a bit of a fruitless effort there.”
Henry rolled his eyes and turned to the table behind his desk for a stack of papers Radar had delivered earlier. “Hey, why are you in here, anyway?” he asked. Hawkeye looked up at him, interested, as he held his glass out for a refill. Henry sighed and reached for the scotch bottle, giving Hawkeye about an inch and a half of liquid into his glass, and then pouring his own. He knew that look. Of course he did. “I know it ain’t cause you like me,” Henry continued, trying to keep his voice from becoming bitter. “Let me guess - Frank’s reading the Bible in the Swamp and McIntyre’s out with a girl.”
“Close,” Hawkeye said, sipping his drink. “Trapper’s reading the Bible and Margaret’s with a girl. I mean, Frank.” He smirked.
“Why is...never mind.”
“I think he’s making notes.”
“From it or on it?”
Hawkeye shrugged. “Who knows? He’s bored.”
“So why aren’t you doing something with him?”
Hawkeye grinned, and Henry rolled his eyes. Of course. That was why he was in here. “What do you want?” Henry sighed, keeping his eyes on the requisition forms.
Hawkeye shrugged again. “Nothin’ much. Nothing that’s any skin off your back or anyone else’s.”
“All right,” Henry looked up, the contempt clear in his eyes. “Let me phrase that another way. What do you want that you’re fixin’ on gettin' on your knees for, again?”
Hawkeye blinked, and while he took in a breath, he looked at a loss. He might have hesitated at the forwardness of the question, or he might have considered leaving the matter be...if he was anyone but Hawkeye Pierce. “Why, Henry,” he said, looking amused. “Aren’t we verbal today?”
Henry glared at him as best as he could, and scratched his name on five of the dozen forms before looking up again. Hawkeye had wavered for less than a second, and, like always, he was on top and he knew it. Henry wished that, just once, he could resist him. That cocky, smartass smirk and those eyes - Hawkeye was very good at using them to get what he wanted. There wasn’t a nervous Colonel in the camp that could hold their gaze for long. He would never admit it, but it really bothered him that he could never really tell what Hawkeye was thinking. He could guess based on body language and whatever it was he was sure he was going to ask for this time, but he could never really guess what exactly was going through Hawkeye’s mind. He only wanted you to know what he showed. He was a manipulative bastard like that.
“What do you want?” Henry repeated coolly.
“Tokyo.”
“No.”
Hawkeye snorted. “Whatever you say, Henry.”
“You know, there ain’t nobody I ever met in my life that can just walk into my office and start imposing like you,” he commented. “Why does he always send you in here?” he asked, not bothering to specify which ‘he’ he was referring to - they both knew.
“Trapper doesn’t send me anywhere; I come myself.”
“Why doesn’t he ever cart his rear on in here, then?”
Hawkeye looked very, very amused. “Is that what you want?” He smirked.
Henry recoiled. “No!”
Hawkeye clicked his tongue. “Too bad. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Pierce, get out of my office.”
“Three days,” he said, folding his hands in his lap. “Mostly we were going for the nights, but you can’t really have a night without a day. There’re no casualties expected, and Major Schmidt is here for the next two weeks - if anything comes up, he can handle it.”
“I’m not asking you if it’s all right for you to go,” Henry said with some vehemence.
Hawkeye shrugged nonchalantly. “What is it you want, Henry?”
It was Henry’s turn to be caught off guard, and he knew he couldn’t hide it, not even by glancing back down at the papers. He was aware of a steady clicking sound and realised his thumb was giving his father’s pen a workout. He gripped the pen hard, and then pulled open one of his side drawers. Without looking up or saying anything, he hastily scribbled in Pierce’s and McIntyre’s names, numbers, ranks, destination, and length of leave. He smashed his thumbprint down in the allotted space, smearing one of them, and then slammed his hand down on the passes, pushing them across the desk. He didn’t need to look up to know that Hawkeye had a slight frown on his face and was looking at him, trying to figure him out.
“You didn’t answer me,” he said finally, slowly.
Henry closed his eyes. He was tired. Very tired. “Get out of my office,” he said softly.
“Is that really what you want?” Hawkeye set his glass down and leaned forward, propping his head up in one hand, the elbow on the edge of the desk. “I got all night,” he continued in a gentler voice. He hadn’t touched the passes that were just inches from his left hand.
Henry shook his head, focusing his eyes on the forms. “Just go to Tokyo.”
“Can’t until tomorrow. Tonight’s all free, though.”
“Well, isn’t that hunky-dory.”
“Why isn’t it?”
Henry looked up and opened his mouth, as if to actually answer. Then he tried to force himself to remain cool, and said, “Pierce, you got what you wanted. Now if you don’t get out, I’ll be forced to call Radar to pin your arm behind your back and deliver you to the Swamp.”
