BE NOT AFRAID

BJ got the distinct impression that he’d been getting tested for a while.

It started with his first day in Korea, although none of them knew it at the time. Hawkeye had rushed to catch Trapper after missing him when he was sent orders to go home. He went with Radar to retrieve BJ in the hopes of meeting Trapper, only to miss him by ten minutes, and then they spent their journey home surrounded by danger and pain and bloodshed. He’d gotten through being shelled, helping a girl injured by a landmine, and a guerrilla attack. It was intense and horrible, but BJ fought his way through it like any other man in a warzone—by surviving. Just as Hawkeye and BJ arrived at the 4077th and were going to clean off after the events of the day, a chopper landed and there was Trapper climbing out of it, exhausted and angry but with a strange kind of relief at seeing Hawkeye. He explained that his orders to go home had been a clerical error, and that he had the choice of returning to the 4077th or being assigned to a new unit, and Trapper had chosen the 4077th. 

The second test began after Trapper and Hawkeye saw him in OR. BJ struggled at first, and Trapper had to take over a surgery for him, had even kicked him out of the operating room. It was embarrassing, but Trapper was a good Chief Surgeon—both when it came to his patients and his fellow surgeons. He took BJ under his wing (an impressive feat, considering BJ’s height) and guided him until he could work as calmly as Trapper himself while bombs dropped around them. 

Then came the most difficult test so far. A wounded man was brought in who had old and new bruises layered over his body, along with shell fragments in his chest. BJ operated on him, concern twisting in his own chest at the thought of what the man was doing to get so badly hurt. 

“Looks like this guy is fighting a war of his own,” he commented. 

“What do you mean?” Trapper’s voice was a warm comfort behind him. “Give me some suction, honey,” he said to the nurse attending his surgery. 

“He’s bruised all over,” BJ explained, focus still on his patient. “Looks like he’s been brawling.” 

There was a brief sound of feet shuffling around. Hawkeye peeked at BJ’s patient as the man on his operating table was removed by the orderlies to be replaced by another wounded man. 

“That’s Private Weston.” 

“George, right?” Trapper’s voice was interested but distracted by the bowel he was stitching up. 

“Yeah.” Hawkeye stared down at the young man for a moment, until a new patient was brought in and he had to step away. 

“That a repeat customer, Pierce?” Colonel Potter asked. BJ didn’t hear Hawkeye’s response over Trapper chatting with his nurse, asking her for a sponge between propositions. “Maybe we should have the Padre have a chat with him, if he’s getting in that many fights.” 

“Weston… Weston…” 

BJ searched around for more shrapnel, glancing at Weston’s x-ray as Frank muttered his name. 

“Weston! He was that homosexual, wasn’t he?” Frank announced finally. He scoffed. “Should’ve known he’d go and get himself injured again.” 

“Frank, you’d better shut your mouth or you’re gonna be the one gettin’ injured,” Trapper said, his voice tightly controlled. 

The usual insults got thrown back and forth between Frank, Trapper, and Hawkeye. BJ stayed mostly quiet, keeping his focus on Weston and the wounds in his chest cavity. There was so much evidence of other injuries— he'd been operated on at least twice before—and BJ didn't want to risk missing anything.

“Look boys,” Colonel Potter cut in when Frank’s whining reached a fever pitch. “Whether the boy is a homosexual or not, our job is to keep people alive.” 

“But Colonel—” 

“Burns, I know you’re not breaking sterility to argue with me.” 

The conversation ended after that, Frank leaving after the last of the wounded were cared for, probably to go and cry on Margaret's shoulder. Trapper and Hawkeye disappeared as well, leaving BJ and Colonel Potter to handle post-op.

Weston was recovering nicely, but the bruises on his face made him look as injured as the man beside him with a severe head wound. 

