by Jimaine


The title's borrowed, but the story's mine. Why I can't write anything remotely happy, I don't know.


Pairing: Hawkeye/Trapper, DEATHFIC!!!

Archive: mash-slash and http://tostwins.slashcity.net/jimaine.htm

Disclaimer: Nothing's mine - wish that it were! MASH and the characters

are property of 20th Century FOX, I'm using them without permission

(apart from the dying bit, I'm handling them with velvet glovesJ) and

don't make any money.




In case you're wondering if you're dreaming.yes, you are. And you aren't. That's the beautiful thing about dreams, really. You can do anything in dreams.be anything, anywhere you want.


"H-Hawk?" You open your eyes, blinking them once, twice. Just when will you lose that look of utter disbelief? Each night, it's the same. You cannot help but watch and yet you cannot understand. I wonder if you ever will. "Oh Jesus, Hawk...you're here." Are those tears in your eyes? Ah, no, you shouldn't, not after all this time.


"This is incredible.you're really here." Of course I am. I'm always here. Where else should I be?

In silence, I slip in with you between the sheets and you welcome me with open arms. "Does that mean you forgive me? D-do you forgive m-me?" Touching my lips to your eyelids, I let you know that forgiveness is no longer an issue. I'm way past that. Just when are you going to forgive yourself? When are you going to release yourself from the trap you chose as a life, Trapper?


My hands ghost across your skin as yours meet my body in places that have no memory of any other human touch. You writhe beneath me, helpless in memory's grip. As we make love, slowly and leisurely, you won't stop crying. My mouth on yours can't make you stop whispering my name ((It's all right, it's all right, it's all right)) between tears. "W-why won't you talk t-to me, Hawkeye? I told you I.I was s-sorry." Your voice hitches on a sob-turned-inwards, a sharp gasp, almost as if you were trying to suck your soul back into your body. Or rather the part of your soul that's me.


Tonight shall be the last time. I won't come to you again. And I don't have to tell you that. You know it. In your eyes, I can see it all. The strokes and beats and rhythms of our time spent apart. Like a fly that's trapped ((With you, it's always about trapping something, isn't it? Emotions, hearts, souls, me.)) in amber, it's moving in you. How your heart races, stumbles, cries. breaks. Again.

It's always the same.


Reality spasms and dissolves and you scream soundlessly, your face twisted in that familiar, semi-smile that's part delight and part pain, and uniquely yours.


I've missed it, you know. Its warmth. The way it made me feel, all safe and special. It's tainted with guilt now, guilt and shame. Why oh why.? Why do you punish yourself like this?


It's now that you notice how hard you're digging your fingernails into my back. Possessive. Never letting go. You can't. And I understand that. You are as much a part of me as I'm a part of you; it's how you've kept me here all this time.


"Sorry", you whisper, placing an apologetic kiss on the tip of my nose and running tender fingers through my hair. Your touch is so light that neither of us can actually feel it, your voice raspy with weariness. "I didn't mean to.... I'm sorry. Oh my.look, this moonlight in your hair.silver in silver.makes you look beautiful. My beautiful Hawkeye.I.I love you.I miss you."


The feeling's mutual. Always was. Hold me tight as we slowly sublimate from one state of existence to the next. Follow me, follow me. Finally, finally, we're touching. I can feel you again. You know all too well that you can't break me. You never could. Never. The saddest word in any human language.


Come with me, Trap. Stop denying what is, what should be. Stop denying 'us' because of your guilt over a good-bye that never happened. All is forgiven and forgotten. You can't hurt me anymore.


I'm dead, remember?