#remyfire

YAYY

I Ship It

1. What made you ship it?

LOOK AT THEM

my inspiration for enjoying this ship is "three hot messy people with a lot of charged energy between them. now what if they made out"

2. What are your favorite things about the ship?

is this triad a good idea? eeeeeeh???? but they are all very good at sex and also enjoy it a lot, so it would be a night to remember for sure (that is so memorable that it then becomes many more nights to remember... you know??)

i would love for her to call their bluff! hawkeye harasses her by coming on to her in a way that's Clearly A Joke, You Can Tell I'm Joking Right, and trapper's tack is to wind her up by pretending he doesn't notice she's a woman (which is funny to me for other reasons -- hawkeye always showing off his triple-decker wit and trapper uses the 7-year-old insult playbook). but if she turns the tables on them, then what?? put up or shut up!

and there's also the fact that in a serious way, they do take care of each other when the chips are down. THEY HID A BODY FOR HER. like if margaret ever actually needed defending from anybody other than present company, frank isn't up to it -- but you'd get trapper like "i could beat him up. like i could do that right now" and hawkeye "i have a sixteen step plan of psychological warfare" and trapper "yeah ok let's do that." but no question that threat is toast.

and. that love and affection will always be prickly. she has five inches of patience for them and no more. they'll hide the body but they will complain the whole time. but sometimes that's what they all need!!

3. Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

HI REMY

I AM DRUNK. THAT IS A REALLY IMPORTANT CAVEAT TO THIS STORY. BUT I AM DRUNK AND SO HERE IS SOME BEEJTRAP FOR YOU, MY GOOD FRIEND

MODESTLY NOT SAFE FOR WERK MATERIAL UNDER THE CUT

beejtrap + 13. a kiss on the chest

“They’re pectorals,” BJ says, managing to keep his voice remarkably steady given the way Trapper is kissing a path down his neck. 

Potter needs one of them at the aid station by tonight. So they’re both packing bags atop their respective cots, not looking at each other. Charles has picked up and put down the same argument about ten times already; Hawkeye treats it like a knitting project.

“Pierce. Surely you will concede that I am the superior surgeon,” Charles says.

“Sure,” Hawkeye replies. “Fine, fine, fine. I’ll concede to that. The problem is you don’t do surgery at battalion aid. No instruments, just your hands, you apply pressure to wounds and throw people in a good bag or a bad bag. A surgeon of your caliber wants to spend his time doing that?”

“What you do here barely qualifies as surgery,” Charles grumbles. It’s been a rough few weeks of adjustment.

“You wouldn’t like it,” Hawkeye reasons. “You’d hate it, I can just tell.”

“…I do outrank you. If I want to go, I will, and there is no reason for us to have this discussion.”

Charles forgets they’re in the Army. God, he hopes that will be a permanent side-effect. Never mind that he found the bickering enjoyable. He knew from the moment Potter suggested it, he would be taking the assignment.

‘I want to bear witness to death,’ however, remains unsaid. Maybe it’s been a worse few weeks than Charles realizes, but he has not experienced any loss. He can’t explain quite why he craves it. Something about fitting in, going right to the brink of his prowess, clawing back a pulse. He never experienced any of these thrills in Boston and he will be damned if he’s denied them in Korea. Elective procedures make money, but emergent surgery makes a difference, and he’s starting to realize where his calling should lie.

Charles looks over at Hawkeye, realizing he’s gone quiet, and given up on shoving wrinkled clothes and bedding into his bag. He takes the scratchy blanket out again and spreads it thin over his cot, a paltry impression of a piece of toast. This is what he subsists on, this is what he expects. Charles gets up, his own pack slung over his shoulder. He grits his teeth and prepared his farewell.

“It is… noble of us, to react to whatever… warmth we may feel for one another,” Charles says, staring at the ground, “noble, and misguided. I will be back tomorrow morning. Do not even think about touching my artichoke hearts.”

She feels the exhaustion deep in her bones. It's easier now. She's not alone anymore. But they've all aged. Raising a baby alone isn't nearly the same as the horrors of war but she still feels worlds away from the bright eyed girl her husband had left four years ago.

He's different too. His shoulders slump a little more, a handful of grey hairs catch the sunlight and remind them both that they're getting older. That they've seen far more than they could have imagined, things worlds away from Mr. Rasmussen's drama class. Things-

A drop lands on her cheek and Peg blinks out of memory lane at the sensation. It's followed by another, then another, splattering onto her curls and painting the sidewalk under her heels. "Damn," she swears, wincing when she does; thankfully she's not home but her boys and their Army tongues have been making her forget to watch her mouth sometimes. They're still several blocks from home and neither had brought umbrellas. "I'm sorry, BJ, I didn't-"

"Darling, let me see the groceries," her husband instructs. Confused but compliant, Peggy hands over the her half of their groceries. Collecting two bags in each hand, BJ takes a moment to adjust his grip and roll his shoulders before crouching wordlessly.

Peg knows what he's suggesting; you can't be with a person for over a decade and not read between the lines, not develop a silent language all your own. But still... "Beej, are you sure?" she questions, taking stock of the groceries and her frame on top of it. "We bought a lot of heavy things and I'm not exactly in tip-top varsity flyer shape anymore-"

His laughter cuts her off and the ache in her bones lessens. "Peggy, if I don't carry you, the wind's liable to do the job for me."

It's her turn to laugh and despite the wind chill, she feels warm all over. "Fine, but don't blame me if you trip under all the weight."

"Eh, someone at home will kiss it better, if I do" he retorts without skipping a beat, earning another peal of giggles from his wife.

She's no longer a cheerleader but it's pure muscle memory as she places small, soft hands on broad shoulders and hoists herself up onto her husband's back. Her arms lock around his neck, legs clinging around his waist as BJ straightens up. "Better hold on tight, sweetheart. I'll get us home faster than you can say "Singin' in the Rain."

"Wanna bet? I'm si-" Peggy's first few notes dissolve into shrieks of laughter as her husband takes off like a shot. He sprints between raindrops to get them and their groceries home as quickly as possible with those impossibly long legs of his, Peggy giggling all the while, feeling lighter than air.

Oh yes, things have changed. But some things, it seems, were evergreen.

Author : RemyFire

Theme : Injury

Pairing(s) : BJ/Hawkeye