(no subject)
Title; Catch 22.
Author: JMA
Email: thecrypt@iinet.net.au
Pairing: H/T, T/F,
Classificationl: second chapter in Game 22. series. (click link for prev. chapters)
Summary: Frank tries to make conversation.
Special Thanks: To the darling Beta’s Anne Marsh and Amber minttown1 and jussen .May random strangers find you attractive.
Frank spent the waking hours of the next day trying to think of something, anything, to say to Trapper. It was harder than he thought it would be. Most of what he had to say fell under tattling. Tattling was something he did very well. At times like these he wished he could be more like Pierce and McIntyre, always able to strike up a conversation. With everyone except him that is.
Frank put it all down to a lack of practice. Pierce and McIntyre talked all day. They probably talked all through their childhoods too. Frank suspected he didn’t really have a childhood, with Mother and Father dressing him in suits since infancy. He never had anyone to talk to. His brothers were always mean to him. His parents demanded that he should never be seen or heard. His only real friend, his best friend, was a boy from next door he used to do home schooling with. Arnold Radcliff home-schooled because he was teased out of the local primary school, and even he used to tease Frank.
Still, there should be something they could talk about.
“Corporal! What do you think you’re doing?”
“I was just walking, sir” Radar O’Riley said as he scurried away.
“Next time watch where you’re going!” Frank shouted after him, nearly tripping over Henry Blake as he did so.
“Next time heed your own advice Frank.” Henry said. Frank pulled a face after him and purposely didn’t salute.
Frank walked into the Officer’s Club and thought of something to say to Trapper.
But Trapper was sitting with Hawkeye. Frank tried to get his attention, but to no avail. So instead he sat himself a respectable distance from Major Houlihan.
“Major,” she said.
“Major,” he said.
They sat a little closer and spoke to each other in quieted voices.
“Oh, Frank! You wouldn’t believe the day I’m having. I’m so looking forward to seeing you tonight.”
“Oh, Margaret! The anticipation!”
Margaret Houlihan ran her tongue enticingly over the mouth of the bottle and sucked suggestively on the straw. Over her shoulder Frank caught Trapper’s eye. He made some excuse to Hawkeye and secretly motioned to the door, indicating Frank should follow him out when he left. Margaret’s straw made a gurgling sound as she finished her drink.
“Margaret…”
“Yes Frank?”
“I have to go.”
“What? Frank!”
Frank ignored her indignant squawk and left.
Trapper was waiting for him outside. They began to walk away.
“So, Frank,” Trapper said conversationally, “you looked like you had something to say earlier?”
Frank nodded, went to speak, then said nothing. He tried again but completely forgot the brilliant conversation starter he had planned.
Trapper looked very amused. “What’s the matter, Frank? Cat got your tongue?”
Frank shrugged and made a little whining noise. “I just forgot what I was going to say.”
“It happens to me all the time,” Trapper said. “How about I make conversation until you remember?”
“Ok.”
“Alright.” There was a moment’s pause while Trapper tried to think of something to say to Frank, “Err, well… I saw you talking to Hotlips in the Officer’s Club.”
“I was not!” Frank defended.
“Ah. Ok. Something else then…” There was another patch of silence. “Look, I’ve got an idea. How about later you and me…”
“Attention all personnel. Incoming wounded. We’ve got choppers on the upper and lower pads. Straight from the front lines to an operating table near you!”
“How about later we?” Frank prompted.
“Wounded, Frank!”
“Oh,” he said.
**
Frank was back from his ‘meeting’ with Houlihan early. They were both tired, and he just couldn’t keep his mind on the, err, ‘task’ in front of him.
He tried to open the door to the Swamp but found it lodged shut. He tried again, but succeeded only in rattling it a little.
“Pierce! McIntyre! I suggest you open this door immediately!” Frank rattled the front door of the Swamp again. It wasn’t like he didn’t know all about the poker games he was never invited to, so they didn’t have to lock the door on him every time. It was his tent too.
“No, Frank. Go away.”
Frank was about to yell something back at Hawkeye when the door opened. Trapper grinned and winked at him through the open doorway.
“Let him in. Frank’s alright,” he said, moving back to his seat and letting Frank through.
Frank’s eyes widened a little. Trapper had * actually* told Hawkeye he was alright. He’d stood up for Frank. He smiled gratefully at Trapper, who smiled and shook his head in a gesture meant for himself rather than Frank.
“Frank’s alright?” Hawkeye repeated, “Frank may be a lot of things; selfish, shallow, incompetent, incontinent, self-righteous and hypocritical. But he has never, never been alright!”