“Terrible, isn’t it?” Colonel Potter murmured as he came up beside BJ to get a look at the young man. “The boy doesn't deserve this kind of treatment, even if he is a homosexual.” He let out a sigh and looked up at BJ. “Why don’t you get some rest, son? McIntyre’ll be back in an hour to relieve me, and everything seems quiet enough here.” 

“Thanks, Colonel.” 

BJ pulled his jacket on over his scrubs and trudged his way back to the Swamp. The camp was quiet now, everyone exhausted after their long hours of work. There were little pockets of conversations drifting through the air, and a few quiet moans that BJ could hear from the more private areas. He ignored the social opportunities and the affairs happening around him, wanting to return to the relative comfort of his own tent.

The Swamp was empty when he arrived, so BJ made his way to the still to get a drink. As Trapper had suggested, the gin was starting to grow on him; it was better to have something to dull his senses.

He was on his second glass when Hawkeye and Trapper walked in. 

“Look,” Trapper said. “I'm just saying that maybe he should get out. Guys like that don’t have a place in the army.” 

“Who do you mean?” BJ asked, already pouring drinks for the pair. “Frank?” 

Hawkeye glowered at him, snatching the martini glass from BJ’s grip and going to sit on his cot. “Private Weston.” 

Trapper downed his gin. “Look, the kid’s been injured five times. We’d be helpin’ him.” 

“How is a dishonorable discharge helping?”  Hawkeye’s voice cracked. “He wanted to go back to his unit, Trap. He said it was important to him.” 

BJ looked between them as Trapper flopped down onto the dentist’s chair. “I don’t know about you, Hawk, but I wouldn’t want to be in a unit with a guy like that.” He scoffed. “Serves him right, gettin’ the shit beat outta him by his buddies.” 

“What are you talking about?” BJ demanded. 

Trapper went quiet, running his fingers over the edge of his glass. 

It was Hawkeye who spoke up, his eyes locked on Trapper. “Captain McIntyre,” he spat, “wants to report Private Weston, get him a dishonorable discharge for homosexual acts.” 

“Trapper?” BJ breathed out his name, hardly able to speak from the shock.

“People like that are undesirables, and it’s for a good reason. It ain’t natural.” 

“And what part of us pulling shrapnel out of teenagers is natural?” Hawkeye’s fingers dug into his pants as if he was holding himself down instead of attacking Trapper. 

Trapper got to his feet. “I’m talkin’ to Colonel Potter whether you want me to or not, Hawk. If you won’t back me up, Hunnicutt will.” 

BJ put his glass down and grabbed at the table, keeping himself from swinging a punch at Trapper just like Hawkeye was. “The hell I will.” 

Brown eyes widened at him. “What kind of man are you, defendin’ a queer like that?” 

The wood of the table creaked under BJ’s grip. “What kind of a man are you, acting like it matters if Weston’s a homosexual or not? He’s getting beaten up by both sides and he’s still fighting, probably so he can prove people like you wrong.”

“I don’t believe this,” Trapper said. “How am I the only guy here who ain’t defendin’ a fuckin’ sissy? You’re tellin’ me Frank is the only other one who sees a problem with havin’ a powderpuff like Weston around?” 

BJ stalked towards Trapper, hearing Hawkeye behind him as he loomed over the dentist’s chair. “Maybe you should reassess your opinions, if the only person who agrees with you is Frank.” 

Trapper got to his feet and sneered, his face twisting into something ugly. “Maybe you should assess if you might be a queer yourself, Hunnicutt.” 

“It doesn’t matter if I am or not, because I’d rather be a homosexual than a bigot.” He didn’t feel his arm raising, but he suddenly he'd pulled fist back so he could slam it into Trapper’s jaw. Trapper’s face lost the tinge of mockery, only to be replaced with fear. 

“Woah, Beej!” Hawkeye grabbed onto his arm. “Don’t!” BJ overbalanced from the 170 pound man suddenly pulling on him, and would have toppled to the ground if Trapper hadn’t reached out to catch him. 