“Well, that’s at least more action than I’m getting now,” Hawkeye sat back, and tilted his head to one side. His expression was asking what was wrong, but his eyes held their secrets. They were the only real windows into him; the only place where, on rare occasion, he could look truly vulnerable. They didn’t look unhappily exposed now, but they also didn’t look like they really gave two licks (sometimes, it felt like that was all it took) about what Henry really wanted, and if he was happy or not.
“Maybe you and McIntyre should go pack, then.” Henry sighed, tapping his fingers on his desk. “You could be on your way to Kimpo before lunch.”
Hawkeye nodded. “All right, then.” He picked the passes off the desk and put them into his shirt pocket. He hesitated then, not getting up, and shrugged his shoulders again. He waited until he caught Henry’s eye, and said softly, “If you really want me to go, I’ll go. That’s fine. But packing is five minutes’ work and I don’t have anything to do for at least two hours.” He paused. “You really want me to go? If you gotta sign all that tonight, I can wait for you in your tent.”
“I’m positive,” Henry muttered, not sounding so.
“Only fools are positive.”
“Then I guess I’m a little of both.”
Hawkeye sighed. “All right, Henry.” He stood, and headed for the door. “I’ll bring you back some cherry pie.”
There was a sudden lump in the older man’s throat, and he almost gagged on it, trying to swallow and speak before he let Hawkeye leave. “No,” he croaked, and the younger man glanced back with an interested look on his face. Henry sighed again, heavily, and didn’t look at his eyes. “I gotta - these were supposed to be signed and in order a few hours ago - I gotta do ‘em now. Will you...will you wait?”
Hawkeye grinned. “Of course I will,” he said, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets. Henry managed a weak smile and then set his pen to the papers again, the tight feeling his throat gone. When cherry season was in, Lorraine would send him a jar of them, fresh from the trees. He would feed them to him, Hawkeye, one by one, watching him lick the sweet liquid off his lips and sitting close to him, wishing he was one of the fruits. When Hawkeye spoke again, Henry started, thinking the other man had already gone.
“Even if you said no, I would.” Halfway out of the double doors, Hawkeye grinned again, waved his fingers, and sauntered out of the office. Henry smiled after him and sighed, and knew that he would never say no.
Author: hawkeyesmartini
Fandom: M*A*S*H
Medium: television
Genre: slash
Pairing: Hawkry
Theme: P is for point-blank - Straightforward; blunt
Disclaimer: I wish there was a radio up in heaven, so I could sing to mother everyday. (That means, of course, that this is a fictional work produced of my own mind and this never happened. That we know of.)
Notes: Thanks to hawkeyecat for the beta. x-posted to slashhappened.
good.”
“She’ll have to use canned.”
“Fresh ones are better,” Henry argued.
Hawkeye made a “tsk” sound. “Cherries are out of season, Henry,” he said.
Henry gave him an exasperated look that seemed to say, ‘How would you know?’
Hawkeye finished his drink. “We have a cherry tree back in Maine. They don’t grow in March. They only grow from about May until August. If your wife’s looking for cherry trees, you might say she’s got a bit of a fruitless effort there.”
Henry rolled his eyes and turned to the table behind his desk for a stack of papers Radar had delivered earlier. “Hey, why are you in here, anyway?” he asked. Hawkeye looked up at him, interested, as he held his glass out for a refill. Henry sighed and reached for the scotch bottle, giving Hawkeye about an inch and a half of liquid into his glass, and then pouring his own. He knew that look. Of course he did. “I know it ain’t cause you like me,” Henry continued, trying to keep his voice from becoming bitter. “Let me guess - Frank’s reading the Bible in the Swamp and McIntyre’s out with a girl.”
“Close,” Hawkeye said, sipping his drink. “Trapper’s reading the Bible and Margaret’s with a girl. I mean, Frank.” He smirked.
“Why is...never mind.”
“I think he’s making notes.”
“From it or on it?”
Hawkeye shrugged. “Who knows? He’s bored.”
“So why aren’t you doing something with him?”
Hawkeye grinned, and Henry rolled his eyes. Of course. That was why he was in here. “What do you want?” Henry sighed, keeping his eyes on the requisition forms.
Hawkeye shrugged again. “Nothin’ much. Nothing that’s any skin off your back or anyone else’s.”
“All right,” Henry looked up, the contempt clear in his eyes. “Let me phrase that another way. What do you want that you’re fixin’ on gettin' on your knees for, again?”
Hawkeye blinked, and while he took in a breath, he looked at a loss. He might have hesitated at the forwardness of the question, or he might have considered leaving the matter be...if he was anyone but Hawkeye Pierce. “Why, Henry,” he said, looking amused. “Aren’t we verbal today?”
Henry glared at him as best as he could, and scratched his name on five of the dozen forms before looking up again. Hawkeye had wavered for less than a second, and, like always, he was on top and he knew it. Henry wished that, just once, he could resist him. That cocky, smartass smirk and those eyes - Hawkeye was very good at using them to get what he wanted. There wasn’t a nervous Colonel in the camp that could hold their gaze for long. He would never admit it, but it really bothered him that he could never really tell what Hawkeye was thinking. He could guess based on body language and whatever it was he was sure he was going to ask for this time, but he could never really guess what exactly was going through Hawkeye’s mind. He only wanted you to know what he showed. He was a manipulative bastard like that.
