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Spoilers: Lyle is the guy from "Springtime". Other than that, just a lot of little details from here and there all over the canon. Permission to archive: Glass Onion, mash-slash, me, anyone else, just ask. Disclaimer: They're not mine. There's the odd original character who is, and the plot's mine, too. Warnings: Suicide attempt, threesome sex, and a little violence-- not glorified. Notes: Thanks are due to everyone who betaed for me, especially iolanthe and Britt Rose; and to Deena for helping with research.
I'll start at the beginning. That's the least I can do for you.
I may not be clever the way you have to be to be a doctor, the way BJ is; I may not even be as clever as I think I am, but I'm not stupid. Back when we were just friends, we'd stroll around town, part of the crowd, and see who caught our eyes; it was always easy to pick out what turned which heads (especially if the head turning for someone else was the one you happened to be in love with). BJ was as likely to be looking at a handsome man as a pretty girl, and I knew that. He'd never have admitted it, of course, and I wouldn't have dared to ask.
In those days, nobody asked. It wasn't that things didn't happen--people fell in love just the way they do now, the way they always have done. It was just that we were better at ignoring things society said shouldn't be there, and nobody asked unless they had a very good reason.
Anyway, when he came back from the war and started talking about Hawkeye Pierce, it didn't take a genius to see that he'd fallen in love. I'd guessed as much from his letters; and when I thought about the conditions out there, I found I couldn't blame him for needing to take comfort. I wasn't angry, and I surprised myself a bit when I found I wasn't jealous. When things are tough you need a way out, something to obsess you so that you can stop thinking for a while. Heaven knows I've taken the odd bit of solace when it came my way--if an old friend was in town for a week, or with a man I happened to meet.
BJ talked about Hawkeye almost all the time. He didn't mention being shot at, even though he dreamed about it and woke up weeping; he didn't talk about the operations he'd done out there, though he was clearly affected by them; instead, he told me--and you, though I doubt you remember--about Hawkeye until I felt I knew the man personally. I'd been starting to feel that way from his letters, but in a letter it's somehow easier to look back and make sure that what you're saying is balanced.
At home, though, all we heard about the war focused on Hawkeye, as if he was the lens through which all BJ's experiences out there had been filtered. We heard about Hawkeye's wit, as dry as the Martinis he drank; we heard about his still, in which the alcohol was lucky if it stayed around for half an hour; and I can repeat some of the stories about Hawkeye's battles with Frank or Charles in my sleep.
It fell into a pattern. BJ came home every evening, we ate supper in silence broken only by your excited chatter about what you'd done at school or how Waggle had been funny today; and then when you were in bed he'd start talking. We stood in the kitchen, washing up together like we always had--my hands in the soapy water, him drying the dishes--but now there was another presence. Hawkeye Pierce. How he dumped a load of garbage over a colonel. How Frank tried to have him hanged for mutiny.
For a long while, I bore it quietly, hoping that it would fade into the background as BJ got back into the rhythm of living life at home. No joy.
The final straw was the night BJ rolled over, put an arm around me, and muttered sleepily, "Love you, Hawkeye." When we were alone the next evening, I asked why you and I didn't get to meet the guy who obviously meant so much to him.
"You go on and on about him, BJ. Why don't you invite him over for a few days--the guest room's empty. You can tell each other stories about Frank Burns for a change."
"Um... look, Peggy, it's not that simple."
The washing up was finished, and we were sitting on the veranda, supposedly simply enjoying each other's company. BJ was starting to sound a little worked up, but I kept my voice low and calm. After all, I could guess what was really going on here. "What's not simple, BJ? He's your friend. You'd like to see him again, and I'd like to meet him."
BJ took a deep breath. "Aren't you jealous?" I wonder why he jumped to that idea so quickly? It suggested I was on the right lines.
"Should I be?" I kept it light, teasing, because I'd already guessed the answer. I should be, but I'm not, and that gives me control.
BJ looked at me in the twilight and frowned, but then quickly nodded as if he was afraid he'd lose the courage he had summoned if he didn't act soon. I was right. I internalised the grin of triumph that threatened at this, rejoicing in the power that was in my hands. "I'm not jealous yet. Going to tell me anything more about why I should be?"
And once again I was slightly surprised to realise that I really wasn't jealous. I loved BJ enough that I want him to be happy, even if it's not with me.
"Out in Korea, Peg. Things are different out there."
"Oh? How so?"
"People... do things they might regret later."
"They might, oh, fall in love with someone they shouldn't, perhaps." We were on the same track here, I sensed it, and we were reaching a conclusion. It was almost inevitable, however wooden and stilted the third person discussion might feel.
"Yes. They might fall for someone inappropriate."
"And after the war, those feelings might remain. They might be glad to know that their wife understands, and that if they need to see... old friends... that would be possible."
BJ nodded again, a rare smile creeping onto his face and up into that terrible moustache. "I'll see if I can phone him, then," he said, getting up. He must have been waiting for a chance for ages.
"You do that. I need to tidy the living room."
That phone call must have been the most sweetest one I ever made--just to hear Hawkeye's voice again was wonderful.
A few days later, you ran in from where you'd been playing in the garden. "Mommy, someone's here!"
"Who is it, darling? Do you know them?"
You thought for a minute, and then said with a smile, "I reckon it must be Hawkeye."
I peered out the kitchen door, and saw him. I'd never seen a photograph, but from what BJ had said, I knew you must be right: a tall man, with dark hair and sparkling blue eyes. There was (and is) something about him--in his smile, perhaps--that shows his sense of humour, too.
He walked along the back of the house with long, easy strides until he was standing in front of me. I straightened up and put on my best `visitor greeting' smile as he dropped his suitcase onto the dirt and asked, "Mrs Hunnicutt?"
"That's me," I said, and we shook hands. I could see even then why BJ was attracted to him, when I looked into the handsome face and shook his hands with their clever surgeon's fingers. There was an air of danger to him, too, as if some grenade left over at the end of war was still inside him, waiting to burst out, that made me wonder if I was doing the right thing in welcoming him to my home.
"Hawkeye Pierce--and this must be Erin," he said, looking down to where you were, but you had been overcome by shyness suddenly and run off, probably to watch from the next room. "BJ didn't tell me she was invisible."
"She's just a little shy. Come on in. I'm afraid BJ isn't here at the moment--something must have kept him late at the hospital."
"I know how that happens. Where's he working now?"
"Lady Alice Hospital--down south of here." I waved him through to the sitting room, and offered something to drink.
He accepted, and we sat in awkward silence for some minutes. Apparently the silver-tongued Hawkeye that BJ knows so well is reduced to the same dumbness everyone else suffers in the face of meeting his or her lover's wife. I found it kind of comforting to see how human he really is, because when BJ talks about him he starts to sound like a god.
It must be admitted that sometimes these days I start to sound like that, too.
You crept in to look at the stranger, and Hawkeye smiled at you--do you not remember? Well, I suppose you were too young. It was warm and genuine, so you smiled back.
"Hi," he said, nodding at you just the way he would nod to an old friend. There was a familiarity there at once.
"Hello," you replied, and--getting bolder--you went over to stand in front of him. "You're Daddy's friend, aren't you? The one who was always being funny and fighting with Major Burns?"
This summing up of his character seems to have hit close to the facts, because his friendly smile broadened into a wide grin. "So BJ's been talking about me, has he? Yeah, that's me. Did he tell you about the time Charles nearly..."
The utter lack of curiosity I felt in the advent of another story about Korea, even told from a different point of view, was lost when a key turned in the front door.
"Peg! I'm home!" BJ called. Hawkeye and I followed you into the hallway, him carefully moving behind me. "Hi, Erin, honey. Have a good day at school?"
"Yeah. Hawkeye's here," you told him, your childish bluntness getting over any difficult moment there could have been. He hugged me quickly, not really looking at me, and then moved on to the man next to me.
"Hawkeye? Is it really you?"
"The one and only." They started to shake hands, but then one of them decided that formality could go to hell and used the contact to pull his--friend? lover?--into a firm hug. The contact was perhaps too long, involved a little too much hip as well as shoulder, but it broke before I could really react to it.
"Good to see you again. What are you doing these days?"
"Nothing special--living in Maine, working in a hospital with actual wards, hiding the still under the sink. You?"
"Much the same. Barring being in Maine." They shared a grin, and then BJ caught my eye. "And no still. Really, Peggy."
I sighed heavily and pointedly, letting a little answering grin show through. BJ hadn't joked like he used to for ages, so it was good to see it again even if it took a stranger to bring it out. "Are you just going to just stand there, or do you want dinner?"
I said "yes", of course.
But do go on.
When I put my sewing away and headed up for bed that night, I realised I didn't know where BJ and Hawkeye were, though it seemed logical to assume they were together. I checked on you--fast asleep, thumb in your mouth--and then opened the door of the guest room. Sure, I should have knocked, but sometimes you take a risk to know the truth.
The two of them were sitting on the bed, BJ near the pillow with Hawkeye leaning back into his arms, and they were kissing. It seemed I'd opened the door real quietly, because they both had their eyes closed as they explored each other's mouths. Something about the scene--the looks of contentment on their faces, the slight curve of BJ's lips into a smile as he kissed Hawkeye, or the simple fact that these were two men, kissing--touched me. I'd say `deep inside', but it was a little less emotional than that; I was glad to see BJ happy, but the main thing I was aware of was being aroused by the sight. And not to anger, either: sexually aroused.
I stood and watched until one of them broke the kiss (I couldn't tell who), and then I knocked on the door. Two pairs of blue eyes opened rapidly. They moved apart with lightening speed, BJ looking decidedly sheepish. "Peggy- love- I'm..."
I smiled at him, reassuringly. "It's okay, BJ. Sleep well, both of you. I'm going to leave the radio on overnight."
He swallowed heavily, unsure of what to say until his--`partner in crime' seems appropriate, but `lover' is perhaps kinder--until Hawkeye rescued him. "Goodnight, Peggy. And thank you."
"You're welcome, Hawkeye. Goodnight, BJ."
"Goodnight, Peg," BJ finally managed to get out.
I slipped out of the room and went to the bedroom I'd become so used to sleeping alone in over the past few years. What did one more night of unfaithfulness matter, if it made BJ happy? I could live with that.
There are a lot of things that I might have expected to happen at that point. Top on that list would probably have been "she tries to kill me." The fact that Peggy was--what was she? Accepting? Permitting? Not actively trying to end things? I didn't know she was aroused by my humble self.
Don't look at me like that, Peg, you've just admitted that you were.
Anyway, she'd left BJ alone with me again, and I intended to take full advantage of the situation. Never let it be said that Hawkeye Pierce didn't take the opportunities life gave him.
I leant into him again, and ran my hand around the back of his neck, trying to bring his mouth down to meet mine. He resisted, frowning at the door his wife had just closed. "What's the matter, BJ?" I asked. Perhaps it wasn't my best line ever, but I was getting impatient.
"What's the matter?" he repeated, bitterly. "The matter? My wife walked in and found me kissing a man."
"And she seemed okay with that," I pointed out. "Are you going to kiss me again, or not?"
"I don't know, Hawk. I don't know."
Sighing, I sat up once more, shuffling along slightly to stay close to him. "Beej, she's basically given us permission. `I'll leave the radio on'--that's the closest we've ever got to being safe."
"Hawkeye, you don't understand. This isn't about what we could do. We're both clever; we've always been able to find ways to do what we wanted. This is about what we should do."
"What we should do is survive any way we can."
"We're not in Korea anymore, Hawkeye. There are no bombs to survive."
Something in his voice brings it all home to me. We're not in Korea anymore. He has a wife, a family. Stupid Hawkeye, to think that he might still really want you. A kiss for old times' sake, but nothing more: that's all you're getting. "That doesn't mean we're going to make it," I tell him, aware that more emotion than I'd like is showing in that phrase, and stand up, going to stand at the window and look out into the darkness.
Who knows? Maybe the darkness out there will somehow balance that darkness in here. That's how it works, isn't it? You're in a crazy war, so you go crazy to stay sane. You're in the darkness, so you look for more to cancel it out.
"Oh, I think we..." BJ began, and then clued in. "Hawkeye, I'm sorry."
"Why be sorry? You've got Peggy. You don't need me." I kept staring out of the window. His hands touched my shoulders, but I pulled away. Living over here again can be harder than it ever was in Korea. The wounds are mine, and I can't fix them; the bombs are only in my dreams, there's nowhere to go to escape them. When I came to see BJ again, I was looking for the safety I used to feel being with him, but all I could find was the brittleness of his doubt.
Perhaps, I thought, safety had gone for good.
The darkness was too much, I was nearly lost. And in the background, BJ was talking, as if that could fix it all. "Hawkeye, do you know why I asked you to come? It wasn't my idea. It was Peg's. The thing is, Hawk, I can't stop thinking about you. I can't stop talking about you. When I dream about Korea--and believe me, that's often--the fact that you were there as well is the only thing that keeps me sane. Hawkeye, listen to me. I need you."
That's BJ all over. Always ready to say what he means, to tell me what I need to hear. Oh, he'll joke: but sometimes those jokes aren't, they're just pitched so that I think he's joking, when really it's a truth that I won't face.
"I really do, you know. I tried to build my own still and it exploded. I think you've got some sort of magical touch with them."
"The trick is not to hold a match near the end result." He's got a magic touch, too, always able to bring me back from the edge. He put his hand on my shoulder again, and this time I let it stay.
