Not mine. 5minute fic, response to a challenge: "The River..."
Read and Review! Pretty Please!
Oh, and concerning my fic-in-progress, "Closure", I'm a lazy ass, but I haven't forgotten it... but if you haven't read it, please do! And review! I am a review whore.

A Week of Rain

The day the skies open is a hectic one indeed, the wounded pouring in like the rain. "Good God," cursed Hawkeye, but He is nowhere to be seen.
The second day, mud turns into puddles and the downpour washes away the week's footprints. Rain drips into Hawkeye's eyes as he gazes ceiling-wards. "Nurse, did I ask for irrigation?" questions Hawkeye over the gangrenous innards of his patient. "A bit of morbid medical humor never killed anybody, folks," he tries.
Third day of the storm, and after laboring with Trapper over the newest batch (but cookies are in batches, muffins are in batches, and it makes you sick to think of death in batches), Hawkeye pickles away the memory of the previous day's joking which, "of course," he grits his teeth as the liquor burns, -postoperative infection, dead July 23, 1951- "never killed anyone". Trapper watches the rain and thinks about the Swamp and about its gin and about Hawkeye.
Fourth day, brackish water is licking at the edges of the compound, and Klinger climbs a tree where he swears he will weather the rest of the flood, or goddamnit, send me home! I'm nuts! He is wearing a women's one-piece bathing suit, which causes Radar, carrying in wounded on stretchers, to slip upon catching sight of it. But the downpour washed away the blood. And Hawkeye operates in silence this day, Trapper casting him worried glances over the bowel that they are resecting. That night, Trapper watches Hawkeye, makes sure he is alright, and is there to shake Hawkeye from his nightmares and pass him a glass of gin, sit with him, maybe play checkers.
Fifth day, the rain shows no sign of letting up, and Klinger is found sleeping on a shelf in the supply tent. Trapper catches Hawkeye's arm before scrubbing up, and they lock eyes. Hawkeye looks away first, and Trapper lets go. Later on, their fingers brush over a collapsed lung before the light bulb a table over explodes, shards of glass grazing Trapper's cheek. "Ah-" hisses Trapper, scowling, as Hawkeye swabs the cut.
"What? You want me to kiss it better?"
"Just gimme a bandaid, will ya?" snaps Trapper, staring intently at a nothing on the wall.
On the sixth day, the river devours the latrines, and the sky is black. "Like Macbeth," says Trapper. "I wonder who's been killed." The crackle of the loudspeaker is barely heard over the furious rushing of the storm.
"Take your pick," mumbles Hawkeye.
Midnight, Trapper corners Hawkeye, who he finds gazing at the swollen river, ankle deep in frigid water, and touches his elbow. Hawkeye leans back gently into the broad chest behind him, and they both stand, cold and wet and tired, and when Hawkeye turns around, he isn't smiling. His face is streaked with tears.
But it might just be rain.
The seventh day, the river spits up the latrines by the motor pool and the last of the wounded are tended to. The seventh night, Trapper sees Hawkeye bite his lip to keep the tears from flowing, and, the seventh night, he envelopes him in his arms.
"Is this just because of the rain?" asks Hawkeye.
"I don't... think so," says Trapper.
And they breath together as the cool night air breezes through the screen, bringing with it a moist, fresh breath.