Work Text:
February 28, 1986
Dear Hawkeye,
I’m writing this on what will be one of my last afternoons. Seems all those martinis have finally caught up with me - liver cancer. I’ve been through the wringer with it. Chemo treatments, radiation therapy, the works. We’ve all gotta go sometime, I guess.
Are you surprised to be getting a letter from me after all these years? What’s it been? Nearly thirty years since I walked out of that med school classroom back in ‘57? Bet you didn’t think I’d remember, did you? But I do. I remember the sound of your voice as I walked out. I remember how you looked down at Margaret like you used to look at me. I remember almost being able to touch your sleeve when she appeared. I remember seeing you scan the crowd hoping, praying you were looking for me. And almost convincing myself you were.
I told myself I left you and Korea behind that day, but I didn’t really. If I had to be honest with myself, I’ve thought about you every single damned day, Hawk, for the last thirty years. When Louise and I couldn’t make it, well, I sort of figured that was just because we couldn’t connect after being apart for so long and all I’d seen in the war. But then Mel...I shouldn’t have even married Mel. We didn’t love each other, really. We tried to pretend we did. Nothing good came out of that marriage, and we both knew it.
Except J.T. Him, I wouldn’t trade for the world. He’s a great son, and a damned fine doctor. And I’m not just saying that because I know he’ll probably be the one who finds this letter either. He’s better than I ever hoped to be. I wanted to name him Benjamin Henry, but Mel heard me talking in my sleep enough, she managed to put two and two together. She insisted on John, Jr. instead. It’s just like me to be arrogant and smug enough to name a kid after me anyway.
I guess you already knew about J.T., though, didn’t you. Radar probably told you years ago, the little rat fink. He used to tell me tidbits about you and Margaret, like your wedding. He said you wore a tux instead of Class A’s, and Margaret had on one of those knee length numbers that were so popular back in the 60’s. He told me when your dad died. I wanted to send a note then, but I could never bring myself to figure out how to write it. And when Henry was born. Radar said he has your blue eyes.
I’d give anything to hear your voice again, Hawk. Just once more. I could die a happy man if I could look into your face and see your blue eyes smiling at me and hear you tell me one last time “I love you, you big lug.” But I don’t deserve it. I was so afraid of losing the girls and Louise, too, I suppose. I truly did love her. And when I found out I had enough points to go home, I figured you did too seeing as how we came up together. I figured it was only a matter of time before one of us got our papers. It was only a matter of time we’d have to make a hard decision.
When you stormed off to Tokyo after our fight, I thought you’d come back to camp and the whole thing would blow over. Who knew I’d get my papers while you were gone? We tried to find you, Hawk, we really did. But what does it matter now? I should have been honest with you once I got home. I should have told you Louise and I were struggling. Damnit, Hawkeye, I have kicked myself every day that I didn’t take you up on your offer and come to Crabapple Cove.
I walked out on you twice, Hawkeye, without saying good-bye. This is my final chance. Good-bye, you big lug. I love you. I’ve always loved you. Korea meant everything to me.
Always,
Trapper
*****
Hawkeye carefully folded the letter had read a dozen times now and just as carefully unfolded the separate piece of paper that had been delivered registered mail with it. This letter was neatly typed.
March 7, 1986
Dr. B. F. Pierce
128 Shore Rd.
Crabapple Cove, ME
Dear Dr. Pierce,
Dad passed away on the evening of February 28. The letter enclosed was found on his bedside table after he passed. We held a small service for him earlier this week, just Becky, Kathy, their husbands, me, the four grandkids, and some of his closer friends from the hospital.
Dad spoke of you often, especially as I was going through medical school. He always said you were the best cutter he knew, and it was damned shame you went back to Crabapple Cove to pull out splinters after the war. In reality I think he envied you and what he imagined was a quiet life.
Becky, Kathy, and I are planning to scatter Dad's ashes along the Bay. There was a spot down there he liked to go to be alone. I think he went there when he missed you and had to clear his head. The last several years he's spoken honestly about the relationship you two shared in Korea. He said his biggest regret was leaving you behind. I believe outside family you were the most important person to him. We know it’s a long way to come, but my sisters and I would feel honored if you would be a part of our day as we scatter his ashes. You would be welcome to stay with me during your visit.
Best,
Dr. John “J.T.” McIntyre
PS - I’m enclosing Dad’s dog tags. I think he would have liked you to have them.
*****
Leaning on a cane, Hawkeye Pierce stood on the beach and looked out to the Golden Gate Bridge. The ashes of the person he loved most in his life still floated in the wind. Margaret stood on his right with her arm tucked in his. J.T., with his father’s eyes, stood on his left followed by his two sisters. Henry, now a grown man and a damned fine cutter in his own right, stood next to his mother. He glanced down at Margaret, who put him back together after Trapper left Korea. She was his second choice but was always there for him anyway. She nodded and patted his arm. He closed his eyes and breathed in the salt air. “I love you, you big lug.” He whispered into the wind.