"Come on, Hawkeye. Let's have what we both want and worry about how to keep it in the morning." His arms slid around me, and there it was: the familiar safety I had come here craving. The darkness outside suddenly seemed alien, so with a decisive gesture I pulled the curtains shut and turned to kiss him.
When he went to turn out the bedside light, I stopped him. "No, BJ. Let's not be in the dark anymore."
Eavesdropping is rude, my mother told me so, but I doubt she ever thought I'd be feeling guilty for quite this offence. "Your husband having sex with another man" (with or without your permission) was not on her list of things to be taken into consideration: though if it had featured there, I'm sure she would have disapproved of listening. However, my mother's advice was not uppermost in my mind that night, as I pressed my ear to the wall adjoining the guest room.
I heard the distinctive rattle of closing curtains, and the faint creak as the bed was sat on. A double rumble of male voices, speaking softly throughout: I couldn't hear what they said, just enough sound to know that they talked. Then squeaking, irregular at first, and I couldn't remain detached any longer. I tried to picture them together in the darkness: BJ, whom I know so well, and Hawkeye, the stranger.
They must have known each other's bodies in intimate detail, though. Briefly it occurred to me that it would be fun to swap notes with Hawkeye about how BJ reacts to things (like the fact that BJ's ticklish) but the embarrassment that I was sure would end any such conversation quickly sent me back to listening.
The creaks became more patterned, and developed a rhythm. Soft deep mutters became groans, mumbles of pleasure. Instinctively, I reached a hand down to my panties and began to touch myself, rubbing harder as the sounds from next door became louder.
All too soon for me, mutters turned to cries--one familiar, one new to me--and the sounds faded in stillness. They'd finished, and I pictured them collapsing into each other's arms as BJ and I did, hugging and kissing in an affirmation of love.
I went back to my bed, alone, wondering how BJ felt about this. I knew that I loved him, but did he still love me? His love for Hawkeye was clear.
The question bugged me as I tried to warm my feet, as I tried to fall asleep--it's funny how quickly I got used to being next to BJ again--and was still there in the morning, when the sun peeped in at my window.
Rolling over, I half expected to find him next to me; but the bed was cold there. He hadn't come back to me in the night.
I pulled on my dressing gown and went to find out: a girl takes risks when she needs to know.
He and Hawkeye were curled on the bed, huddled together in the centre as if the bed were only two feet wide. Maybe it's a memory of the army cots, with barely room to fit one person in, let alone two. Hawkeye's face was all but invisible, turned towards BJ's chest, but BJ was smiling, a grin of pure pleasure that I hadn't seen for years.
Either he'd been awake for a while, or I made some small sound, because his eyes opened, blue and as wide and happy as his smile. My heart felt full: with a sense of shared pleasure, but also with a nagging fear that I would lose him to this dark stranger who made him happy. I squashed the thought quickly, before it could affect me.
The door shut behind Peggy--God, I love your mother--and I went back to watching my lover sleep. I smiled to see him, but there were marks that worried me. He was deeply asleep, but it was a restless kind. His eyes moved under their thin lids, and his limbs shifted against me.
"Dreaming about the war, Hawkeye?" I asked, softly, knowing that he couldn't hear me, and pretty sure that he wouldn't answer if he could.
He stirred again, rolling over a little, so that his head rested partly on my shoulder and half on the pillow I was leaning on, the shock of black hair--streaked with white: grey wasn't in Hawkeye's repertoire--falling onto the white cotton pillowcase. I thought that I'd dispelled the tension somewhat the night before, but clearly not all of it had left him. Every movement, even in sleep, was laden with energy, his muscles wound so tight with the fear and worries of a war that now, a thousand miles and over a year away from it, they couldn't relax.
I wished there was something I could do (hell, I still do. It's rarer now, but I doubt it'll ever really end. Sorry, Hawk, but I feel I owe her the truth), but there wasn't, and there isn't. So I woke him, brought him back to a world I can help with, even if I'm the one who creates the problems it holds for him.
"Hawk, time for breakfast." And then, because he was still asleep and couldn't stop me saying it, "I love you."
"Umhph?" Ah, the first sign of intelligent life. "What?"
"Good morning, Hawkeye."
"Beej?" He frowned, a quick flash of emotion, there and then hidden again.
"Yes, me. And before you ask, I woke you up because you're lying half on top of me, and I want to go and have breakfast."
"I wasn't going to ask." A quick smirk, and the old Hawkeye was back in place, the mask returned.
"You're incorrigible."
"And also encourageable," he quipped, wriggling again, thighs rubbing on mine, a calculated move that often makes me give in and encourage him.
"Not now, Hawkeye," and to forestall the pout that was surely on its way, "Peggy and Erin are waiting for us downstairs." Too late. He pouted anyway--just a subtle change of expression, but the meaning was clear.
I had to take the plunge, as Peg did with me that night a week before, and try to be upfront and honest. "Look. This isn't Korea; pouting at me won't work. We're not soldiers any more. I love you--don't stop me saying it--I love you, but I also love Peg and Erin, and I don't want to lose any of you."
"What if that's not possible, BJ?" Suddenly, he was serious, alert to the importance of what I was saying. "What if you can't have both me and Peggy?"
"I don't know. I'm not sure I can make that decision."
"Then you might end up with neither of us." To lend weight to that, he turned away from me, rolling out of bed to stand in one smooth movement.
"Are you saying you'll leave me if I try to stay married?"
"Does it look like I will? I came here, didn't I?"
I stood as well, behind his unmoving frame, and noted that while he was always a little shorter than me, he stoops more these days, and looks at the ground. "Yes, you came." Double entendre, why not? "And so did I."
"Yes," and I could hear the smile in his voice with the memory, but then he was serious again. "Beej, I... We're safe here, right?"
"As safe as we'll ever be." Which, as we both knew, wasn't very safe, should anyone outside the family find out--and really, that meant outside myself, Hawkeye, and Peggy. The risk that you would mention it to a teacher or classmate was too high for us to let you know what was happening.
He turned back to face me. "BJ, are you sure?"
"Yes. Peggy would never tell anyone, and I think Erin's too young to notice, let alone understand, if we're a little careful." I reached out to touch him, and he nodded, but looked away from my face again, down at the floor. "Hawkeye, we really are safe."
"I know," he said, but he was plainly still unsure.
With nothing else to say, I pulled him into a hug, trying to reassure him that whatever it was he dreamed about (surely there was more on his mind than me) wasn't going to find him, whether it was bombs or disgrace.
When they came downstairs--together, no pretence that they were separate--BJ still looked happy, but his smile, like Hawkeye's, was tinged with worry or fear. There was nothing I could do or say to take that away, so I busied myself with the ordinary stuff of finding food, making sure you ate something reasonably balanced, getting tea and coffee and toast and more sausages when they were required.
The rest of the day, we all pretended it was a normal day, as best we could with `Uncle Hawkeye' there. I don't know why you insisted on calling him `uncle' that day; he didn't like it, and afterwards it was dropped, but to start with you wouldn't say `Hawkeye' to his face.
It was that evening, once you were in bed again, that we finally talked, all three of us. Sometimes all three of us at once, being the people we are. (But you're finding out about that, aren't you? Yes, BJ, that means keep quiet while I'm talking.)
To tell you the truth, we didn't only talk, but I'll get to that.
There was a lot of talking to start with, though.
That's true enough, Hawkeye, and I will tell that part. Let me get it in order.
We sat in the living room, and we had a few drinks. Not so much that any of us were drunk, and we all remembered what happened the next morning; but enough to get rid of the edginess, the awkwardness, that had affected us up until then.
No, I've skipped a bit. First, we put you to bed: you'd been wanting Hawkeye's attention all day--novelty value, I suppose (don't pull faces at me, Hawk!)--and it wasn't a surprise when you wanted him to read your bed-time story. While he was upstairs, BJ and I...
That's not how it was. You took Erin upstairs, and BJ and I finished the washing up.
Hawkeye, who's telling this? You or me?
Erin said she wanted to hear what really happened. I'm just trying to get to that. You took Erin upstairs; BJ and I finished the washing up--didn't we, Beej?
I'm not commenting. It's been nearly thirty years, and who did the washing up isn't really the interesting part of the story.
What happened, Erin, was this: you went to bed. The washing up had to be finished, and the table laid for the morning. These things were done, and then we went to sit in the living room for a quick end-of-the-day drink.
Also, nobody was quite sure who was sleeping in which bed.
We were waiting for you to decide, honey.
And without even meeting the guy, you'd taken a lesson from Colonel `Indecisive' Blake.
I knew what I wanted. It just took some planning to make sure I got it.
You mean you planned what happened next?
Yes, something like that. Planning's one of the things I'm good at. Anyway, are we going to tell Erin here what happened, or just bicker about whose brilliant idea it was?
I'm going to tell her.
When your father came into the living room, Peg and I were already drinking. I forgot why he was late. Over the course of that day, things had got a bit easier--I'd managed to get out of expecting Peggy to try and kill me...
And I'd got out of expecting Hawkeye to be either a threat to me (BJ made sure of that) or a real nuisance.
Yeah, now I look back on it, BJ worked hard all day to make us both feel happy.
At last they notice!
Well, don't expect too much of us.
When BJ came in, Peggy and I were drinking in silence: still a little uncomfortable with each other, but not so much so that we were trying to get out of the room. Peg sat in an armchair by the fire, and I had settled into the wing-back chair, within easy reach of the sideboard and the drinks.
Don't look so surprised, BJ. You do know me, don't you? Hawkeye Pierce, semi-professional alcoholic?
He sat on the sofa, between us and facing the fire. "Scotch, BJ?"
"Thanks, Hawkeye." We were silent for a minute, and then Peggy spoke.
"I think you owe me the truth, BJ."
"I'm sure I do, love."
"Truth about what, Peggy? The whole truth of the universe might take all night."
"Just the truth about you and him, actually, Hawkeye. I know what I saw last night, but that isn't so much."
"Okay, Peggy--and you too, Hawkeye. I owe it to you both. This is the way it is." He paused, swallowed the end of his drink, and then went on. "I love you both. Peggy, I've loved you since we first met, that night at the high school dance. I don't know when I fell in love with you, Hawkeye: I didn't let myself accept that I had for so long it doesn't matter.
"Out in Korea, you both have to understand, friendship, and the love that friends can give, was the only thing that stood between me and insanity. When you're that close, living that near to anyone else, the relationship that builds up is strong. And for some reason, in Korea--perhaps in all wars--everything is physical, to some extent. Hatred is expressed physically, in bullets or bombs, and love, friendship that at home would be no more than that, becomes physical too.
"You hate someone, and you want to kill them, strangle them with your bare hands. If you want to protect them, it has to be physical, because the threats they face are physical. And if you love someone, you have to express that physically."
"That's your excuse for having sex with Hawkeye?"
"I'm trying to explain why it happened the first time, Peggy." He was calm, staying reasonable and rational, but I don't think either Peg or I was managing as well as him. "Things change. Back here, I've got a choice. And so have you--both of you."
BJ didn't look at me, and I don't think he looked at Peggy--he just went on staring into the fire, not putting us under pressure.
"What sort of choice have we got, though? We can't both have you!" Even as I said that, I was rapidly becoming aware that maybe he had a point: another way was possible. Now, a lot of things went through my head in that moment, perhaps the most important of which was that I actually quite liked Peggy.
We'd spent the day together; we'd had fun. Between you and BJ, we had things in common, and being the person I am, I'd noticed that Peg is a beautiful woman. Before, I'd just been thinking of that in the `I can see why he married her' sense, but now it took on a whole new meaning.
I'd done that evaluation the day before, when we first met.
Well, my wonderful personality does shine through.
And I'd been hearing about you through BJ's rose-tinted spectacles for years. But go on with the story.
"What are you suggesting, BJ?" Peggy asked. He looked up, at her then across at me, and we saw the grin that the 4077th had both welcomed and feared because it said that a Hunnicutt plan had just been successful--and that could be good or bad, depending which side of the practical joke you were on.
"There's supposed to be room on this sofa for three, isn't there?"
I got a pair of strange looks for that one, I can tell you.
Who's telling this?
I'm taking over, Hawkeye. My plan, my story.
The idea was to stop having to glance back and forth between them like I was a spectator in a tennis match. However, it didn't quite work like that. It's surprising how often my plans have to be rearranged at the last minute. "Come and sit next to me," I said. "Both of you."
Neither of them moved. "Why?" Peggy asked.
"Because I'm fed up with being so stiff around both of you. When we're out, it's one thing not to be able to touch you, but at home--I want to kiss you."
"Yes, but which one of us?"
Now you see why I had to point out that the beginning that I'm outsmarted by these two. It took me a while to catch on.
About this point, I made a plan of my own--and this is where Beej's really started to fall down: or to succeed, depending how you look at it and who you ask.
"Mrs. Hunnicutt? Could I have a word with you in private, please?"
She frowned (like she's doing now--see?) and nodded. With a smile at BJ, I escorted her out of the room.
In the kitchen, she turned to face me and said, firmly, "I'm not giving him up without a fight, you know. One night is one thing, but I need my husband."
"I know. I'm not going to ask you to give him up, Peggy."
"Losing you again would break his heart."
Excuse me.
Handkerchief, Hawkeye?
Thanks, Peggy.
I muttered something along the lines of "Mine too."
"So what do we do? Swap over a midnight?"
"I've got a better idea. You're a very beautiful woman, Peg."
"Thank you, but I don't see how that helps."
"Like this," I told her, took her in my arms, and kissed her.
Oh! I always wondered what you two said to each other out there!
It wasn't so much what we said that made the difference. As Hawkeye's just told you, he kissed me.
I'd find it very easy at this point to lie to you, for one reason or another. I could tell you that it was a wonderful kiss, the best I'd ever had; I could tell you that I knew then what I wanted. Sadly, life isn't that easy. It wasn't a perfect kiss. Really it was average, tending towards badly judged: the table dug into my back, we weren't at the best angle--it could have been better.
I think I've just been given a bad mark.
Don't be silly, Hawkeye--you're a good kisser, but it can't be the best one every time.
What the kiss did do was open up to me a possibility I hadn't considered before. They've hinted at it, but not explained: I wondered if it was physically possible to put three people into a bed.
How much actually went on out there? Did you stop at kissing, or not?
Do you really want to know that, Beej?
Okay, okay. There was just the one kiss, and then Peggy said, "I think I see where this is going. Let's go and talk to BJ again."
So we did--and the rest, as they say, is history.
I think we should record that we did get to the bedroom before anything very much happened, but that's all the detail you need.
Any questions?
Not about that night, Hawkeye. I would like to know, though: didn't you have to go home at some point?
Yes--but not for that long. By the end of that year, I was working in a hospital only eight blocks away from Beej's, and living with your parents `until I found a flat.' We never did get around to seriously looking for somewhere else for me to live.
I tried, once or twice, to get him to move out--for appearance's sake--but he can be as stubborn as a mule sometimes.
I remember some of the arguments.
Debates, Erin, debates. Doctors don't argue.
My mother's not a doctor.
True enough.
And you don't always act like one, either.
Cheeky monkey! That's quite enough from you.
I'm sure it is. Well, thank you, and goodnight: mum, dad, uncle.
Right, that's enough.
Always have to have to last word, don't you?
No, he doesn't. Lovely daughter mine, hie thee to bed. Hawkeye, come here.
Why?
I'm going to kiss you. Peggy, I'll be with you in a moment.
Part Two: Exsanguinating
"Peggy, we have to do something about it."
They were in the kitchen, practically the central room in their lives, after dinner one evening. Her hands still in the soapy water, Peg turned to look at him. "Hawkeye, what are you talking about?"
"BJ. That moustache he insists on wearing. I don't like it, I know you don't like it--we have to get rid of it."
"Why? I'm getting used to you going off on crazy schemes..."
"I don't!"
"In the past month, Hawkeye, you've hatched at least three schemes of varying craziness. And in one of those cases, I mean `hatched' literally. Do you know how much it worries me to think that one day I might find more baby geese in the bottom of my airing cupboard?"
"They were there for a reason!"
"Yes--a practical reason. A practical joke, in fact."
"You did laugh."
"That isn't really the point, is it?"
"I think it is."
"As I was saying, crazy schemes are nothing new around here, but why bother about BJ's moustache? It makes him happy."
"It makes him look silly."
"True, but I'd have thought that would make you happy."
Hawkeye put the dishcloth he'd been drying plates with down, and leaned on the counter so that he could look straight at Peggy. "What's making you so sharp with me?"
"Perhaps the fact that you expect me never to be sharp with you."
"Oh, come on, Peggy. That can't be all."
"So you admit to that charge?"
"Maybe I do--but you're side-tracking me. What did I do to upset you?"
Peg stared down at her hands, fiercely scrubbing a coffee stained mug. "Nothing much. Are you drying the dishes or not?"
"Okay, okay, I'm drying. When's Beej coming home?"
"Any time now, I hope."
Hawkeye nodded and stayed silent, thinking about BJ: BJ working at St. Mary's Hospital, BJ who was on duty until well into the night so often, BJ who was doing the job Hawkeye could do, but wasn't doing.
"Nearly there--this is the last dish," Peggy said, breaking into his half trance. "Why do you call him `Beej', anyway? Why not BJ?"
Shrugging, Hawkeye told her, "It made sense at the time."
She didn't understand how that could be so complete an answer, but for all her husband would talk about Korea until he was blue in the face, she knew she'd never fully comprehend it. Least of all, perhaps, from Hawkeye's point of view. He didn't talk about Korea, and when BJ started he'd taken to changing the subject or leaving the room.
"Well, whatever. Let's have a drink while we wait for him."
Sitting in the half-dark of the living room (if you had the lights on inside, when BJ walked up the path you couldn't see him--better to find your drinks and then turn the main light off while you waited), comfortably together on the sofa, Hawkeye and Peggy didn't talk any more. It was safer that way; to sit in the darkness and the silence, so that you didn't have to look at each other and couldn't argue. Then, when BJ finally got home, he wouldn't have to do the work of peace making, and things could move smoothly on.
So much for not being in the dark, Hawkeye thought. He'd come here, three months ago, to get out of the darkness that was all he could find in Crabapple Cove, only to be plunged into a new darkness. This one was a little warmer, and a little safer, and the brightness that was his love for BJ burned brighter, but it was still dark. Furthermore, he still felt like he was only two steps away from cracking up.
White lights suddenly blanched them both into near ghosts, and the hum of an engine filled the room. BJ's car, coming up the drive.
With an unspoken agreement born of habit and many nights of practice, they rose almost as one. Peggy opened the door--a habit imposed by the need to keep up appearances for the rest of the world--and was greeted with a quick kiss.
"Home at last! I'd have been quicker but we had an emergency in..."
"Come here," Hawkeye commanded, pulling BJ into a firm hug. Peggy only just managed to get the door shut before they were kissing.
"Did you miss me, then?" BJ asked when he got free of the insistent mouth.
In the light of the hall, Peggy, watching Hawkeye nod and pull BJ down for another kiss, noticed that her husband's lover seemed hungry, almost desperate. BJ was playing along with him, giving him what he wanted, but not initiating it. She made a mental note to try and talk to BJ about it later--if they ever got a moment for just the two of them again.
"Did you get dinner?"
"Yes, thanks, Peg. Is Erin asleep?"
"She was fifteen minutes ago."
"Damn. I guess I'll speak to her in the morning--Doctor Johnson's given me another of those key rings she collects. Oh, and Hawkeye? Doctor Rossi's still after to you to be his next assistant surgeon."
Hawkeye turned away, not wanting to let BJ or Peggy see his expression.
"Hawkeye? Hawk, what is it?"
"I thought I told him I wasn't looking for a job." Hawkeye's voice was thick, clogged with hidden emotion.
"He doesn't give up easily." BJ touched Hawkeye's shoulder, hoping to hold him, comfort whatever fear gripped him, but Hawkeye jerked away.
"Can't he leave me alone?"
"Hawkeye..." BJ moved towards him again, reaching out, but with a sour "goodnight" Hawkeye turned and ran up the stairs.
BJ glanced at Peggy, the hurt clear in his eyes, and she suddenly wanted to revoke her wish for some time alone with her husband. "He's been in an odd mood all evening," she said, answering the question before BJ even asked it.
"And you've got no idea why. I know that feeling." Hand in hand, they climbed the stairs, separating only when they reached the top--BJ turning left to peep in at his sleeping daughter, and Peg turning right to try the handle on the guest room that Hawkeye was using, at least officially. It was locked from the inside. BJ was about to knock, but Peggy pulled him into their bedroom.
"Go to bed, BJ. You've been working for who knows how many hours, and he can wait."
"I don't want him to have to. I should talk to him."
"You should get some sleep. I'll talk to him if it worried you that much."
"Peg, you don't know him as well as I do. If it takes more than ten minutes, you can come and help."
Sighing, Peggy allowed that and stood aside. BJ kissed her on his way past, as she began to brush her hair.
"Hawkeye? Can I talk to you?" he asked softly, outside the door, trying to strike a balance between Hawkeye hearing and Erin staying asleep.
No reply. "Hawkeye, I need to know you're alright."
He waited, listening, and finally there was a quiet answer. "Sorry."
"Open the door, Hawkeye. Let's talk."
"I'm sorry, Beej."
Something in the tone of his lover's voice suggested to BJ that now was time for more dramatic action. He resisted the impulse to kick down the door, on the grounds that it would wake Erin. "Peggy? Where's the spare key?"
Without a word, she pulled it from the side of her jewellery box, and took the two steps down the hall to hand it to him.
"Thanks." He fumbled with the lock of a moment before the door swung open. "Hawkeye?"
The once carefully decorated room was awash with blood, in a way that he hadn't seen since he left the 4077th. The rug, white when it was new, was now red; a scalpel lay on it, half hidden by the blood on both of them. A lot had been soaked up by the soft furnishings, but in places it still formed puddles on the polished wooden floorboards, and more was arriving all the time.
Hawkeye was lying on the bed, skin pale, slashed wrists out in front of him, staring at the blood as it poured out.
Later, BJ would realise that he hadn't really thought about what this was, or why, or what it meant--he'd reacted purely on medical instinct.
Ignoring the blood, he walked--"no time to rush"--across to Hawkeye, pulling his handkerchief out of his pocket as he went. The instructions--where did they come from?--were calm and clear in his mind. Twist it into a strip; tie it tightly above the cuts in one wrist (he's faint from loss of blood, but still conscious; he hasn't had time to lose all of it); look round for something else--shirt sleeve--and tie it around the other wrist.
Don't look at his face, or you'll scream. This is a patient, not Hawkeye.
Slip an arm behind his shoulders; lift him up (no time to be surprised by how little he weighs); carry him past Peggy's shocked stare and Erin's eyes, full of sleep and fear.
"I've got to get him to the hospital. I'll call you."
Bundle him into the car you only just left, and check the improvised bandages.
Thankfully, most of the bleeding had stopped, but Hawkeye had passed out completely. "Back to the hospital," BJ muttered, watching the speedometer tell him he was breaking the law, and not caring.
The emergency room was quiet--mid-week, that wasn't unusual--and as soon as BJ walked in, carrying Hawkeye, a nurse came over to see what was going on, only partly because she recognised BJ.
"Doctor--what's happened?"
"He slashed his wrists. Get Dr Neider, and tell me where there's a free bed."
"Would a consulting room do?"
"Fine."
"Nine and twelve are free."
"Thanks. Get Dr Neider."
She went, his urgency communicated by his efficiency as much as his tone or bearing.
Dr Neider found them in consulting room nine, Hawkeye laid on the couch and BJ kneeling by his side. "Dr Hunnicutt?"
Without looking round, BJ started to explain, "He..."
"Slashed his wrists, yes, Nurse Edson told me. What she didn't say was who he is, or indeed anything else."
"His name's Hawkeye Pierce--he's an old army friend of mine. The cuts are quite deep, and long. They need stitching."
"I'm sure. May I look at them?"
"Of course." They looked at each other for a moment, BJ's worried blue eyes meeting Neider's calm brown ones, and then BJ realised that he was in the way. "Oh--sorry."
"Try the chair," Neider advised with a slight smile, moving to stand by the unconscious Hawkeye. "How much blood did he lose?"
"At least two pints, I guess. He was only alone for ten minutes or so--there... oh, God. There was blood everywhere." BJ noticed dampness on his cheeks, and wondered if he'd started to bleed--but when he wiped them, it was just water. Tears. "The scalpel he used was still on the rug..."
"Don't worry about it. I've got him now." Neider strode to the door. "Nurse! Whole blood--what type is he?"
He had to shake BJ before he got a response. "Err, B, I think."
"Whole blood, type B. Get the drip in at once."
"Yes, Doctor."
BJ sat with Hawkeye for the next three hours, weeping sometimes, shaking a little, and always trying to work out what had happened.
I gave him the message from Dr. Rossi. He ran upstairs--Peggy and I talked--the door was locked--when I opened it, he was... he was... not dead. He's not dead, not yet.
Not on the outside.
"Dr Hunnicutt? Have you telephoned your wife? Does she know what's going on?"
"I... She was there when I found him."
"Then she'll want to know that he's going to be fine, won't she?"
"Yes. Yes, I should tell her. And I've got another call to make."
"You can use the telephone in my office--only just round the corner." BJ glanced across the room at where Hawkeye lay, his wrists bandaged and a tube disappearing into his arm. "You'll be back long before he wakes."
One final look at his lover, and BJ allowed himself to be led out of the room.
"Peggy? It's BJ. I hope I didn't wake you."
"No--Erin won't sleep. Oh, love, are you okay?"
"Pretty much. And Hawkeye's going to make it."
"Thank heaven! What happened to him?"
"Have you looked in his room?"
"Only briefly. I didn't want Erin to see."
"He slashed his wrists--probably with a scalpel. It was still on the floor when I went in there."
"He... but why, BJ? Why would he do that?"
"I don't know, Peg. In the morning I'm going to try and get in touch with Sidney."
"Who?"
"Sidney Freedman--a physiatrist we met in Korea. I think he's the only person I've ever seen Hawkeye open up to."
"Do you have any idea where he is now?"
"No."
"Do you know someone else who knows, then?"
"No. But I do know who will know who knows."
"BJ, I think you should get some sleep. You've stopped making sense."
"You mean I'm starting to sound like Hawkeye sometimes does."
A soft sound. "Maybe I do. Oh, BJ--I love you."
"I love you too, Peg, honey."
"I'd better go. Erin's crying again."
"Tell her I love her, too, and that Hawkeye's going to be okay. Then see if you two can get some sleep."
"Alright. If you don't come home by morning, I'll take Erin round to my parents' house and come to see you there."
"That's a good plan. I'll see you."
"And you."
Click.
"Radar? I'm sorry to wake you."
"That's alright, Cap--BJ. Hawkeye's in trouble, right?"
"How did... oh, never mind. I need to contact Sidney Freedman."
"Do you know where he went, after the war?"
"I was hoping you might be able to find out."
"I can try. Father Mulcahy keeps track of most people--he might know."
"Thanks, Radar."
"I let you know as soon as I hear anything, okay?"
"Yeah--best not to use this phone number. Call me at home, if it's more than three or four hours."
"Will do."
Across a whole continent, phones ring at unearthly hours. Mulcahy didn't know, but Potter might. Potter saw him a month or two before, but didn't know where he'd gone after that--try Klinger. Klinger thought he'd been visiting someone in the north--Hawkeye or Trapper?
Finally, Trapper gave Radar the clue he needed. "He was heading for San Francisco. Said something about having family on that coast. Did BJ say why Hawkeye needed him?"
"No--just asked me to find him as quickly as possible. I'll see if there's anyone in San Francisco called Freedman. Thanks, Trapper."
The girl on directory enquiry duty was someone Radar'd spoken to before, so they got along fairly quickly--three Freedman numbers in San Francisco. Of course, the one he wanted was the last one he tried. "Sidney? Yes, we have a Sidney Freedman here. Who is this, please?"
"Radar O'Reilly--I'm an army friend of his."
"I'll put him on."
"Sidney? It's Radar here. Hawkeye needs you."
"What for?"
"BJ didn't say. He just asked me to find you. If I give you his number, will you call him?"
"Sure."
"Hello?"
"Mrs. Hunnicutt? This is Sidney Freedman."
"Already?"
"I gather I've been contacted faster than expected."
"Yes. He mentioned he was going to try and find you."
"Something about Hawkeye, I understand?"
"That's right. He... BJ said he slashed his wrists."
"I see. Where is he now?"
"They're both at the hospital--Lady Alice."
"I think I know it. I'm only about fifteen miles away--can you let BJ know I'm on my way?"
"Sure. How long will you be?"
"Less than half an hour, I hope."
"I'll tell him."
Almost exactly half an hour later, Sidney was knocking on the door of consulting room nine; and when that got no answer, he opened it and looked in.
BJ has pulled the chair up to Hawkeye's bedside and fallen asleep there, holding his hand; but Hawkeye had woken, not that long ago, and was watching BJ with eyes full of tears. He lifted one hand to his mouth, intending to ssh the newcomer--but the drip tube got tangled, preventing him.
"Sidney?" he whispered.
"That's me."
"Quiet! You'll wake him. If you're even real."
"I'm real, Hawkeye, trust me. But we don't have to talk now."
"Okay." Hawkeye lapsed back into his uncharacteristic silence, while Sidney went to find a chair.
Time passed. BJ woke, and left, greeting Sidney calmly and promising Hawkeye he'd be back soon with something to eat.
"Not," as Hawkeye observed once he was alone with Sidney, "that I really feel like eating."
"Why's that?"
"It's the middle of the night, for one thing."
"It's nearly dawn."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Time flies when you're enjoying yourself, I guess. Don't you just hate losing time, though?"
"Do you feel that you've lost time?"
Hawkeye laughed, a dry, mirthless chuckle. "Stop trying to sneak analysis into the conversation, Sidney. I can see what you're doing."
"Can you see what you're doing?"
"Sure--I'm trying not to talk about me."
"And why's that?"
"Why do you think? I just tried to kill myself for reasons I have no intention of talking about."
"Fair enough. What sort of reasons are they?"
"Oh, the usual. Love, life, dirty laundry."
"May I hazard a few guesses?"
"Go ahead."
"You've fallen in love with someone. You're not working because blood reminds you of the war, but that's creating problems between you and the someone. How am I doing?"
"You're very entertaining."
"Can you do better?"
"I'm not so stupid that I'll fall for that, Sidney."
"Okay, we needn't talk about you. How's BJ doing?"
"He's fine. Good job, beautiful wife, pretty daughter. And the war didn't drive him crazy."
"How do you know?"
"He can talk about it. He doesn't have nightmares. He can still do his work."
"Why do you have trouble talking about Korea, Hawkeye?"
"Damn." A moment's silence, then: "I guess I'm afraid to remember."
"Why?"
"The memories are what causes the nightmares. If I couldn't remember, they wouldn't be able to take me back there."
"That's interesting logic."
"You mean it's crazy."
"There's no point trying for section eight now, Hawkeye."
"I'd never be able to match Klinger, anyway."
Sidney was about to reply, but the door swung open to admit BJ, followed by Dr. Neider.
"Sidney, Hawkeye, this is Doctor Terrance Neider, who's on duty tonight; Terry, you've seen Hawkeye before, and Sidney is another army friend--a psychiatrist by training."
"Good... it's morning now, isn't it? Good morning, both of you. Hawkeye, I'm mainly here to talk to you, but I'm happy to have other people here if that's what you want."
Hawkeye was about to reply, but a knock on the door prevented him. "Doctor Hunnicutt?" a female voice asked from outside.
"I'm here. Who is it?"
"Your wife's in the lobby. Shall I bring her through?"
BJ looked at Hawkeye, who nodded. "Yes, thank you."
"And bring a few more chairs, please, Nurse Edson," Neider requested.
"Will do, Doctor."
Lying back, Hawkeye watched them bustle around--fetching chairs, finding places to sit, getting comfortable, asking where Erin was, shuffling paper--and wondered why they were doing all this around him. Why did they bother? It wasn't like he was important.
When Peggy had been introduced to Drs Neider and Freedman, and everyone was seated, and BJ had been reassured that Peg's parents really did like looking after Erin, Terry Neider coughed, in his best `calling the meeting to order' way.
"Hawkeye, do you know what you did last night?"
"I've got some idea. I was there, after all."
"But do you know how close you came to dying?"
"Yes--I'm a surgeon, Dr Neider."
"I'm aware of that, Dr Pierce. Luckily for you, you stopped cutting fractions of an inch away from the major ligament, on both wrists, although the right side was a closer call than the left. If you hadn't, I'd be sitting here trying to break the news to you that you might never be able to work as a surgeon again, even if you regained use of your hands."
Peggy gasped, and BJ took her hand, equally startled. "God, Terry, I didn't even think of that."
"Will that be all, Dr Neider?" Hawkeye asked, almost supernaturally calm.
"I'd just like to check your blood pressure, and then I'll leave you alone."
Sidney observed that Hawkeye used stretching out his arm for Neider as an excuse to hold hands with BJ. Peggy wasn't the only one drawing strength from there.
"How is it?"
"Much better. I'll leave the drip in for half an hour or so, but then we'll move you into a proper ward."
"No, you won't."
"You can't stay here, Hawkeye."
"I'll be going home."
"I really don't think that..."
"Terry, just come back in half an hour," BJ said. "We'll talk then, okay?"
"Okay. I'll see you." Neider left, frowning but prepared to trust his colleague.
As the door swung shut, BJ took a deep breath. "Right." Hawkeye, guessing what was coming, let go of BJ's hand. "I've got some questions for you. I don't know if you're capable of answering on not, but I want to get the questions out in the open, and I'll trust Sidney to stop me if I'm going too far." He glanced at Sidney, who just nodded. "One: what on earth did you think you were doing? Do you have any idea what I went through, finding you like that? Never mind what it was like for Peggy or Erin!
"Two: why? Do I really treat you that badly? Are you really that afraid of Dr Rossi dragging you back into surgery? Did you really imagine that it was your only way out, or were you just overcome by the desire to make a good dramatic exit?"
"You're angry, BJ."
"Damn right, Sidney. Damn right I'm angry. I finally think that I might be managing to find a balance that makes the people I love happy, and he tries to end it!"
Hawkeye had closed his eyes against this tirade, and even next to stark whiteness of the hospital pillows he looked pale. "I'm sorry, Hawkeye," BJ went on, "but I just don't understand. I thought we were starting to make things work, and now this."
Throughout this, BJ had been gripping Peggy's hand, and in an effort to distract herself from the fact that her fingers were going numb, she tried to understand the three men in front of her. There were certain similarities--a few lines they were too young to carry, a fleeting look of fear or hatred as some memory stirred--that stood out between them, as if the war had left some invisible thread binding them together, but it was clearest in Hawkeye.
When I first met him, I thought he was still carrying a grenade inside, she reflected. Now it's showing itself. Korea was blood and fear and noise, and that's what he was trying to get rid of. BJ's using Korea: he shouts, he shakes sometimes, and he still operates. Like an actor using stage fright to improve their performance, he's overcome the fear by making it help him, but Hawkeye hasn't worked out how to do that yet. Instead, he was trying to get rid of the fear by draining all the blood out, but it doesn't work, anymore than not talking about the war makes the inside of his head quiet.
Hawkeye was turning away, rolling onto his side and hiding his face, his shoulders racked with sobs. She realised that BJ hadn't seem what she saw.
"BJ, don't shout, love." Hawkeye can't deal with the noise--it's just frightening him.
"I'm sorry, Peg."
"Hawkeye, can you cope with talking to BJ now?" Sidney asked. He got no reply. "I think you probably can't. BJ, may I have a word with you outside?"
"Um--okay." BJ stood up, but Peggy stayed where she was.
"I'll stay in here, BJ. You talk to Sidney."
"Okay." He dropped a kiss onto her forehead, let go of her hand, and followed Sidney out the door.
For a moment, she sat in silence, rubbing her hand, before moving across the small gap between her chair and the bed, to perch, sideways, by Hawkeye. "Hawkeye, I'm sorry I was so sharp with you earlier. Erin's teacher is worried about her behaviour at school, and I was thinking about that."
"I'm sorry about the goslings," he muttered.
"That's alright. I thought they were cute, actually." She rested a hand on his shoulder, noticing that he wasn't weeping any longer. "When you say `home', do you mean Maine or my house?"
He shrugged, an awkward gesture but eloquent. "At one time, I'd have meant Crabapple Cove. Now--I don't know."
"Well, for practical reasons I think the Hunnicutt household is a better bet today. We might just persuade Dr Neider that BJ and I can take care of you there, but I can't see him--or BJ or Sidney--letting you try driving back to Maine."
"I admire the way you think, Peggy."
"I hope that's not the only thing you admire about me."
"Far from it." Hawkeye shifted onto his back again so that he could see Peggy's face. "Look, Peggy, I hope I didn't upset you too much last night. I mean, I'm not totally clear why I did what I did--I should be able to say it, shouldn't I?--I don't know why I slashed my wrists, except that it seemed like it was the only thing I could do; but I can see that BJ's angry with me, and I can understand that, but it's not something I can deal with right now."
"Hawkeye, it's okay. I think I might be able to guess why, from what you've said, and heaven knows there was a time or two while BJ was in Korea that I thought I'd do the same thing myself."
"I'd thought about it before. I think I might have done it out there, once or twice, if it wasn't--well, if BJ hadn't been there. At first, when Trapper and Henry were there, it wasn't so bad, but later, when Henry was dead, there was only BJ."
"What happened to Trapper?"
"He--I don't want to talk about it. BJ and Sidney'll be back in a minute."
Peggy added `Trapper' to her mental list of things Hawkeye wouldn't talk about, after `the war', and `going back to work'. "Yeah. Look, if I side with you and try and convince them that you'll be better off at home, will you promise me that you'll make some appointments with Sidney, go see him and talk to him?"
Hawkeye thought for a moment, and then said, "Alright. If you insist."
"I do." She bent down and kissed him. "You know I care about you, don't you?"
Quietly, Hawkeye said, "Yeah. Thanks, Peggy."
Out in the corridor--Sidney had been hoping they'd make it to a private room, but no such luck--BJ asked snappily, "What is it, Sidney?"
"I know you're angry, BJ, and that's fine; but I don't think Hawkeye's ready to deal with your feelings yet. He's having enough trouble with his own."
"I know that, Sidney. But he needs to know--and damn it, if he knew how much I care about him, it might help!" BJ paused, and then went on more quietly, "Not that I got the `I care about you' message across very well, did I?"
"Perhaps you're not going to be able to for a while. Look, BJ, I get the feeling I don't have all the facts here--I thought Hawkeye's home was Maine? And you do know--you are aware--that he's fallen in love, aren't you?"
"Yes, I can figure that. It's as well for him I feel the same way."
Sidney did a visible double-take. "Err... could you just clarify that one a little?"
"It's a bit complicated. I... I fell in love with him in Korea--we were best friends out there, lovers even. It always seemed like a fine line between them: in the war where everything's physical, that has to include love. I thought I'd be able to leave him behind when I came back, make a clean break--but I couldn't. I couldn't let go of him. Eventually, Peggy figured out why I was so distracted, why I talked about him so much, and she--bless her--suggested he could come over."
"Shall we continue this conversation somewhere more private?"
"Sure." They slipped into the next consulting room along, thankfully empty at this hour.
"So--your wife suggested that you bring your lover to stay?"
"Yeah. There's a reason I love her, you know."
"You're still in love with her?"
"Of course."
"Okay. What happened?"
"Hawkeye came, we worked out a way to get three people into one double bed--it's a natural step up from getting two in a army cot--and there's been the odd argument, but for the most part I thought we were doing okay. Until last night, that is."
"How long has this been?"
"A few weeks--no, it must be a month and a half. Since early September, because Erin had just gone back to school when Hawkeye came."
"That's pretty amazing."
"Is that your professional opinion, or just general comment?"
"Just comment. Professionally, I think that you've got something pretty amazing going, something I've never heard of before--and I think that if anyone can make it work, you can. What Hawkeye did wasn't about you, or even about Peggy. It was about the war, and about how he's dealing (or not dealing) with it; and about his working as a surgeon again. In fact, I wonder if this might not have come to a head now precisely because this--what is it? A three-way relationship?"
"That's about it."
"This relationship is working so well. He can rely on you and Peggy to catch him when he falls--he wouldn't have done this in Maine, because he couldn't put his father through it--but it's something he needs to sort out, and you're offering a safe space in which he can do that."
"He's trying to deal with what the war has done to him when I'm around, because he knows that I can cope with that? Because I was there?"
Sidney nodded. "I think so."
"Damn."
"If you can't handle it..."
"No, no. I can handle it. If I know that's what he needs me to do, I can do it. I only wish I knew that before I went in there and shouted at him. That's only going to have made it worse."
"An apology may be in order."
"Yeah--and also? I should take him home, like he said. If you're right, and what he needs is a safe space to sort this out in, that's going to be at home, with me and Peg, and not here."
"What about Erin?"
"I think she needs a holiday. At least a week, possibly a fortnight. If I tell my parents that Peggy and I need some time alone, I bet they'll have Erin over a while. And it's not like I'll be lying to them, exactly."
"Sounds like a good plan to me," Sidney said. "Shall we go back and talk to Hawkeye and Peggy again?"
"Here they come. Look busy."
Peggy grinned, as much happiness at knowing that Hawkeye's sense of humour was on the mend as at the joke, and moved back into her chair.
When BJ opened the door, Peggy was staring out of the window, and Hawkeye had closed his eyes again. "Peggy, love, are you alright?"
"I'm fine, BJ." They exchanged a smile, and then BJ moved on to stand by Hawkeye. "Hawk? I'm sorry I shouted out you."
Hawkeye opened his eyes and looked up at BJ. "I'm sorry, too."
"Look, Hawkeye--I care about you, okay? More than that--I love you." Hawkeye didn't respond, just looked into the blue eyes above him. "Did you hear that, Hawkeye? I love you."
Finally, Hawkeye said, "I heard." He looked away from BJ then, his eyes filling with tears. "Now what are you going to do? Let your buddy Terry pack me off the psychiatry ward where Dr. Rossi can stop by and badger me in his lunch break?"
BJ was about to reply, but the door swung open again. Two minutes shy of the half hour he'd promised, Dr Neider had returned. "I know I'm early, but I'm going off duty in five minutes, and I'd really like to have Hawkeye moved somewhere slightly more sensible by then."
Peggy began, "How about..." and BJ said, "Don't worry, I'll..." They stopped, looked at each other, both trying to convey `back off', and went on; "taking him home?" Peggy said, and "take him home," finished BJ.
Neider looked from one to the other. "I don't think that's a good idea," he said. "Not at all."
"Look, Terry, I'll take care of him."
Peggy frankly stared at her husband, who shrugged. "He's right--rest at home is likely to do him a lot more good. I'm owed a week's leave anyway, and Erin can go to my parents' for a while. We've got some sorting out to do." The way he said the words `sorting out' made Terry realise that there was a lot of inter-personal dynamic he was missing here.
"Okay, whatever. Let me take the IV tube out and then you can do what you like with him."
Hawkeye grinned, and gave Peggy a surreptitious wink.
Saturday evening. Hawkeye is sleeping a lot; Sidney tells us that it's a classic symptom of depression. It's been, what--two days now?--yes, it was Thursday evening when he slashed his wrists. He dozed most of Friday, and then last night he had nightmares. I've seen him have bad dreams before; I've seen him restless, exhausted, drunk, but never as upset as he was then.
Perhaps the worst part was that he seemed unable to explain what he was dreaming about, though he clearly remembered. I guess it was the war, but how it could be worse now, in dreams, than it was when we were out there I don't know. My dreams are bad, but I tell Peg as best I can, and the telling makes them unreal.
I dreamed last night, when I finally slept, but not of the war: blood, but not in Korea, not even in surgery. In my own house, the blood of the man I love. We tried to clean the room yesterday--it's nearly an impossible task--and it invaded my dreams. I wonder if we'll ever make it fit to sleep in again. I don't see Hawkeye going in there ever, let alone as his bedroom.
Somehow, Peggy seems to understand what he's going through. I see that my presence calms him, but I don't know why, or how; I can't stay long, because I don't know what I can do to help. I suspect (when I can't sleep, because I'm lying next to him, in the light because he can't stand the dark, and the darkness takes me anyway) that it was I who sparked this off--that he did this because of the message I brought from Rossi, and that by working myself I made his life harder.
I need to know what I can do to help. I can't stand by and let him suffer, but I don't what to do to take away the pain.
"Can I have a word, Peggy?" They stood together in the corridor, embracing.
"Of course, BJ. Where's Sidney?"
"Asleep on the couch downstairs. He said to call if we needed him, but I'm hoping we'll be quieter tonight. How's Hawkeye been?"
"Dozing, mostly. I think he's asleep at the moment, but since when he wakes up he doesn't bother to open his eyes, it's hard to tell. I'm worried, BJ. I don't think we're out of the woods yet."
Peggy linked her hands behind BJ's head, twining them into his hair, and pulled him down for a kiss, as Hawkeye had done only two nights before. When she let him surface again, he frowned. "Why do I get the feeling that I'm letting you pull me around?"
"Because you are?" she suggested, smiling. "Look, BJ--how tired are you?"
"I've been tireder. Why?"
"Well, I'm thinking we need to do something to get Hawkeye out of this--this pit of depression or whatever it is he's fallen into. And I have an idea, but I need you to help me."
"Anything you need, honey. Especially if it'll help Hawkeye."
"Okay. Here's my plan of attack."
"Looks like a nail."
"BJ."
"Sorry, honey. I'm operating on a limited sense of humour."
"Well, you're the surgeon."
"Very good, Peggy."
"Here's the plan, then..."
Sunday morning. My wife is a genius. Okay, so I may be a little biased here, but who cares? Here's my evidence. All of us got some real sleep last night, even Hawkeye. There was just one nightmare, early this morning, but he calmed down fairly quickly, even though he still couldn't tell us what it was about. And can you guess how she achieved this?
For all that men are supposed to have single track minds, I hadn't even considered it. I'd barely thought about Peggy that way since before I came home on Thursday, and not about Hawkeye at all. Perhaps switching him to `patient' to deal with the crisis got in the way. I don't know. Anyway--the plan was simple. Sex. I don't know how she came up with it, and I'm not sure I need to. All she did was take me in there, kiss me until Hawkeye woke up, and then we included him in it.
At first, he refused. "Can't I go back to sleep, BJ?" but Hawkeye's not really the type to turn down an offer, and he soon gave in. It took all of us a while--we had to readjust somewhat, and make allowances for each other, and get over the tensions we all felt--but when we did? Oh, boy.
Nobody's going to read this, right? I need to write it, but it's not something I want the whole world to know about.
We took Hawkeye in a pincer movement--Peggy on one side, me on the other. In the past, we'd had a similar arrangement, but with me in the centre, and I was slightly surprised to discover how pleasurable it was being on the outside.
He'd woken--a slight quickening of breath, a different pattern of movement under his eyelids--and when Peggy nodded, I kissed him. Not too hard, just a firm kiss on his closed mouth. Peggy's hand touched mine as I ran it over his chest.
"Hawkeye?" I whispered, "Hawk, I think we should spend a little quality time."
There was no verbal reply, but ever muscle in his body tensed as if he was preparing to ward off an attack. "Relax. It's only me and Peg. You can trust us."
I kissed him again, gently. This time we both opened our eyes at the end. His were dark, even in the glare of the overhead light, and filled with tears--I suspect mine were, too.
Peggy rested one hand on my shoulder in mute encouragement. I pulled back about two inches, far enough to clearly look at him, and said, "Hawkeye--I love you. Is that okay?"
For a moment, there was a silence so loud I was sure it would wake Sidney, if not the whole town. The, slowly, Hawkeye nodded. He looked at me as if I was a miracle, before shutting his eyes again and taking a deep breath, combating sobs. So far, I thought, so good. Even the army has to take things by stages. I kissed him again, and this time his mouth opened under mine.
In two days, I'd forgotten how he tastes, how it feels to have him arch into me. The sweetest thing ever. I don't know how to describe it--it's not something I have words for, really. Oh, I can tell you the physical side, in detail (I am a doctor, after all), but that's not what I want to record, what I want to remember. What I want to remember is the feeling, as I press myself into him; the sensations--his hands on my back, hungry; his mouth, kissing, licking, nipping, whispering; his legs around my waist--and the sounds: Peggy panting with desire, just watching me touch him; his moans and mumbles, directing, encouraging, demanding.
The smell, too. And the way he tastes--sweet and salty, sweat and semen and saliva.
Even the memory of it is exciti...
"BJ? Where are you?"
"In here, love. Who was it on the telephone?"
"Still writing that letter? Um--that was your mother. Jay's not well, and she's bringing Erin back. I said that was fine."
"Yeah, that's fine. What's wrong with him, did she say?"
"No--just that he wasn't well enough to handle having Erin around."
"It's probably that chest infection he hasn't gotten rid of. I told her he should see a doctor."
"I think it was him who opposed that, rather than her. You might have to go over there and try and convince him."
"I'm not sure that'll be easy."
"Ask Sidney to go with you. Between you, you should be able to convince him."
"Yeah--Sidney's good at persuasion. Are you sure you can manage here, with Erin and Hawkeye?"
"It won't be that tough. Erin's fairly well behaved, and Hawkeye's sitting on the veranda reading. I don't think they'll be trouble."
"Okay, love. Thanks."
"Here's Bea and Erin now."
I've got to go. My father's ill with who knows what--why does it have to be now? Everything's just piling up on me!
"Hawkeye?" Erin had been back for an hour or so, when Peggy stepped out onto the veranda, where Hawkeye was still reading and Erin was playing some complex game with her dolls.
"Yes?" He looked up from his book--The Last of the Mohicans. Comfort reading, Peggy guessed.
"I need to walk round to the corner shop--I've run out of sugar and a couple of other things. Can you watch Erin for a few minutes?"
"Of course, Peggy."
"Thanks, Hawkeye. I won't be long."
Sunday evening: I spent most of today with Dad. When Sidney and I got there, only minutes behind Mom (oh, it was silly, her bringing Erin all the way across town and back, but she can't be shaken from her plans sometimes), he was having trouble breathing. We took him straight into the hospital--the second time I've had to take someone, in much too little time--and they've steadied his condition. Sidney's there, too. Mom's taken quite a shine to him!
Then, when I came home--lunchtime or thereabouts, I guess--I find a lot has been happening in my absence. As far as I can piece the story together, Peggy went round the corner for some stuff for lunch, leaving Hawkeye to watch Erin--I have to say, I do wonder what she was thinking, but anyway. They've all survived--who was playing in the garden, running up and down. On one sprint, she tripped and fell, skinning her hands on the gravel path, and began to cry. From the way Hawkeye described it, I think he nearly joined in--but like me, he found that it's quite possible to let medical instinct take over.
He carried her into the kitchen, sat her on the counter, cleaned her up, and tried to calm her down--without a lot of luck.
About this point, Peg and I came back. Driving home, I saw Peggy walking back from the shop, and gave her a lift the last few hundred yards. When I stopped the car in the drive, we heard Erin wailing. All sorts of visions flashed through my head, and we both ran for the house.
When we got to the kitchen, Erin screamed louder. Peggy rushed to her, so Hawkeye seemed to be my concern. Our eyes met, and then my arms were suddenly full of sobbing stoop-shouldered doctor. "It's okay, Hawkeye. It's over now," I said, with no clear idea of what had gone on.
It's only a little kitchen, and when Peggy tried to move round in order to find a dressing for Erin's hands, it was too small. "Come on, Hawk. Let's go into the other room." He didn't look up, or stop weeping, but he let me guide him through to the living room. Once we were there, I stopped moving and simply held him until the storm passed.
"Beej..." he began when he could speak.
"It's okay, Hawkeye." I ran my hand in circles over his back, trying to soothe and calm him.
"Thanks." He was silent for a moment more, leaning on me, then his hands balled into fists on my chest. "BJ, I need to tell you this."
"Go ahead."
"The dreams I've been having--they're not about the war. Well, some of them are, but that's not the important part. They're about Trapper, and Carlye, and sometimes my mother." At last we find out! I thought there was more misery than fear in them.
"Hawkeye..."
"I'm sorry, Beej." He started to pull away from me, but I didn't let him go.
"Hawkeye, why be sorry? You haven't done anything wrong. It's okay."
"Really?"
"Really. I love you, remember?"
"Yeah." He relaxed against me, and stood there for a while, before leaning back again--but only far enough to look me my face. "What happened with your father? Is he okay?"
And there was my Hawkeye back again--worrying about other people, caring and loving and smiling when I told him how well mom and Sidney got on. Whatever happens to dad, I feel better for knowing that I've got Hawkeye back.
Then Peggy called lunch, and we sat down to eat, a family. I looked round at them--Peggy's blonde head, only a shade darker than Erin's; Hawkeye's dark hair and smile, that actually reached his eyes; and Erin, chatting away in some language of her own devising in between stuffing her mouth with food. I'm worried about my father, I know Hawkeye still has things to deal with, and I don't want to think about that fact that I'm going to have to go back to work soon, but all the same, I'm happy here.
Part Three: Exasperating
Tuesday morning dawned bright and clear over the west coast of America, and lit four Hunnicutts, one Pierce, and one Freedman as they ate their breakfast, opened their mail and worried about the absent fifth Hunnicutt.
"He's in the best hospital there is, mom," BJ said, comfortingly, with just a touch of pride. Hawkeye nearly said something about Dr. Rossi, but managed to bite his tongue in time.
"Who was your mail from, Hawkeye?" Peggy asked, wanting to talk about something less stressful.
"One from my father, and one he was forwarding."
"From an army buddy?" Mrs Hunnicutt senior guessed.
"You could say that."
"So who is it?"
"No-one you met, Beej."
"Anyone I know?" enquired Sidney, but unfortunately his voice was drowned by the strident tones of Bea Hunnicutt, demanding, "Beej? /Beej/? What sort of a nickname is that?"
"It's just a nickname, mom. Do you want some more toast?"
"Look, son. We gave you a name, and you should be proud of it. And your friends should use it."
The inflection Bea put on the word `friends' was not lost on most of her listeners. Neither was the fact that it could be meant in more than one way. Hawkeye and Peggy exchanged glances, quickly curtailed to prevent giggles, Sidney grinned knowingly (luckily, into his toast), and BJ tried, without much success, to hide a look of discomfort.
"We should probably be going, Mrs Hunnicutt," Sidney said, stepping in to rescue BJ as soon as he could. "I'll drop you at the hospital, but then I want to be off. The folks in San Francisco will be wondering where I am."
"Thanks, Sidney."
"That's alright, BJ," Sidney told him, standing up and helping Bea with her chair, before opening the door for her.
"You'll telephone if you need a lift or anything, won't you, mom?"
"Of course, honeybun."
BJ blushed, and Hawkeye bit his tongue again, until he heard the front door shut behind them--then he let out a whoop worthy of one of the Indians his namesake lived with. "Honeybun! She complains about me calling you Beej, and then she calls you honeybun!"
"Peggy?" BJ asked, "Do you want me to start washing up?"
"Thank you, love. Erin, come on. We need to get you dressed."
Left alone at the table, Hawkeye sat silently for a moment, then shrugged and followed Peggy upstairs.
"I really upset BJ just now, didn't I?" he asked her, watching her attempt to pull some clothes onto Erin.
"He's worried about his father," she told him. "Pass me that hairbrush, would you? Erin, I don't know what you do to get your hair in this state."
"It looks like she ran through a hedge," Hawkeye observed.
"One that was coated with jam, possibly," Peggy agreed, brushing hard. "Are you planning on getting dressed at all today?"
"Why bother?"
"You're a bad example to Erin, for starters."
"Maybe you should dress me."
Peggy glared at him, not deigning to reply within Erin's hearing, and went on brushing.
Downstairs, BJ was just drying his hands when the phone rang. "Hello?"
"Hi--it's Radar here. Err, BJ..."
"What is it, Radar?"
"I just spoke to Trapper--you never met him-- and he wants to speak to Hawkeye. I didn't think I should just give him your number, but if I could, then he could ring you and speak to Hawkeye. If that makes any sense."
"Tell you what, Radar, why don't you give me Trapper's number, and then I can see if Hawkeye wants to ring him?"
"Okay."
"Let me get a pencil."
Once the number had been dictated, BJ was about to put the phone down, but Radar asked, "Do you suppose he will? Talk to Trapper, I mean?"
"I hope so, Radar. I think it would be better for both of them if he did."
"Thanks, BJ."
"You're welcome."
When he'd put the telephone down, BJ went to talk to the rest of his family.
"Peggy?"
"Yes?" she answered, looking out from Erin's room. "There--you'll do, Erin. You can go and play now."
"Look, dad!" Erin said--"All neat!"
"Aren't you just? Very neat. Perhaps you'd better not go and play--that way you'll stay tidy," BJ teased.
"Nasty dad. I'm going to go play," she told him, firmly, and dived back into her room for her toy box.
"Is Hawkeye there?" BJ asked Peggy.
"Yes, I'm here," Hawkeye himself answered from the double bedroom.
"Can I talk to you?"
"Sure--why don't you come in here?"
"Okay."
Once they were all in the bedroom, and fairly sure that Erin was okay (not that she was quiet--no, building blocks turned out to be the order of the day, and they had to stand close to each other to be heard. Thought it can't be said that they complained about that), BJ told them about the call.
"It was Radar, saying that Trapper was trying to get in touch. I've taken his number, Hawkeye, so when you're ready, you can call him."
"I don't want to," Hawkeye said. "Not now, not ever."
"He was your best friend. I remember you telling me about him."
"You don't know anything." Hawkeye turned away, going to stand at the window again.
"What's your problem, Hawkeye? Why don't you want to talk to him?"
"He left without saying goodbye, for one thing."
"And for another?"
"He... you'll... trust me, I don't want to talk to him, and you don't want me to talk to him either."
"Hawkeye, that doesn't make any sense," Peggy said. "He was your friend. Why would we not want you to talk to him?"
"You don't understand!" Hawkeye said, trying not to shout and very much afraid that he'd failed. He pushed past BJ and walked out, storming down the stairs in search of somewhere he could be alone.
Peggy and BJ watched him go, then looked at one another. "What could all that have been about?" Peggy asked.
BJ frowned, thinking, and then it came to him. "I bet--I'll lay money on this, I really would--that Trapper was a bit more than a friend to Hawkeye. You know, the way he was my `friend'? It's friendship, but it's a bit more than that."
"And he's still in love with Trapper, at least a bit, and he's afraid we're going to be jealous. Just like you were."
"Yeah. That makes sense, doesn't it?"
"What can we do, though?"
"Get him to talk to Trapper?"
"And make sure he knows that we're okay with how he feels."
"Um... Peggy?"
"What?"
"We might want to decide at what point this little thing we have going stops expanding. Because while I love having you /and/ Hawkeye, and I'm fine with Hawkeye still having feelings for Trapper, there's no way I want to do for Trapper what you did for Hawkeye--three's company, fine, but four? Too many."
"I see what you mean. I don't think Hawkeye's going to think like that, though--if he sees a choice at all, it's between talking to Trapper and staying with us. He probably doesn't even realise that's what he thinks is the choice."
"Hawkeye isn't the most self-aware of people, sometimes. He still doesn't understand why Carlye didn't marry him, I think."
"Carlye?"
"A nurse he was in love with. She turned him down once; he'd just moved on--and if we're right about Trapper, moved on and effectively been dropped again--when she turns up at the 4077th to make his life a little bit less bearable. It was very, very hard for him."
"And why didn't she marry him?"
"Two reasons, really--and I'm certain of this, because we talked one night while she was waiting for Hawkeye to finish surgery." BJ paused, smiling. "It was just after she left that I had sex with him for the first time. She didn't marry him because he wasn't ready to commit, and also because it was obvious that even if they were married, he was still going to go looking for other company."
"Other men?"
"I guess so. She didn't say that, but it would make a lot of sense."
"Yeah." Peggy thought for a moment, and then went on, "Look. We aren't going to make Hawkeye talk to Trapper by just saying `you really should', are we?"
"It sounds to me like you have a plan, love."
"Then you're listening right. If we..." From the next room came an enormous crash. "Erin!" Peggy shouted, running for the door.
They found Erin sitting happily in front of a jumble of bricks. "They all fell down!" she exclaimed, which was apparently what she'd intended.
"Yes, darling. Look, BJ, Erin should be in school. It was one thing to take her out for a day, but it doesn't make sense to keep her out today. Can you walk her round there? Just tell the teacher than her grandfather's ill, they'll take that."
"Not /exactly/ lying, huh? Okay, Peggy. When I come back, we'll finish our talk. Now, Erin, how'd you like to go to school today?"
While BJ and Peggy sorted themselves out, Hawkeye had tried to find something to do. He'd tried to go back to reading his book, but found that he couldn't concentrate; and that the same was true if he tried to read the letters he'd received. So he sat on the veranda, staring down the garden at the wooden fence, and tried not to weep.
He wanted to talk to Trapper. Trapper had even wanted to talk to him. But if BJ knew that Trapper had been more than just a friend, or if Trapper knew that BJ and Peggy were more than just friends, they wouldn't want him anymore. That was why Carlye left, because he still had feelings for other people.
Well, if he didn't talk to Trapper, he could stay here, and that was worth--more than he could imagine. Never mind all the tea in China, there couldn't be anything more precious in the world.
Having reached that conclusion, he took the letters out of his pocket again, hoping that news from Crabapple Cove would be comforting, even if it wasn't home any more.
The first one, forwarded from Maine but post marked in Texas, was from Lyle--and was short, rough, and sweet, if one knew which lines to read between.
//Hawkeye,
You gave me your address so we could be penpals after the war: the war's over, so here I am, the guy you saved.
If you ever need a favour, or someplace to stay down south, let me know.
Yours,
Lyle.//
Hawkeye smiled--Lyle was a good guy, if not his type, and seeing Frank being twirled would always be one of the better moments of the war. And it was good to know that a man he'd saved in surgery really had made it for longer than a few hours back at the front--he did wonder what happened to them, and all too often he feared that what he'd done was just send them back to hell.
He moved on to the next letter--from Daniel.
//Dear Hawkeye,
I hope you're well, and that you're having a good time with your friend. I have exciting news for you--I don't have the telephone number, but I can't wait until you get home.
You remember Ella Ingram, the widow who lives across the street? You used to call her daughter, Katherine, your sister. Well, she's going to be your step-sister for real. Ella's agreed to marry me!
This has been coming for years--you're old enough now to look back and see that--we've been friends for years (we met soon after your mother died, because she moved here when you were about eleven), and it seems only sensible to spend our retirements together. Plus, she's a very good looking woman!
The wedding is to be in December, the 18th, we hope. We're too old to be waiting for spring to come. It's only four weeks away, but I'm sure you'll be home by then.
Come home--and bring a friend with you! Or someone who's a bit more than a friend, if you like--Katherine's been married for eight years now, and it's time I had some grandchildren too.
Much love,//
He didn't get as far as reading the signature--BJ was opening the back door and looking out, to say, "I'm just going to walk Erin round to school. We'll talk when I get back, okay?"
Hawkeye nodded, not trusting himself to speak. BJ disappeared again. Reading the last line again, "//it's time I had some grandchildren too,//" Hawkeye rapidly decided he needed a drink.
When Peggy had put her makeup on, she came down, to find Hawkeye introducing himself to the liquor cabinet and its contents.
"Hawkeye? What are you looking for?"
"Frogs. What does it look like?"
"If you're after alcohol, I have to say that I think it's a bad plan."
"It's a good plan," Hawkeye said, defensively, and took the top off a bottle of Scotch.
Peggy made a grab for the bottle and got it with one hand. They wrestled briefly, but between Hawkeye's stronger arms and Peggy's fears for the carpet, he quickly won.
"Okay, have a little," she said. She nearly added an ultimatum about not getting drunk in her house, before realising that if Hawkeye wanted to get drunk, he would, and it was probably going to be easier if he stayed in.
The last thing she wanted to do was give him the idea that she'd throw him out--that would just undo all the work she was putting in to trying to make him feel safe.
He took a mouthful, perhaps slightly less that he might have done because it was permitted, and regarded her seriously. "Peggy, can I tell you something?"
"Of course. May I sit down first?"
"Yeah." She moved to sit on the sofa, and Hawkeye opposite her, leaning his forehead on the cool glass of a display cabinet. He looked utterly miserable.
"Hawkeye, what is it?"
"The letter--from dad. He's getting married."
That clearly made complete sense to Hawkeye, but Peggy struggled for a moment to remember the details of his family situation. //His mom died, didn't she? I think BJ said something like that.// "Ah," she said, hoping that more details would be forthcoming.
"To Mrs Ingram across the road. She was widowed just before mom died, and moved to our road a couple of years after that. I've been teasing him about her for years--calling her `mom' and her daughter, Katherine, `sis'. I thought it was just a joke, but it turns out to be closer than I'd thought to the truth. Dad's getting married, and Kathy's been married for years, and he wants to know when I'm getting married. When he'll have grandchildren."
Clearly not one for the list of things Hawkeye wouldn't talk about, then. "I see."
"And BJ's married, and Trapper's married, and Carlye got married--and not to me--and even Klinger's married, for heaven's sake! What's wrong with me?"
"Nothing," BJ said from the doorway. They hadn't even heard him come in. "You're perfect, remember? How often do I have to tell you that?"
Hawkeye didn't say anything, just stared into the bottom of the bottle, blinking back tears. BJ went and sat next to him, resting an arm on his shoulders. "What's all this, then?" Hawkeye handed him the letter, silently, and took another mouthful of Scotch.
"That's happy news, really," BJ said when he finished the letter. "Your dad'll be better off with someone to look after him."
"But the end," Hawkeye said. "What he says at the end. However happy Ella makes him, he's going to hate me for not being the son he wants."
BJ handed the letter to Peggy (who'd moved to sit on the floor in front of Hawkeye, where she could look at them both comfortably) and put both arms around Hawkeye. "I don't think he's going to hate you, Hawkeye--whether you just say `I'm not ready yet', or whether we come too, and you tell him the truth."
"You'd do that?" Hawkeye asked.
"Yes," BJ said, and Peggy nodded her agreement.
Hawkeye looked back and forth between them for a moment, and then put the Scotch bottle down, very, very carefully.
Watching every movement, BJ held his breath, panicking, wondering if he'd said the wrong thing; and Peggy was close to breaking the silence, when Hawkeye spoke again.
"Thank you," he said, still very carefully, making every move very precise, as if he was afraid something would shatter, "but I don't think you understand."
BJ nearly screamed, but luckily Peggy got in with a much calmer, "Why don't you explain, Hawkeye?"
"Okay, I will," he said, and now the words weren't the torrent they'd been when he told Peggy about the letter. They became bricks, building a wall between him and his lovers. "It's easy for you, isn't it? You've got a home, and you're married, and you've got a daughter and a place in the world. You're a surgeon or a housewife and a parent, and you know what's going on.
"I don't have that. I don't have a home--I can't live here, and Crabapple Cove asks too many questions. All I've got is some left over feelings--surplus from the war--that mean I'm still in love with the friend I hate because he left, and with you, and I can't work because it all goes wrong and I can't even calm a six year old down; and a head that's so full of trying to hide that even I can't find me.
"I've got nothing. Nothing. I'm not anybody--in Korea I stayed somebody, even when I was crazy. Now... I'm barely even real."
Something in the words and the apathetic, detached tone that they were spoken in pushed BJ over the edge. "You're not real? You're not real? I assure you, Hawkeye Pierce, you're real. Come on, let me show you." He stood, pulling Hawkeye up with him. Gripping him firmly by the wrist, BJ pulled Hawkeye out of the chair, up the stairs, and into the blood-splattered room that had still not been cleaned.
"You're real, Hawkeye. You did this. This is your blood, your real blood, that nearly scared me to death. You are as real as they come. I love you, and you tried to kill yourself, and that only scares me more--but I know it's real. Korea was real, what we had out there was real, and what we have here is real. Remember the other night, in bed? That was real, too. We did that, because we love you.
"I don't know what's going on back at Crabapple Cove, but I do know this. I love you, Peggy loves you, and I'm pretty convinced that you love us. This is your room--I'm not letting you cover it with blood and then get out of cleaning it. This is your room, this is your house, this is your home. These are all real things, Hawkeye, and they're yours. Got that?"
Peggy took over, standing in the doorway next to her husband. "You did help Erin, you know. You were there and helped her up, took the gravel out of her cut. She wasn't as upset as I might have expected, given what happened. She tends to scream any time she's hurt, until you give her something to eat."
Hawkeye stood there, back to them, looking around the room. Finally he turned to look at them. "This /is/ real, isn't it? You're right. This is real. I love you--both of you--and you're really offering me a home."
"That's right," Peggy confirmed.
"What do I have to do to keep it?" Hawkeye asked, still a little bewildered that anyone would offer.
"Two things," Peggy said. "One: phone Trapper."
"And two," BJ added, "Kiss me."
"Do I get to choose what order?"
"No," Peggy told him, grinning. "I choose. Number two now."
Just to be difficult, Hawkeye kissed her first.
Two hours later, BJ handed Hawkeye the phone and a scrap of paper. "Here's the number. Phone Trapper. Peggy and I are in the kitchen."
Hawkeye stuck his tongue out at BJ's back, and then dialled with fingers that shook, just slightly.
In Boston, a telephone rang. Once... twice... if it rings ten times and nobody answers, Hawkeye thought, I'm off the hook, and then smiled at his own pun... three times... four...
"Hello?" Trapper's voice. He'd know it anywhere.
He took a deep breath. "Trapper?"
"Hawkeye? How are you? I've been trying to get in touch!"
"Not soon enough. You could have written."
"I'm sorry, Hawkeye."
"That isn't enough. Goodbye, Trap."
Hawkeye put the phone down before Trapper could say anything else. It was bad the first time Trap broke his heart, but now it seemed to be getting even worse. At least he'd said his goodbye, even if Trapper hadn't replied.
//You didn't give him a chance,// said a voice in the back of his mind. //You could be friends with him again, if you'd let him try and make things right//, but Hawkeye was practised at ignoring that voice. He countered by wondering whether he could sneak through to the living room and his Scotch bottle without Peg and Beej knowing what he was doing.
In the kitchen, BJ whispered, "Is that good enough for us?"
"He tried," Peggy replied. "It'll do for now."
"Then let's go back, before he heads for the Scotch again."
They walked back in just as Hawkeye stood up--and as the telephone rang. BJ went to answer it, but Peggy poked his back (grabbing his arm would have given the game away to Hawkeye), and BJ stopped moving. They looked at Hawkeye, and Hawkeye looked at them, and then at the telephone.
"Aren't you going to answer it?" he said, after a few rings. "It's your telephone."
"It's yours, too," Peggy said. "Your house, your home, your telephone to answer."
"What if it's Trapper?" Hawkeye asked, hoping she'd take pity on him.
"Then you talk to Trapper," she told him.
He considered arguing, but then decided that he was unlikely to win. "Hello?"
"Hawkeye? It's Radar here."
"Oh, hello, Radar. How are you?"
"I'm fine. Look, some of the guys are trying to get a reunion going, and they've got me to organize it."
"Who better? What do you need me for?"
"We want you and BJ to come. It's in Chicago. Place called Adam's Ribs? I think you know it."
"Indeed I do, Radar! You remembered!"
"I have my moments. It's on the tenth of December. Can you be there?"
"I'll find a way, Radar. For Adam's Ribs, I'll do anything."
"I thought you might say that, sir."
"None of that, now, Radar. I'll be there. Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"So," Peggy said, sitting in the armchair again, and wondering if she wanted a drink, too, "what you're really proposing is a road trip. You want us to come with you all the way across America, first to Chicago for the reunion, and then to Crabapple Cove for your father's wedding."
"I'd want to go to the reunion anyway, Peg," BJ pointed out. "We'd be considering it even if Hawkeye wasn't here."
"That's true. I'm willing to go; but there are two problems. One, your father; and two, Erin."
"In four weeks, then, I want to be in Chicago. Once we're there, it seems stupid to come home again, only for Hawkeye--and possibly one or both of us--to go back to Maine for the wedding."
"BJ, I'm not disputing that. I'm thinking about your father, and Erin."
"By the time we have to leave, dad will be over this latest bout of whatever."
Hawkeye, sitting in the corner, too far away from the drinks cabinet by far--because Peggy and BJ, by some subtle manoeuvring, had put themselves between him and his desired one--had his doubts about BJ's father recovering, given what he'd heard, but he refrained from mentioning that.
"And Erin?"
"Erin comes with us. We can stop by your parents on the way--she hasn't seen them for more than a year--and it'll be a good experience for her."
"So, we're taking our daughter out of school, bundling all four of us into a car, and driving across the country."
"Yes."
"And you know the most annoying thing? There are all kinds of reasons--there must be all kinds of reasons--why it's stupid, and impractical, and irresponsible, and a hundred other terrible things, but for the life of me I can't think what they are, let alone argue that they should stop us going."
"So we'll go?"
"Okay."
"I think we should have a drink to celebrate," Hawkeye commented from his corner.
"I think we should go out to lunch," BJ countered.
They glared at each other briefly, before Peggy said, "You two are out to lunch alright. I have a much better plan--while Erin's not here, let's take advantage of that."
Her meaning was fairly obvious from her smile. "You mean lunch in bed?" Hawkeye said, grinning.
She winked at him, and they both looked at BJ. "Now there's a fine plan," he answered, and then added, "We've still got some of that cream, haven't we?"
Part Four: Exploring
//December 5th, Sunday evening. We leave for Chicago in the morning; dad is at home as of last night, and my sister will let us know if he gets worse. Packing has been a nightmare--Peggy's good at it, so I just follow her lead, trying to help, but Erin and Hawkeye are mostly good at getting in the way. They're both excited (even over-excited) about this trip, and now Erin's warmed to Hawkeye a little it's as bad as having two children in the house.
Back in Korea, I used to daydream about being home, and one of the things my daydreams tended to include was Peggy and me having another kid. Now, I think we don't need one. We've got Hawkeye instead, which is at worst the same and at best a lot more fun.
He's in the next room now, reading a bedtime story to Erin, while I write and Peggy puts the finishing touches to the packing--checking her list one last time. You know, I never realised how thin these walls are. I can hear almost every word Hawkeye says.
There's a lesson there, about making sure that Erin doesn't hear what we get up to, I'm sure.
I wonder if Peggy listened, the first night Hawkeye and I were together here? She said she'd put the radio on, but I don't remember hearing it. Not that it means a lot--I wasn't exactly concentrating on listening out.
He's finished the story--something involving Tigger looking for his breakfast. "Goodnight, Hawkeye," Erin says. He'll come in here next. Time to stop writing. One last night in our bed at home--I don't want to waste the time!//
At first, travelling was soothing. Erin was excited, but with three adults in the car, it wasn't a stress to keep her playing silly games. I-Spy wore out after six or eight rounds, so they moved on to `The Vicar's Cat'.
"You go round, and each person says, "The Vicar's Cat is..." something beginning with the next letter of the alphabet. Ideally, an adjective," Hawkeye explained.
"Where on earth did you learn that?"
"Oh, we used to play a version at medical school, in the very boring shifts. Not quite like this, but the idea's the same." He tried not to think about the man he'd played with--in oh so many senses--back then. Thinking about Trapper wouldn't help at all.
Peggy could guess, and didn't enquire further. "Okay--so if I'm starting, I say, `The Vicar's Cat is active,' or something like that."
"That's right. The Vicar's Cat is blue."
"Erin, are you playing?"
"Yes! C? The Vicar's Cat is... is... catty."
Hawkeye laughed. "Yes. BJ?"
"The Vicar's Cat is dirty."
"Nah, it's only dirty if you..." Peggy turned round to glare at Hawkeye, who closed his mouth.
"The Vicar's Cat is edible."
"You can't eat cats!" Erin cried.
It occurred to both Hawkeye and BJ that they'd probably eaten cat at some point, out in Korea, but, independently, they decided not to mention it.
"It's only a game, Erin. The Vicar's Cat is frosty."
They played on--when one game was boring, too hard, too easy or just too long, they thought of another, or returned to an old one. Eventually, though, trouble had to strike.
"I feel sick," Erin said.
"Oh?" Hawkeye checked her forehead. "It's probably just movement sickness. Try looking out of the window."
She tried. "It doesn't help."
"Are you really going to be sick?" Peggy asked.
"Yes, mom."
"I think she is," Hawkeye added. BJ stopped the car--just in time, as it turned out.
Erin scrambled out onto the scrubby ground at the side of the road, quickly followed by Hawkeye, and threw up. BJ and Peggy got out, but there wasn't anything they could do to help.
Holding Erin as she vomited, Hawkeye remembered the first time he'd done this for a Hunnicutt, the first day BJ spent in Korea, the first day after Trapper had left.
It didn't take that long; Erin was one of those children who could throw up and be ready to go again straight away. Soon enough, Peggy took her turn at the wheel, and they went on.
//Monday night. We're in a motel, watching the snowflakes drift down. I hope it's only the little snow storm the forecast promised, and not the full-blown thing we might expect. Otherwise, we could be stuck here for a day or two, if the weather isn't safe to drive in.
That, I am not looking forward to.
I am looking forward to the reunion, though; and more immediately, to spending the night with Peggy and Hawkeye--Erin's asleep already; poor girl, she had motion sickness this afternoon. Probably not helped by eating too much lunch.
Tuesday morning. The snow's melting quickly with the sun, so we're going on. Thank heaven for that!//
On Tuesday night, they couldn't find a place to stop, so they changed drivers--BJ's turn again--and kept going.
Driving through the night, they found, was an ideal time for talking. With the noise of the engine, Erin could sleep and they could talk, and while they kept it mild, it was still a very comfortable time, when there was room for deep thoughts, and time to express them.
Mostly, though, they hovered on the edge, meaningful but still playful, more about keeping each other company and the driver--BJ--awake than about debating life.
"Hawkeye?" BJ asked, when the conversation had flagged a little. Hawkeye shifted in the passenger seat.
"Yeah?" he said, trying to look at BJ and not out the window into the darkness. It wasn't light in the car, but there was a sense that the darkness inside was contained, and had Peggy and BJ in it. It wasn't dangerous, or trying to pull him in, the way the stuff outside was.
Outside was the darkness that hurt.
"Why /do/ you call me Beej?"
"It sounded right the first time I said it, and then it stuck."
"But why not stick to BJ?"
"You call me Hawk."
"I don't see what that has to do with anything."
"I don't see why you're worrying what /I/ call you. Your mother calls you `honeybun', for heaven's sake."
"Your father calls you `Hawkeye'. We're quits on the silly names front."
"It's a literary reference," said Hawkeye, defensively.
"And it could be worse," Peggy put in from the back seat. "There are other names in the book."
"There are," Hawkeye agreed.
"Did you have anything specific in mind?"
"He could be a Duncan or a David," she told her husband.
"Or," Hawkeye grinned, "I could be an Alice or a Cora."
"Or `La Longue Carabine'," Peggy said, and though they couldn't see it, they could tell she was smiling in that way that meant there was fun to be had.
Hawkeye, knowing what the nickname meant and seeing at once her meaning, took it as the compliment it was meant to be, but BJ was thoroughly confused. "What?"
"You've never read The Last of the Mohicans, have you, Beej?"
"No, I haven't."
"So much for pretending to be well read."
"Let me guess, that's where all these names are from."
"Yeah."
Peggy leaned forward and whispered in BJ's ear, "`La Longue Carabine' means `The long rifle'. It's the book-Hawkeye's nickname, but I'm sure you see how else it could be applied."
Hawkeye only half-heard this comment, but when BJ laughed he could guess its content.
"Yes, dear," BJ said, "I see where you're going with that. I think maybe we should save this line of thinking for when we've got a little more time to explore it properly."
"If you say so, Chingachgook," Hawkeye said, smirking.
//Wednesday morning. We've driven all night, me and Peggy taking turns at the wheel, sleeping in the back seat in between times. This is just a quick rest stop, and then we'll press on again. //
"I'm nearly asleep here," BJ admitted about four o'clock that afternoon. "Peg, can you take over?"
"We're only ten minutes or so from a little town. It's time to stop."
Sitting in the passenger seat, Hawkeye wondered briefly why they didn't ask him to drive, but decided it wasn't important.
"Intersection coming up, Peggy."
"Left here, then the first right. Then there should be a motel on our left."
"Okay."
//Wednesday evening. I fear things aren't going well for Hawkeye, despite our best efforts. He'd been quiet, almost silent all day--which in itself was odd--and then, at dinner tonight... well, I should tell it in order.
Erin was being silly, as she so often is, playing with her food and demanding attention. "Look, Hawkeye, I'm a rabbit,"--holding up two fries to be long ears.
Normally, he'd either say, "Aren't you going to eat those?" (frankly, the better option, as far as Peggy and I are concerned--less trouble that way), or grin and do something even sillier (thus adding fuel to the `we practically have two children already' argument).
But not tonight. Instead, he said (nearly shouted, really), "Oh, for heaven's sake, Erin! Stop being stupid!"
Naturally enough, Erin was upset. She started to cry, and Hawkeye got up and walked out--trying to stop himself making it worse, I think. I hope. I started to look after Erin, but Peggy said, "I'll take her. Go and find out what's wrong with him."
He'd headed for the bedroom, and was lying, curled up, on the double bed. His hands were in front of his face--not pressed up against it, but just lying on the pillow, so that he was looking at the cuts on his wrist. I was glad to note they are healing, slowly.
"Hawkeye?" No answer. When Hawkeye won't talk, I've learned, it's time to worry.
I sat down beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Hawkeye, it's okay." He tried to pull away from me, huddling down into the mattress. "You can relax. It's okay--I love you, and we'll get through this. It's okay."
He shook his head, just a little, denying it, and started to move away again. I rested one hand on his back, and let the other make its way over his shoulder, up his neck, to smooth his dark hair and lie on his forehead a moment, effectively keeping him still.
"We will. I'm promising you, this will get better." When did I become so confident? I don't know. Some of it is just the things I'm trained to say, what I'd say to a patient or their family. `I'm confident'. `You'll make it.' Mostly, they trust you, and it's true. "Hawkeye, talk to me. Or if you can't do that, then let me stay here until you can."
"Go away," he said, his voice low.
"At least you're talking to me."
"I mean it. Go away."
"I don't think I want to. Those cuts you're looking at? They happened when I left you alone, didn't they?"
"They weren't your fault." Said sullenly, that didn't sound nearly as reassuring as it looks written down.
"No. But if it happens again, it will be. So I'm staying."
"Why?"
"I just explained. I don't want you to hurt yourself."
"But why?"
"Because, Hawkeye Pierce, I love you."
He didn't reply--time to change the subject. "You want to tell me why you're in such a foul mood today?"
Silence.
"Then I'm going to guess. After the several hundred games of I-Spy I've played in the last few days, I'm getting quite good at a guessing. I think that you're tired, because we all are; I think you're nervous about the reunion, and about the wedding; I think you're worrying, and stressing over what's going to happen, and wondering what people are going to think of the fact that you aren't back at work yet, as well as what they'll say if they find out you slashed your wrists.
"I think you've worried so much in the last day or two that you've given yourself a headache--and knowing you, backache too--over it. Then you can convince yourself that it's only physical pain making you bad tempered, and not that you're anxious. I also know for a fact that you've hardly eaten today, which can't be helping."
He didn't answer, but he was starting to relax a little under my hands, so I kept talking, running one hand through his hair and the other in circles over his back.
"That's what I think; and furthermore, I think I'm right. So because I love you, and think you're worth keeping around, and don't like seeing you in pain, I'm not going to let this go on. I'm going to sit here, and keep talking, until you stop worrying about things you can't control, and let me help you. Okay? You can lie there and sulk as long as you like--I'm very patient." I think I went on like that for a good five minutes, maybe a bit longer, while he lay and stared at his wrists. As he unwound, he took deeper breaths, and his eyes filled with tears until he was weeping into the pillow.
It tore me up to see him like that, but there was not much I could do, expect keep talking and rubbing, letting him know I wouldn't leave as much as soothing him.
Peggy found us like that when she'd put Erin to bed. Eventually he calmed, and they're all asleep now--my family--Erin is sucking her thumb next door, and Hawkeye is resting his head on Peggy's arm. I should lie down soon, too, but it's nice to have this time. It lets me deal with... with what I've been through today.
Having Hawkeye back is good--fun, and wild, and unpredictable, and often draining, but worth it, just to see him in those (rare, these days, but becoming more common) moments when he smiles, and relaxes, and everything is right.
I meant it when I said I loved him. Peggy's good to me, and I love her--I won't manage this without her--but nothing's quite like having Hawkeye smile at you, when it reaches those blue eyes and you feel like you fell into the sky. Oh, Hawkeye, I'll do whatever it takes to see that smile.
Thursday evening. Okay, so when I said I'd do anything for Hawkeye? Apparently I should have added, "unless I think it will lead to the death of one or more people." Such as, for example, letting Hawkeye drive. Now, he's not the world's best driver anyway, and tired and had a drink? No way.
Not with me in the car. And especially not with my daughter in the car. Or, for that matter, my wife. Or Hawkeye.
Definitely, Hawkeye should not be allowed to drive while he's in the car. That's about the measure of it, really.
He's not the only one who's too tired.
I say this now because we've spent the better part of the afternoon arguing about it. We're doing well, travel-wise--we'll arrive midday tomorrow--but Hawkeye's in a filthy temper (although he's back in Erin's good books. Smuggling candy is silly and childish and the kind of the thing Hawkeye has a natural talent for. I think maybe Peggy and I should strip-search him more often), and he's feeling useless.
There's not a lot that can be done, really. He won't accept that keeping Erin amused is a job, and there's no way we're going to let him drive.
So, he's gone out, somewhere, alone. Peggy's asleep, Erin's pretending whenever I go to check on her and having some sort of doll's tea party the rest of the time--probably involving some of that smuggled candy, I can't be bothered to find out--and I'm sitting up, writing and waiting for Hawkeye to come back, probably both drunk and maudlin.
I am going to wait, because I love him. I keep telling myself that. It's true, but just now I need reminding.
I love him because he can make me laugh. Because he's a talented surgeon. Because he needs me. Because he stopped me falling apart when the shells were coming down. Because he came when I asked him to. Because he helped with so many practical jokes. Because even when he's bad tempered, or depressed, or drunk, I'm happier when he's around that when he's not.
Yeah, BJ. That's convincing.
I am not going to listen to the voice at the back of my head that says he's more trouble than he's worth, despite the fact that it seems to be able to take over my pen. I'm not going to give in, lock the door, and go to bed, because I love him and I don't want him to have to spend the night out there, alone.
You don't want to have to explain to Peggy why he did, you mean.
That's enough journal writing. I think I'd better go and find out what Erin's doing.
Friday morning, 3:34am. I was right. Hawkeye came in about fifteen minutes ago, sloshed and weeping. I guess it might be better this way, but given that I'm fairly sure we're all going to get smashed again tomorrow night--or rather, much, much later today--it's not that great a plan.
They say that most doctors drink themselves to death. I can see Hawkeye going that way, and in not so long, if he isn't careful.
There is one advantage, though. Well, maybe even more than one. He's got some of the misery he was storing up out of his system, because drunk, he could talk more easily (hopefully he didn't say anything stupid to someone who might track us down--that's a risk we'll have to take); and when he's quiet tomorrow, it'll be because he has a hangover. And I doubt he'll argue about who drives. Peggy.//
It took them a little longer than expected to reach Chicago, partly because they got lost on the way in, but they were in time. "Radar! Good to see you again!"
Radar accepted Hawkeye's hug and BJ's handshake calmly. "Good to see you again, sirs."
"Tut, tut, Radar, none of that. We're not sirs anymore."
"Doctors, then," Radar said, but he was smiling. "Mrs MacIntyre and a couple of others have volunteered to watch all the children, so if you want to come this way--Erin, isn't it?"
Peggy went to get Erin settled, and BJ and Hawkeye went on in. They were soon surrounded by people--the M*A*S*H 4077th had about two hundred members at any one time, and over the years nearly nine hundred had worked there. Only a fraction of them made it, but it was still a lot of people.
Looking around, they spotted people they knew: Klinger, in a red evening dress, "For old times' sake. And so that people recognise me!" (his lovely wife, Soon-Lee, was wearing a spare suit, lent by Radar. They made quite a pair); Charles, dressed up and pompous as only he could be; and seemingly speaking to everyone, mixing and introducing and chatting, there was Trapper John MacIntyre.
For a whole half hour, Hawkeye managed to avoid even looking at Trapper. It wasn't easy--Trapper was trying hard to talk to Hawkeye, and he'd been given his nickname for a reason.
In his effort to avoid Trapper, he even talked to Frank. "Aren't you back at work yet, Pierce? I've been promoted once already."
"What from, toilet cleaner to floor sweeper?" Frank sneered, about to move away, but Hawkeye wasn't going to let him go. "I've got an offer, actually. A guy called Rossi."
"Dr Jonathan Rossi? We were at med school together."
"Oh! So you're the little fink who told him all about how wonderful I am. That's interesting."
"Well, he's a good surgeon, Pierce. I thought you'd like him. He's not as good as I am, of course, but he's okay."
That finally drove Hawkeye to try and escape by leaving the room, and Trapper made his move. In the hallway outside, they were alone together for the first time in years.
"Hawkeye, what's wrong?"
"I don't want to talk about it." Hawkeye turned his back on Trapper, looking for a way out, but he'd been skilfully backed into a corner.
"Why not?"
"It's too late, Trap. If you wanted me--and you could have had me, you know. I was yours, heart and soul--you should have tried earlier. I'd have forgiven your going home without me, without saying goodbye, if you'd written, or called, or /something/."
"Really? Then who sent the note, telling me to leave you alone?"
"Note? What note?"
"This one." Trapper pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket, creased and the finger-marked but still legible, or as much as it had ever been. The handwriting was firm, if a little cramped, and Hawkeye knew it nearly as well as he knew his own--BJ's.
//Trapper,
We've never met, but I think you should know this. You hurt Hawkeye badly, and if you try to get in touch you'll only make it worse. Don't. No letters, no calls, nothing.
Sincerely,
A friend of Hawkeye's.//
"BJ? Oh, God."
"Hawkeye, I'm sorry. I should have... ignored it, or found out who was from, or something. But at the time..."
"It made sense. At the time, it made sense." The new voice came from behind Trapper, and he turned to see who the newcomer was. "I wrote it just after Carlye came back. I thought you couldn't cope with anything else, with another lover breaking your heart. I'm sorry, Hawkeye."
"BJ, how could you so that?" Hawkeye shouted. "How could you be so--so arrogant, to think you could make that sort of decision for me?"
"Arrogance is one of the things they teach surgeons, Hawkeye," BJ replied. "I'm sorry."
"That's not enough."
"Hawkeye? I don't know what's going on here, but I think maybe we should take it somewhere else."
"Take it somewhere else? Too late, Trapper. Too late, and not enough." Hawkeye threw the paper down, and, pushing past Trapper, ran out the front door.
Both Trapper and BJ moved to go after him, but Peggy got there first. "I'll go, gentlemen. You two have done enough damage already tonight."
"Peggy?" BJ asked, bewildered, but she'd gone.
In the glow of the streetlights, Peggy found Hawkeye sitting on the kerb, weeping. Without speaking, she sat beside him and offered a clean handkerchief, which he took. She rubbed his back, and waited.
After a while, he was calmer. "Thanks, Peggy."
"You're welcome."
"Did you see what happened?"
"I heard enough to understand the basics."
"Why would he do that?"
"He was trying to protect you. He gets like that with me, sometimes--a lot, when I was pregnant."
"I wish he didn't."
"Me too, often. But you have to admit, it's kinda nice. It's his way of showing he cares."
"You think I should forgive him."
"Yes. You don't have to, but I like having you around, and if you won't talk to him, that'll get difficult."
Hawkeye managed a faint smile at that. "You like having me around?"
"I do."
"Same here. And it would never work out with Trapper, anyway. Between his wife and the other girls he wanted to chase, it wasn't exactly a happy relationship when we were together."
"But you loved him?"
"Yeah. I think I still do, sort of, but it's less real than it used to be. Trapper was a great place to hide, but I'm not sure I need that any more."
"When you're ready, we'll go back in, and talk to them."
"Trapper first. I want to make BJ wait a while."
"Okay." Peggy smiled. "Now?"
"If you'll come with me."
"Of course."
Holding hands, they snuck back in through a side door. The dancing had begun, and they could stand almost unobserved in a corner, while Hawkeye beckoned Trapper over, before pulling him outside.
"Hawkeye? I gather you know who wrote the note."
"Yeah. BJ Hunnicutt. The guy who came to take your place--the guy who took your place."
"What do you mean?"
"I fell in love with him. You remember Carlye?"
"The girl who broke your heart. I remember."
"She came to the camp--army nurse--and broke my heart again, more or less. BJ was there to pick up the pieces."
"And having seen what she did to you, he didn't want it to happen again. Fair enough--and who's this?" Trapper indicted Peggy.
"Peggy Hunnicutt, meet Trapper John MacIntyre. Trapper, this is Peggy, BJ's wife and my lover."
"Nice to meet you," Trapper said, confused but game. "So--you fell for this BJ, and his wife?"
