ph_logs | The bathroom tiles were cool against my hand

The bathroom tiles were cool against my hand

CHARACTERS: Hawkeye and you! Yes, you!
DATE: November
LOCATION: Hawkeye’s Clinic
SITUATION: Settling in, making waves, shaking hands, making friends
WARNINGS: Blanket warning that war and injury may come up

Press my corpse against the wall

Hawkeye wakes up to sunlight instead of Radar yelling for helicopters. He has his coffee unhurried, plans out his day. No Frank to yell at him for not shaving, but no Trap to chew the fat with, either. Nobody to complain with about breakfast. It’s too quiet. If he doesn’t see a human person in the next hour, he’s going to start gnawing his own limbs off.

So from about 8am-6pm, the clinic is staffed. The sign out the front reads ‘Hawkeye’s Clinic, happy hour 6-7pm’, and underneath that, more recently, a smaller sign reads ‘100% satisfaction rate; just ask the survivors!’
Inside, Hawkeye is either cleaning, running his tabletop still for alcohol to disinfect with (or drink), or organising his small array of client notes.

I told the band to leave without me

If you actually visit during the signposted happy hour, the table in the middle of the clinic has a tablecloth draped over it, and Hawkeye stands there polishing the couple of glasses he owns. Someone should get him some decent barware. There’s a couple of stools, and he grins as you enter. He’s playing bartender. Indulge him?

I'll get the next flight

After happy hour, the ‘bar’ gets packed up and the clinic gets scrubbed down. If you’ve got a standing invitation for cards, a date, or just want to check in on him off-hours, this is the time to do it. Find him out on his front doorstep with his nose in a book, leaning out the window with a martini in hand and watching the street, or doing something upstairs, the sound of a pleasant baritone muddling through something jazzy.

And if I make it to the mornin' (wildcard)

(Hit me!)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Once he’s ushered into Hawkeye’s living space, John feels a lot of his tension start to bleed away. The fear trickles out of his veins, he feels like there’s more air to pull into his lungs…

The space is austere and quiet. It lacks any real personal touch as of yet, but there are little things all over that make it feel inhabited rather than impersonal. He likes it—enough that the offer of food makes his stomach barely tighten with interest, reminding him of the utilitarian meal he had at the Oak and Iron. He knows his room and board is good, but he can’t eat a bite downstairs without his stomach knotting up and his lungs freezing, so he keeps some bread, nuts, and dried meat up in his room. He’s not starving, he’s…safe…and he can’t remember the last time he indulged in sweets for the hell of it.

“Yeah.” He agrees, rolling his shoulders to release a little more of that tension, one corner of his mouth twitching up and staying there for a prolonged moment. “Sure…that sounds really good, thank you.”

"Great-" and Hawkeye stalks over to the kitchen, which is really just an extension of the same room that basically everything is in, except his bedroom. There's a table and chairs nearby for Rambo to sit at, should he choose, or he could just mill about. Hell, he could brood at the window if he wants.

Hawkeye reveals the pound cake under the cloth with a flourish, and sets about digging out his knives and forks and such.

"Guy named Eddie brought it- I already had some, it's really good- really really good, 'marry me' good. He's a farmer here, nice guy- also from Maine, can you believe it? What're the chances."

John does a little milling, but Hawkeye's little flurry of activity draws him in--and the mention of Eddie stops him in his tracks, this time with his features brightening a little.

"Eddie Kaspbrak?" he asks. "Held a work party up at his place recently? I met him--tried to help with the greenhouse and a renegade chicken. I like him."

He hesitates, unsure if he should say anything...Eddie said it was all right, but every rule has exceptions...

He drops his gaze, reaching for one of the forks.

"Lives up there with his--his boyfriend? Er--partner?"

"Yeah, that's the one. Angel- 's his boyfriend's name."

When Hawkeye has two slices cut, he flicks the cloth back over the rest and hands Rambo's plate over, sort of searching his face for a moment before venturing-

"Is it weird to you that nobody's making any sort of deal about that, too?"

"It's...new." John replies quietly, accepting the plate with a nod of thanks. He's uncertain in his movements and demeanor as he neatly cuts away a piece of cake with his fork, spears it--and hesitates just a little before popping it in his mouth.

He chews, swallows...and smiles with another little nod of agreement at Hawkeye. Yeah, that's definitely good stuff, and he eats normally after that.

"I know it's a thing, and there's nothing wrong with it, but...tell that to the rest of the world." he continues after a beat. "I, uh...that's not me, but--uh--neither are girls. Not--not just...n-not just girls."

He takes another bite of cake while his heart races, chews slowly to give it a chance to calm down. It's pretty easy (food and friend and quiet and safe), but he still needs a moment before he speaks again.

"Bowie's a pretty small town, and Dad was real fucking Catholic."

Need he say more, Hawkeye?

Okay, sure, this is just his life now, people telling him things he absolutely would not confess under waterboarding.

"Hey- it's alright," he soothes.

Does this mean he can hit on John without getting punched?

... nah, better not risk it.

"I mean I'm-" 'bisexual' is in use by the time Hawkeye's around, but that doesn't mean he's going to use it for himself.

"Kind of a feral tomcat myself, you know. Wasn't much room for it in the army, you understand, but. You know. Here, I have more time for it. With, uh- men, I mean."

Can MacArthur show up and shoot him for desertion now.

With—wait, is he—are they—

Oh.

“Feral tomcat, in terms of…y’know. What, or who?” John asks, carefully avoiding looking at Hawkeye. “The right person, or tonight’s person?”

Because he has eyes. And he likes Hawkeye.

