Chapter Text
“Hawk, c'mon, you have to eat.”
It had been one of the 4077th's roughest surgery shifts in weeks, and no one felt it was necessary to bother with changing out of their surgical scrubs before trudging their way from the O.R. to the Mess Tent for some cold breakfast and some colder coffee.
Father Mulcahy nursed a mug of coffee in his hands, softly repeating how difficult the night had been, and thanking the Lord for the millionth time that they hadn't lost a single patient, in spite of having to handle several fragile cases; Henry struggled to stay conscious as he rested his head on arms folded on top of the table; Frank just sat there, staring off at nothing as he slowly lapped at his own coffee, looking to be lost in thought.
Knowing Frank, though, he was probably just plain lost.
And, of course, the table wouldn't have been complete without the camp's finest surgeons, drink mixers, and nurse inspectors. So, of course, Trapper and Hawkeye had to join.
Well, Trapper was the one who decided to join the group, and Hawkeye was too tired to care where he was being led, just as long as they got out of the O.R. The faster, the better.
“Damn it, Hawkeye! Take a bite, will'ya?”
Trapper's voice betrayed him, sounding tired and strained, but it couldn't muster up the energy to sound properly angry.
Sure, his arm was growing tired of holding their shared fork to Hawkeye's lips, and he was hungry enough to want to have his half of the tray, but getting mad about it just wasted precious energy, and he was running dangerously low on that resource right about then.
Hawkeye just made a face, his chin resting in his palm as he wrinkled up his nose, shifting away from Trapper minutely as his glassy blue eyes struggled to stay open.
“No... let me sleep, Trap...” the doctor practically begged, his voice gruff and his speech a bit slurred.
Trapper rolled his eyes, clearly exhausted and sure he wanted to go to sleep just as much, but he blamed his instincts for not allowing it. His unconscious ability for taking care of people, which seemed to come out of its shell quite a lot when he got around his partner in crime, wouldn't dare let him sleep without getting something in both their stomachs.
Besides, the rot-gut he knew was waiting for them in the still was marginally easier to handle on a fuller belly.
“Y'can grab your forty winks just as soon as y'chow down, kiddo,” Trapper promised, his voice turning a bit softer than he expected, and he nudged the forkful of powdered eggs against Hawkeye's lips once again.
Hawkeye finally relented, blinking owlishly at Trapper as he chewed the bite. As he swallowed, he slowly wiggled himself into a more comfortable position at the table, rolling his head from its perch in his palm to rest against Trapper's broad shoulder instead.
“Mm, 'ats my boy,” Trapper praised jokingly, offering Hawkeye a crooked smile when the latter took the next bite offered to him without any coaxing on Trapper's part.
Frank was now watching the two of them, and he scoffed loudly at the sight. He didn't understand what on earth the pair of degenerates were doing, and he didn't understand why he seemed to be the only one to notice, let alone care.
“McIntyre, what do you think you're doing?” the major questioned, figuring he might as well try to solve the mystery. He watched with narrow eyes as Trapper began switching between feeding Hawkeye and feeding himself, taking a gulp or two of coffee before he brought the off-white mug to the other captain's mouth and let him take his own swig.
“I think I'm tryin' t'get this slop down before a hibernation session. What do you think I'm doin'?”
“I think you're being disgusting!” Frank informed him bluntly in response, “Sharing a fork like that is hardly sanitary, and feeding Pierce like some infant is even worse!”
Trapper just rolled his eyes again, this time rolling them so hard it almost looked like it hurt him, and held up the fork for Hawkeye to polish off the last bite of the eggs before he lifted the utensil away from him, pointing it in Frank's direction instead.
“You quiet up or I'll shove this unsanitary fork where the sun don't shine.”
Frank started to protest, but settled for just glaring at Trapper over the lip of his mug, his head shaking slowly.
Hawkeye nestled a little closer to Trapper, letting a soft sigh escape him a moment later.
“You promised bedtime if I finished my food,”
The other captain nodded, gently pushing Hawkeye away just enough for him to stand and set their tray down on top of Frank's loudly before he offered Hawkeye his arm.
“C'mon, darlin', let's get you into bed for your beauty sleep,” Trapper drawled, putting on a heavy southern accent. He smirked when Hawkeye feigned a swoon and fell into him, their arms locking together comfortably a moment later.
As Frank began his normal, whining noises of complaint and Henry responded by grunting and asking Frank to stop being so cranky so early in the morning, please, Trapper led Hawkeye out of the Mess Tent and into the Swamp, making a grand show of holding the door open for him, and grinning like a damn fool when the other let out a sleepy, happy little giggle as he shuffled inside.
“Alright, sack time,” Trapper announced, stripping down to his shorts and t-shirt when Hawkeye did the same, watching as Hawkeye tugged on his robe for comfort before they both fell back onto their cots, decidedly ready to nap.
A few moments of comfortable silence passed, and Trapper was already beginning to drift pleasantly, his mind and body definitely more than happy to get away from consciousness for a little while, then the sound of Hawkeye's cot creaking as he rolled over reached his eyes, followed by Hawkeye's tired voice.
“Hey, Trap?”
Trapper's eyes fluttered briefly, then opened wide, his head turning on the pillow so he could focus on his bunkie with bleary eyes.
“Uh huh?”
Hawkeye smiled, his obvious exhaustion making the expression struggle to reach his eyes properly, “Thanks for busting your ass to take care of me, even if it just gets you a lecture from the king of the ferrets.”
Trapper chuckled, pushing himself up from his cot and hurrying to Hawkeye's instead, leaning down to press a quick, gentle peck to Hawkeye's forehead.
“Not a problem,” Trapper assured him, his nose crinkling as he winked down at the other man, “Seein' Frank get mad over it makes it twice as fun, and I'd enjoy kickin' the shit out of him if he got too rough with you.”
Hawkeye laughed, shaking his head and carefully bringing his hands up, one tangling in Trapper's messy curls and the other gently settling on the nape of his neck to tug Trapper down closer.
“Aw, you aren't gonna give me a proper kiss goodnight? I'm disappointed now!”
“It's nine in the damn morning,” Trapper snorted, leaning in to close the small gap between their lips, letting the gentle pressure linger for a second or two before he pulled back, “So you're lucky I love ya.”
Hawkeye just grinned again, taking the chance to kiss Trapper once, twice more while he was right there, then he released Trapper from his grip.
“And I love you, you handsome devil. Goodnight.”
“Mhm, nighty night,” Trapper sighed, traveling back to his own bunk and laying back down, “Don't let the bed bugs, or the fleas, bite.”
His advice, he realized, fell on deaf ears, as he heard one of Hawkeye's soft, barely audible little snores a moment later.
As he closed his eyes and listened to his partner's slow, even breathing, he decided that if Hawkeye was lucky to have him around, Trapper was at least twice as lucky to have Hawkeye.
He was sure of that.