Frank gaped in outrage, looking once again for Trapper to back him up. Trapper, however, was busily laughing along with the rest of the poker players. Frank went to leave. Trapper moved his chair, blocking his way.
“Awww, give him a break Hawkeye. I want to get back to the poker.”
“Trapp, I think you’ve been drinking too much,” Hawkeye said, pouring them each another drink, “or not enough. You know, I could never figure out which one that was.”
They ignored Frank and went back to their poker.
Twice! Twice an as many minutes Trapper had spoken up for him. To Hawkeye! Frank sat back down on his bunk. He nearly asked Trapper if he could join in but decided not to push his luck.
Twice!
The next morning Frank caught up with Trapper in the compound while Hawkeye was on duty.
“So, err, about yesterday?”
“What about yesterday?”
“Before the wounded. You were about to suggest something.”
“Was I?” Trapper shrugged, “Probably that we should talk more often.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Frank barely noticed that they were heading out of camp, behind Henry’s office.
“So...” Frank tried to think of something to say. “How about them wounded!”
Trapper looked at him incredulously. Then smiled. “Yep, they were wounded alright.”
The conversation, struggling, weak and malnourished as it was, died. Frank decided that they were going to have to face facts.
“Look McIntyre, stop trying to be my friend. I’m pretty sure this is just some little prank you and Pierce have come up with, so you can stop being so nice to me.” He pursed his lips together, making them disappear.
Trapper sighed, although whether it was in frustration or relief that there was actual conversation was lost on Frank.
“Frank, this is not a prank and it has nothing to do with Hawkeye.”
“You’re not saying that you actually like me. You hate me!”
“I don’t * hate* you.” Trapper seemed to be considering something. “I don’t. But you’re right. There is something more to it.”
Frank shifted expectantly. Trapper seemed to be hesitating just a little bit more than usual. Frank knew it! He knew there’d be some sort of catch 22. Nobody *actually *
liked him. Nobody really wanted to be around him, nobody really…
Trapper put his hands on either sides of Frank’s face and kissed him.
Then he pulled away, looked nervous and walked off.
It was another five minutes before Frank closed his mouth. He blinked his eyes twice and walked back to the camp.
“Oh,” he said.
Return to Game 22. Chapter Index
Author: JMA
Email: thecrypt@iinet.net.au
Pairing: H/T, T/F,
Classificationl: second chapter in Game 22. series. (click link for prev. chapters)
Summary: Frank tries to make conversation.
Special Thanks: To the darling Beta’s Anne Marsh and Amber minttown1 and jussen .May random strangers find you attractive.
Frank spent the waking hours of the next day trying to think of something, anything, to say to Trapper. It was harder than he thought it would be. Most of what he had to say fell under tattling. Tattling was something he did very well. At times like these he wished he could be more like Pierce and McIntyre, always able to strike up a conversation. With everyone except him that is.
Frank put it all down to a lack of practice. Pierce and McIntyre talked all day. They probably talked all through their childhoods too. Frank suspected he didn’t really have a childhood, with Mother and Father dressing him in suits since infancy. He never had anyone to talk to. His brothers were always mean to him. His parents demanded that he should never be seen or heard. His only real friend, his best friend, was a boy from next door he used to do home schooling with. Arnold Radcliff home-schooled because he was teased out of the local primary school, and even he used to tease Frank.
Still, there should be something they could talk about.
“Corporal! What do you think you’re doing?”
“I was just walking, sir” Radar O’Riley said as he scurried away.
“Next time watch where you’re going!” Frank shouted after him, nearly tripping over Henry Blake as he did so.
“Next time heed your own advice Frank.” Henry said. Frank pulled a face after him and purposely didn’t salute.
Frank walked into the Officer’s Club and thought of something to say to Trapper.
But Trapper was sitting with Hawkeye. Frank tried to get his attention, but to no avail. So instead he sat himself a respectable distance from Major Houlihan.
“Major,” she said.
“Major,” he said.
They sat a little closer and spoke to each other in quieted voices.
“Oh, Frank! You wouldn’t believe the day I’m having. I’m so looking forward to seeing you tonight.”
“Oh, Margaret! The anticipation!”
Margaret Houlihan ran her tongue enticingly over the mouth of the bottle and sucked suggestively on the straw. Over her shoulder Frank caught Trapper’s eye. He made some excuse to Hawkeye and secretly motioned to the door, indicating Frank should follow him out when he left. Margaret’s straw made a gurgling sound as she finished her drink.