“Get your hands off me,” BJ snarled, shoving Trapper away. He raised his fist again, but Hawkeye stepped between them, his hands raised defensively. “Out of the way, Hawk.” 

“Beej, it’s fine,” Hawkeye told him, his eyes wide and afraid. “He didn’t mean it.” 

“He sounded pretty sincere to me.” 

Hawkeye laughed. “Yeah, he’s a good actor, isn’t he? I taught him myself. I always thought his face was made for showbiz.” 

BJ looked up at Trapper, who shrugged, smiling. That terrible and ugly look was gone from his face. 

“Why on earth would you pretend—” 

“...That we wanted to get rid of George? To test you, Beej,” Trapper smiled and reached over for the beaker of gin. He filled the glass he’d been holding and handed it over to BJ, who took it and wobbled his way back to his cot where he could sit down with a thump. “Test me?”

“Yeah. You got real quiet when Frank brought it up. We were worried.”

“A lot of guys wouldn’t care that much if someone like George got a dishonorable discharge,” Hawkeye explained. 

BJ took a sip of gin. The wretched taste of it was grounding. “So you’re not going to report him?” 

Trapper chuckled. “It’d be pretty fuckin’ hypocritical if I did.” His smile faded as BJ stared at him once understanding dawned on him. “You said you didn’t wanna be a bigot,” he said, soberingly. 

“But… you sleep with women.” 

“Who says a queer can’t like it both ways?” Trapper asked.

“Or more than both ways?” Hawkeye added, making BJ’s head spin. 

BJ gaped at them both. “You were testing me because you—” He waved a finger between them. 

Hawkeye nodded, picking his glass up from where he’d left it on his cot. He shoved Trapper until he sat down, then Hawkeye took a seat as well—on Trapper’s lap. “We thought it was finally time to explain the birds and the… birds to you,” he said, before taking a long sip of gin. 

“You know, your bony ass isn’t very comfortable,” Trapper groused from under him. 

“On the contrary, sir,” Hawkeye replied. “My bony ass is entirely comfortable.” 

BJ could only watch as Trapper stole the glass from Hawkeye to take a sip of his own. “Don't understand why I always gotta play the jerk on this. Next time you’re the one agreein’ with Frank when you get some bright idea in that empty head of yours.” 

Hawkeye wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “You're a better actor than me, my dear. I could never pull it off.”

“You've… done this before?” BJ asked.

Trapper let out a laugh. “Yeah. Last time we did it to Frank, had to get some blackmail on him so he wouldn't send a report out.”

“You would've blackmailed me?”

“If we had to.”

Trapper curled his arm around Hawkeye's waist as Hawkeye shifted around so he could grab Trapper’s hand holding the martini glass. He drank what remained of his gin and let out a pleased sigh. It was as domestic as anything BJ had ever seen. 

He sighed, rubbing his forehead to relieve the headache that had started forming since his rage was cut off so suddenly. “And you wanted to see how I'd react to a homosexual in case I reacted badly to the two of you?”

Hawkeye shrugged, completely guiltless. “We like you, Beej. But as nice as it is having you hang around us, we didn't have any time together.” 

BJ flushed, remembering finding them in the supply shed one day and Hawkeye seeming oddly irritable about it as BJ chatted with Trapper about football. 

“Don't take it personally,” Trapper said. “We only went this far because we like you.” He patted Hawkeye's belly. “I gotta relieve Potter, honey.” 

Hawkeye got to his feet with a sigh and returned to his cot. 

“You gonna be okay?” Trapper asked BJ as he pulled his jacket on. 

BJ nodded absently. “I just… never would have guessed that you…” He glanced at Hawkeye, who was sprawled on his cot. “Him? Not a surprise. …You?”

Trapper chuckled. “Yeah, everyone suspects the fruitcake. Thanks, though. Means a lot to know you care.”

Stan: *purrs like a sickly chainsmoker*