“What do you want?” Henry repeated coolly.
“Tokyo.”
“No.”
Hawkeye snorted. “Whatever you say, Henry.”
“You know, there ain’t nobody I ever met in my life that can just walk into my office and start imposing like you,” he commented. “Why does he always send you in here?” he asked, not bothering to specify which ‘he’ he was referring to - they both knew.
“Trapper doesn’t send me anywhere; I come myself.”
“Why doesn’t he ever cart his rear on in here, then?”
Hawkeye looked very, very amused. “Is that what you want?” He smirked.
Henry recoiled. “No!”
Hawkeye clicked his tongue. “Too bad. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Pierce, get out of my office.”
“Three days,” he said, folding his hands in his lap. “Mostly we were going for the nights, but you can’t really have a night without a day. There’re no casualties expected, and Major Schmidt is here for the next two weeks - if anything comes up, he can handle it.”
“I’m not asking you if it’s all right for you to go,” Henry said with some vehemence.
Hawkeye shrugged nonchalantly. “What is it you want, Henry?”
It was Henry’s turn to be caught off guard, and he knew he couldn’t hide it, not even by glancing back down at the papers. He was aware of a steady clicking sound and realised his thumb was giving his father’s pen a workout. He gripped the pen hard, and then pulled open one of his side drawers. Without looking up or saying anything, he hastily scribbled in Pierce’s and McIntyre’s names, numbers, ranks, destination, and length of leave. He smashed his thumbprint down in the allotted space, smearing one of them, and then slammed his hand down on the passes, pushing them across the desk. He didn’t need to look up to know that Hawkeye had a slight frown on his face and was looking at him, trying to figure him out.
“You didn’t answer me,” he said finally, slowly.
Henry closed his eyes. He was tired. Very tired. “Get out of my office,” he said softly.
“Is that really what you want?” Hawkeye set his glass down and leaned forward, propping his head up in one hand, the elbow on the edge of the desk. “I got all night,” he continued in a gentler voice. He hadn’t touched the passes that were just inches from his left hand.
Henry shook his head, focusing his eyes on the forms. “Just go to Tokyo.”
“Can’t until tomorrow. Tonight’s all free, though.”
“Well, isn’t that hunky-dory.”
“Why isn’t it?”
Henry looked up and opened his mouth, as if to actually answer. Then he tried to force himself to remain cool, and said, “Pierce, you got what you wanted. Now if you don’t get out, I’ll be forced to call Radar to pin your arm behind your back and deliver you to the Swamp.”
“Well, that’s at least more action than I’m getting now,” Hawkeye sat back, and tilted his head to one side. His expression was asking what was wrong, but his eyes held their secrets. They were the only real windows into him; the only place where, on rare occasion, he could look truly vulnerable. They didn’t look unhappily exposed now, but they also didn’t look like they really gave two licks (sometimes, it felt like that was all it took) about what Henry really wanted, and if he was happy or not.
“Maybe you and McIntyre should go pack, then.” Henry sighed, tapping his fingers on his desk. “You could be on your way to Kimpo before lunch.”
Hawkeye nodded. “All right, then.” He picked the passes off the desk and put them into his shirt pocket. He hesitated then, not getting up, and shrugged his shoulders again. He waited until he caught Henry’s eye, and said softly, “If you really want me to go, I’ll go. That’s fine. But packing is five minutes’ work and I don’t have anything to do for at least two hours.” He paused. “You really want me to go? If you gotta sign all that tonight, I can wait for you in your tent.”
“I’m positive,” Henry muttered, not sounding so.
“Only fools are positive.”
“Then I guess I’m a little of both.”
Hawkeye sighed. “All right, Henry.” He stood, and headed for the door. “I’ll bring you back some cherry pie.”
There was a sudden lump in the older man’s throat, and he almost gagged on it, trying to swallow and speak before he let Hawkeye leave. “No,” he croaked, and the younger man glanced back with an interested look on his face. Henry sighed again, heavily, and didn’t look at his eyes. “I gotta - these were supposed to be signed and in order a few hours ago - I gotta do ‘em now. Will you...will you wait?”
Hawkeye grinned. “Of course I will,” he said, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets. Henry managed a weak smile and then set his pen to the papers again, the tight feeling his throat gone. When cherry season was in, Lorraine would send him a jar of them, fresh from the trees. He would feed them to him, Hawkeye, one by one, watching him lick the sweet liquid off his lips and sitting close to him, wishing he was one of the fruits. When Hawkeye spoke again, Henry started, thinking the other man had already gone.
“Even if you said no, I would.” Halfway out of the double doors, Hawkeye grinned again, waved his fingers, and sauntered out of the office. Henry smiled after him and sighed, and knew that he would never say no.