“Margaret…”
“Yes Frank?”
“I have to go.”
“What? Frank!”
Frank ignored her indignant squawk and left.
Trapper was waiting for him outside. They began to walk away.
“So, Frank,” Trapper said conversationally, “you looked like you had something to say earlier?”
Frank nodded, went to speak, then said nothing. He tried again but completely forgot the brilliant conversation starter he had planned.
Trapper looked very amused. “What’s the matter, Frank? Cat got your tongue?”
Frank shrugged and made a little whining noise. “I just forgot what I was going to say.”
“It happens to me all the time,” Trapper said. “How about I make conversation until you remember?”
“Ok.”
“Alright.” There was a moment’s pause while Trapper tried to think of something to say to Frank, “Err, well… I saw you talking to Hotlips in the Officer’s Club.”
“I was not!” Frank defended.
“Ah. Ok. Something else then…” There was another patch of silence. “Look, I’ve got an idea. How about later you and me…”
“Attention all personnel. Incoming wounded. We’ve got choppers on the upper and lower pads. Straight from the front lines to an operating table near you!”
“How about later we?” Frank prompted.
“Wounded, Frank!”
“Oh,” he said.
**
Frank was back from his ‘meeting’ with Houlihan early. They were both tired, and he just couldn’t keep his mind on the, err, ‘task’ in front of him.
He tried to open the door to the Swamp but found it lodged shut. He tried again, but succeeded only in rattling it a little.
“Pierce! McIntyre! I suggest you open this door immediately!” Frank rattled the front door of the Swamp again. It wasn’t like he didn’t know all about the poker games he was never invited to, so they didn’t have to lock the door on him every time. It was his tent too.
“No, Frank. Go away.”
Frank was about to yell something back at Hawkeye when the door opened. Trapper grinned and winked at him through the open doorway.
“Let him in. Frank’s alright,” he said, moving back to his seat and letting Frank through.
Frank’s eyes widened a little. Trapper had * actually* told Hawkeye he was alright. He’d stood up for Frank. He smiled gratefully at Trapper, who smiled and shook his head in a gesture meant for himself rather than Frank.
“Frank’s alright?” Hawkeye repeated, “Frank may be a lot of things; selfish, shallow, incompetent, incontinent, self-righteous and hypocritical. But he has never, never been alright!”
Frank gaped in outrage, looking once again for Trapper to back him up. Trapper, however, was busily laughing along with the rest of the poker players. Frank went to leave. Trapper moved his chair, blocking his way.
“Awww, give him a break Hawkeye. I want to get back to the poker.”
“Trapp, I think you’ve been drinking too much,” Hawkeye said, pouring them each another drink, “or not enough. You know, I could never figure out which one that was.”
They ignored Frank and went back to their poker.
Twice! Twice an as many minutes Trapper had spoken up for him. To Hawkeye! Frank sat back down on his bunk. He nearly asked Trapper if he could join in but decided not to push his luck.
Twice!
The next morning Frank caught up with Trapper in the compound while Hawkeye was on duty.
“So, err, about yesterday?”
“What about yesterday?”
“Before the wounded. You were about to suggest something.”
“Was I?” Trapper shrugged, “Probably that we should talk more often.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Frank barely noticed that they were heading out of camp, behind Henry’s office.
“So...” Frank tried to think of something to say. “How about them wounded!”
Trapper looked at him incredulously. Then smiled. “Yep, they were wounded alright.”
The conversation, struggling, weak and malnourished as it was, died. Frank decided that they were going to have to face facts.
“Look McIntyre, stop trying to be my friend. I’m pretty sure this is just some little prank you and Pierce have come up with, so you can stop being so nice to me.” He pursed his lips together, making them disappear.
Trapper sighed, although whether it was in frustration or relief that there was actual conversation was lost on Frank.
“Frank, this is not a prank and it has nothing to do with Hawkeye.”
“You’re not saying that you actually like me. You hate me!”
“I don’t * hate* you.” Trapper seemed to be considering something. “I don’t. But you’re right. There is something more to it.”
Frank shifted expectantly. Trapper seemed to be hesitating just a little bit more than usual. Frank knew it! He knew there’d be some sort of catch 22. Nobody *actually *
liked him. Nobody really wanted to be around him, nobody really…
Trapper put his hands on either sides of Frank’s face and kissed him.
Then he pulled away, looked nervous and walked off.
It was another five minutes before Frank closed his mouth. He blinked his eyes twice and walked back to the camp.
“Oh,” he said.
Return to Game 22. Chapter Index