And…well, he doesn’t do casual. But he also doesn’t do this.

Not that he is. Doing this.

…fucking hell, John doesn’t know what he’s doing.

Well, that's an easy answer.

"Tonight's person. Not big on getting tied down. I already have an understanding with a couple of people here. Had more, back in Korea."

He's not out to break any hearts. Maybe not here, at least, where 'I'm married' doesn't especially work as a get out of jail free card.

"I mean- don't get me wrong, John, I'm not angling for anything. I like your company and I want to count you as a friend, no... false pretenses or anything here."

John raises a hand to forestall any further explanations, flat out grinning with the strange, fragile, bright thing that’s lit up in his chest.

He’s…a little disappointed, but it feels good. It’s—he’s never had a conversation like this before and he’s suddenly, wildly glad he’s having it with Hawkeye.

“That’s okay, and we are friends just to be clear.” He assured him, lowering his hand so he can snag another bite of cake. He’s quiet for just a split second, then another of his crooked smiles is threatening to split his face in two despite the fact that his heart is racing and his hands are shaking a little.

“There’s nothing wrong with—with the fact that you’re not…that you’re not my type.”

…and John is just going to beam around another bite of pound cake, terrified and wildly happy at the same time.

"You sure know how to make a girl feel special," Hawkeye jokes back, "but no, nothing wrong with it at all. Rejection is actually one of my major food groups."

Relieving, even if he has no earthly clue why John is smiling about being let down.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, you're cute, I just know what I'm after. I'm not big on any games I can't bet on, y'know?"

“I do, too—that’s why it’s okay.” John assures him. And he knows it’s true as he says it: this instant, acknowledging that part of himself like it’s normal, that doesn’t change.

What he wants from someone, what he’s looking for when he thinks about being with anyone. Asking that question and getting an answer in that forbidden instance…it doesn’t change.

And that’s a huge gift that Hawkeye has given him.

“I mean—I know what I’m after.” John clarifies, then finally loses his radiant smile to a thoughtful frown.

“…but…I guess that’s a question maybe you know the answer to? Just—how can you tell? How do you…do you just ask? How can you know you’re welcome without the whole thing already being out there, like it is right now—talking about Eddie and Angel I mean.”

"Johnjie, I'm about to tell you something that'll blow your mind."

He rests a warm hand on John's shoulder.

"Here, where there's no mother superior to report back to? You just ask. Flirt, make moves, make jokes, worst that'll happen is you get a slap in the face and you know the answer's 'no'. But it's always no if you don't ask. You're cute, all you need is a bit of confidence and you can have anyone you want in your bed. Or anywhere else you want 'em."

John raises an eyebrow at that little ‘revelation,’ but he’s smiling a little as he takes a bite of cake, leans over to swat Hawkeye’s shoulder, then polishes off the last of his slice so he can set his plate down.

“I get that’s how you pick up a girl, but does the same stuff…work for guys?” He asks, still catching a little on the surge of adrenaline that comes from the thing in his head that makes talking about it feel illicit.

“Seems like the same lines and moves you’d pull out for women wouldn’t fly for men.”

Edited 2023-11-22 04:32 (UTC)

"Sure. I mean- if you're funny and charming you can get away with anything. You should have heard some of the lines I dropped on higher-ups."

Another pat on the shoulder.

"Don't overthink it. You'll do fine. Worst comes the worst, just take your shirt off, that'll work for you."

Funny and charming. Both things John wasn't very good at. Right.

The mention of his shirt has him blinking, looking down at himself, then back up at Hawkeye with a blank look that is one hundred and thirty percent genuine.

"Why would I take off my shirt?"

You've seen his scars, sir...

"Because you have biceps bigger than the head of some babies and if I personally want to chew on them like a dog with a bone, I can only imagine what other people think of them."

John’s mouth opens…and it sort of…just—stays there, eyes gone wide and cheeks blooming bright pink with a blush.

It’s a full thirty seconds before his mouth opens and closes soundlessly, and another ten before he can manage to cover his face with both hands but not before an embarrassed smile is visible.

“Uh—I—you—uhhhhh…”

Hawkeye laughs, not unkindly.

"You- you just got the same look as one my buddies from home, only he was five foot and uh- willowy. You alright? Lights are all still on in there?"

John can only nod for another minute, hands sliding back into his hair with a grin, his whole face red at this point.

“Yeah, uh—yeah. Just…yeah.” He laughs. “Did, uh—did that happen to your buddy cause you were flirting with him, too?”

Thought that was…pretty aggressive for flirting. Chew on his arms—there’s flirting to improve morale and then there’s just…that.

"No, no, he wasn't my type. I prefer them taller than a pixie and able to see past their nose."

Sorry Radar.

"Anyway. Won't happen again unless I need to make coffee using only your head. Didn't mean anything by it."

That gets another laugh out of John, who waves off Hawkeye's reply with a shake of his head.

"Nah, it's fine, really. Kind of a good...demonstration, even." he assures him. "I mean--I'd probably actually have a stroke if I ever came on that strong, but...I think I get it. Y'know--my own version of 'hi I wanna chew--shit--chew on your biceps."

He interrupts himself with another laugh, scrubbing his hands over his face briskly one more time.

"You got a hell of a mouth on you. It's...refreshing."

"I've never heard any complaints about it," sorry Rambo he just needed that one last one.

"I think I'm just too old-" at the ripe old age of 28- "for beating around the bush, you know? Either they're interested or they're not, I've got no time for teenage hokum. Did that once. It was awful the first time, I won't be making any of the other showings."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The bathroom tiles were cool against my hand

CW: very mild references to disordered eating habits

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject