Chapter Text
The rain was coming down pretty hard. Hawkeye sat, head back, in the chair by the still. His second martini was half gone, swirling around in the glass to give his eyes something to chase. Dinner was over ages ago, but neither of his bunkies were back yet, so trying to sleep early was pointless. BJ could sleep through an earthquake, and Charles couldn’t konk out unless there was some noise, but Hawkeye grew up with quiet nights, so anything woke him easily.
He thought about knitting some more, but his finger hurt from where he broke it as a kid whenever it rained-- and he didn't want to risk getting yarn wet anyway, bringing it out in this.
It was a waiting game. See who’d come back to the Swamp first; if Charles, they’d probably all just go to bed, still mad. If BJ… hopefully they’d find some resolution.
He’d gone back and forth between being upset and sympathetic through his whole first drink, and on the second one, he’d just been tired. It didn’t matter who was right or wrong, he wanted to stop having so much bristling and was ready to throw himself in the mud for it. Or throw BJ in the mud for it- he didn’t care at this point, actually.
Hurried splashes approached the door, swinging it open and entering, pursued by wetness. Out from the rain poncho bloomed BJ, smelling like oil and metal, an overgrown car-factory-flower.
“How’s Rizzo, he enjoy having a surgeon for a grease monkey?” A very gentle volley for him, practically handing it to him, even, just to ease him into talking.
“He’s fine.” And he misses.
Hawkeye readies another serve. “How was dinner? I was still nauseous from lunch or I’d’ve gone.”
“Same as always.” And the metaphorical shuttlecock drops, once again, right in front of him. BJ sits on his bed, returning to the book he’d misplaced last night. His eyes didn’t move over any of the words, just stared blankly at the page and hoped it was enough to dissuade Hawkeye from speech. His skin was tingling hot with embarrassment and shame, and the last thing he wanted to do was give in to Hawkeye. One little inch and he’d be off to the races; if they got talking, he knew where Hawk would take them. And he wanted to be far, far away from there.
“And how’s the rain treating you, looks like a real torrent out there. Your calves are drenched, at least- I can help you scratch the mud off your sneakers there, before it gets to be dirt. You know how the dust makes me sneeze.”
God, every attempt was getting longer and longer. “I do know, yeah.”
“What’s that book you’re reading, anyway? I didn’t get a look at it last night.”
BJ tightened his grip on this poor abused book-- first being stolen from Charles, then lying open face-down on the floor, and now being strangled, all for what? For the crime of being from California? For being a reminder of the night before?
“ Cannery Row .” Mistake-- he should have just told him to read the cover. Because now he’s going to ask-
“What’s it about?” He didn’t want to be rude to Hawkeye. Despite how absolutely maddening he could be, that was his best friend. They bickered, but were still a matching set: peas in a pod, peanut butter and jelly, lobster and steak- so on and so on. Unfortunately, Hawkeye was currently putting them in the pair BJ enjoyed the least: the horse and the gadfly.
“Little strip on the bay in California. South of San Francisco. Slice-of-life thing.”
“Perfect book for you, then.” BJ could see that stupid little grin he got when he’d ‘win’, just barely from the corner of his eye. “Y’know, Charles knows you have that book, and he hasn’t taken it back yet. Maybe I was wrong in OR today, he does have a heart- his actions regarding last night to the contrary.”
“What do you want from me, Hawk?” The book made a sad little slap as he snapped it shut. Poor thing.
“I want you to talk to me. You’ve been avoiding me all day. What, did I insult your mother in my sleep?” He polishes off the last of the gasoline they’ve been brewing since yesterday like nothing was amiss. “All I did was wake up and you’ve been a putz.”
“Would you quit needling me? It’s always bug-bug-bug-bug-bug with you, you get mad at me for not talking to you when this is how you’re acting.”
“I wouldn’t have to needle you if you’d just answer me when I ask you things, dammit!” Irritation barged its way into his tone.
“I don’t have to answer you at all, Hawk, I do it as a courtesy.” The words felt ugly, and he wished he hadn’t said them. He stands, ready for the door.
“The hell you don’t! I do nothing but care for you and try to make you feel normal, and you spit on me.” Hawkeye stood now too, but refused to puff up and meet him at his level. He kept his head low-- not out of some form of submission, it was just easier to glare at him that way.
“Why can’t you leave me alone over this?”
“Because I care about you, Beej! Christ- your ticker was racing to beat Koraskov last night, I thought-”
“I’m fine, Hawk, I told you I was fine. It was a fluke, I’m sure, I’m perfectly healthy.”
“Beej-” Hawkeye suddenly lowers his voice, almost smothered under the dim hum of the rain. “I’m not talking about your body, I-… I trust your judgment, you know that, and I’ve been trusting your judgment about not getting Sidney, but-”
“Don’t patronize me.” The words felt too harsh as they came out. “It's bad enough you had to cuddle me last night, don’t start babying me.”
A slow, incredulous smile spread across Hawkeye’s face. “Really?”
“What?”
“You shake so bad that you’d give a chihuahua a run for its money, and you’re most worried about a hug ?”
“It wasn’t just a- look, maybe you’ve been here too long, maybe you don’t really remember how normal society works, but that isn’t normal.”
“Beej, you’re being ridiculous-”
“ No! No, I’m not!” The rain was working overtime, now, fighting with BJ’s yelling for dominance. “ You aren’t treating this in a way that makes sense, I am!”
“Things happen, people do things, it’s over. Are you alright?” Concern was edging into his voice. That was it for BJ- pity, worry, anything of the sort about him was too much. It was proof that something was really wrong.
“If I wanted a once-over I would’ve asked for one.” The plastic crinkles harshly as BJ grabs the rain poncho back up, heading out the door.
“Don’t walk away from me again!” Hawkeye pursues; he wasn’t ready to let BJ run off again, they haven’t come to a resolution. The scrubs he hadn’t taken off began their soak. “I gotta sleep three feet from you every night and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna listen to you toss and turn over being afraid to get a hug!”
“ Leave me alone , Hawkeye.” It was almost a snarl that BJ tossed over his shoulder. His steps were large and fast, mud squishing out around his feet with force. He was getting away, and quick.
Hawkeye snatches the back of his henley and pulls. “Would you quit-”
“Don’t touch me-”
A tiny gasp of pain escaped Hawkeye’s chest. It was almost muted by the rain, but BJ heard it, with his hand wrapped tightly around Hawkeye’s wrist. He froze.
Too tight.
There they stood in the rain, getting overwatered. Hawkeye was slumped, wincing but refusing to drop his gaze, BJ still gripping Hawkeye’s wrist in one hand and the poncho in the other. The downpour covered any sounds the camp made. Last night, they’d been so comfortable, now it was all ice.
Lightning tore up the sky someplace far away, and thunder rolled around them. Water dripped from Hawkeye’s eyelashes when he blinked. A puddle formed where BJ last stepped. The rain was warm.
BJ’s eyes fluttered, and he looked away. His grip slackened and Hawkeye’s wrist fell free, being comforted by his other hand almost immediately.
“Shit, Beej…” Hawkeye broke away to look at the damage for a moment, but was back peeking at his friend in a flash. They’d only been like that for a moment, but to his frail-feeling bones, it seemed minutes.
They stood like strangers.
BJ’s lip twitched, and his eyes shifted around on the ground. Shame was hot on his face. “I’m sorry- I’m sorry Hawk.”
A hand, previously gripped too-tight, bridges the gap and touches his shoulder. He purses his lips. “I’m sorry.”
The hand pulls him over, and a wet slap comes out under the noise as the two men grab onto each other. A wet hug isn’t particularly pleasant, but right now, its just what the doctor ordered.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah.” Hawkeye cups the back of BJ’s head.
“I- I just don’t know what-” He cuts himself off as he buries his nose in Hawkeye’s shoulder. Were his eyes wet with rain?
As much as he wanted to believe and act like he was all bent out of shape because they spent the night like that, it wasn’t true, and he knew it. He was really terrified of what came over him.
Sure, he wasn’t feeling great about essentially needing to be held like a toddler, even though Hawkeye wasn’t making a deal out of it and that was usually his measure, it felt strange. The worst part, though, was the sudden, unrelenting, completely debilitating sense of dread that came over him. Someone came by and hollowed him out, took all his soft innards and laid them bare on a table, and he could do nothing but watch. His chest had hurt and his blood felt cold and sluggish.
And on top of how horrible the entire thing was, it came out of nowhere. He’d been so happy, content, just ready to close his eyes and sleep when his legs got knocked out from under him. If it happened once, could it happen again?
“I’ve gotcha.”
There was Hawk’s steady hand on his head. Just like the night before, his saving grace.
Hawk was addled with problems too, he’d had slips, but never like this, really. His came out in sneezes or insomnia or back problems, not… this . At least that BJ knew of.
“Deep breaths for me, come on.” He did as he was told, inhaling Hawkeye’s wet scrubs. Under the rain and the disinfectant and the sweat, it was Hawkeye under there, the musk he’d become accustomed to by now. It wasn’t anything like B.O., or laundry detergent, it was just… Hawkeye. It was his smell.
And it was nice.
“That’s it, that’s good.” He got two pats on the back of the head as he slowly un-tensed. Two more came as Hawkeye pulled away and studied his expression a bit. He offered a little smile- nervous, but convincing enough. “Can we go back inside before I die a turkey’s death trying to look up at you?”
He nods a little, avoiding looking at his friend’s face. The ice had melted, but it was replaced by a new brand of hot embarrassment.
“Come on, then.” Hawkeye’s hand drifted from his shoulder to his elbow as he pulled BJ along. His grip gradually slackened, BJ’s arm slowly slipping away, until their hands met and he grabbed tight.
He looked at the back of Hawkeye’s head as he led him by the hand. It wasn’t an uncommon sight for him; he followed Hawkeye around a lot. The scrubs he was usually swimming in were now pressed slick against his body from the wetness, and his frame was outlined well. Rain stung his eyes, and when he closed them, he could just about see San Francisco. They loved walking in the rain together, back home.
The door banged open when Hawkeye applied a little too much force. He brought BJ over to his own cot, the cot they’d shared a mere 24 hours ago, and pushed him to sit.
“Hey, eyes open. No sleepwalking narcoleptics allowed in the Swamp.” BJ blinked open to reality just in time for a towel to hit him in the face. He took it off as Hawkeye sat down on the bed right next to him.
“Last night was an exception, I’m not gonna start sharing this thing with you.”
“I’m not drying off standing up, my back is killing me from O.R. today- and like hell I’m getting my own bed wet, it's your fault I’m soaking in the first place.”
“You look like a drowned rat.”
“And you look like someone shoved you into a bog, look at your shoes,” had much more mirth in it than it had any right to. The glint was back in Hawk’s eye, a little smile on his lips. The volley continues.
“They wash. Unfortunately your issue seems to be chronic.”
“Is it now?
“Mhm.”
“I think that means we need to get you a sign that says ‘pest control’ then, you’re the one that drowned the rat.”
BJ smiles now, too, hitting Hawkeye on the shoulder- more of a push than a hit, really. Hawk lets the momentum carry him out, and then carry him back in, knocking into BJ’s side. There, he stayed.
Not focusing on himself anymore, BJ could see how slumped his shoulders were, how ready to rest Hawkeye was. A new layer of guilt bared its teeth at him; he must have been really worried about this. Probably all day. He finally got to let go of it, just now. And he was soaked to the bone.
“Let me give you a hand with that, nibbles.” He began to pull at the back collar of Hawkeye’s scrubs.
“Is that my rat name?” He lifted his arms up, not questioning BJ about this, not caring. Just making it easier.
“My second choice was Stinky.” The scrubs fought him and pulled Hawkeye’s T-shirt along for the ride too, but BJ was victorious. He let Hawk worry about shimmying off his scrub pants himself.
“How about Sweet Pea? I had a friend that named her rat that when I was a kid.”
“I think you can only have that name if you’re actually sweet.”
“Does it count if I’m at least ‘pea’?” Hawkeye leans down to undo the laces of his boots, reaching over and pulling out the knots in BJ’s kicks, too.
“Sure.” BJ dug around and grabbed new shirts for them both, handing one off. “You can be Pea.”
“ Sweet Pea, the sweet part is an honorary thing.” Hawk tamped his bare skin dry with the towel before slipping into the new stuff. “I’d make a decent rat. I know lots of tricks.”
“You’ve got the grime for one, too.” BJ pulled off his sad pink shirt, holding his dog tags in his teeth so they didn’t knock him in the nose. He copied Hawk’s movements to dry off.
“Hey, rats are some of the cleanest animals in the world. Isn’t that right, ladies and gentlemen?” He looked around the tent as BJ sits back down beside him, slipping off his soaking pants, leaving them both in boxers and t-shirts.
“Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night.”
“Yeah. Speaking of, can I be honest about something?”
“Shoot.”
“I think, antics before bed aside, last night was the best sleep I’ve had in a year.”
“Can I be honest about something too?”
“Go ahead.”
“Same here.”
Silence. Uncertainty hung in the air. They agreed; now what?
“So,” Hawkeye slowly slid his boots off and tugged his socks down, pulling his legs up onto the bed. “Goodnight?”
BJ sat for a moment, pensive. Then shrugged. It wasn’t something to think that hard about. “Goodnight, yeah. Just dry your hair first.”
“Only if you do, too, I don't want a sopping wet head on my chest.”
“Aye-aye, cap’n.” They both sat there, scrubbing their heads with two ends of the same long towel.
“And no more grabbing me.” Hawkeye gave him a semi-hard look.
“I know, and again, I’m sorry-”
“These are some fine hands- a chief surgeon’s hands, not to mention what they can do on the piano.”
“You play piano?”
“No but imagine what I could do with one.” Hawkeye smiled a little as he laid down, on his back, on his ‘side’ of the bed.
BJ sat a moment. They couldn’t share the bed without touching somehow. Was Hawkeye ok with that? BJ himself was only mostly comfortable with it. It felt right but seemed like crossing a boundary. But did Hawk-
“Come on, hurry up. Slots are filling fast, I’ve only got one left.” Hawkeye, eyes already closed, pats a spot on his chest and lazily waves for BJ to lie down.
“Well, with a pitch like that, how could I resist?” The worry fizzled away. He hunkered down against Hawkeye and put his (still slightly damp) head on his chest, and it felt alright. He tamped down his murmuring thoughts; his ruler, Hawkeye, had measured it as alright. It wasn’t objectionable, either, so why bother thinking that hard about it all?
“So are we making a habit of this, or only on special occasions? Wouldn’t want it to lose its magic.”
“How about just when we feel like it?”
“...so long as you promise ‘when we feel like it’ is before everything bubbles up and you fall apart on me.” There was a slight sternness in his voice.
“Promise.” BJ’s mouth was a bit dry now, but he swallowed down any apprehension. He’d be ok.
He pulled the blanket up over him and Hawkeye as the cold from the rain set in, and they were warm together.
~~~
It was way too late and Klinger had too good of a buzz to be walking into the Swamp, but someone needed to lug Charles home. He’d been refusing to go to bed until he passed out on the counter at the officer’s club, and Klinger had been so kind as to pick peanuts off his face before dragging him off his stool.
Really, anyone else should’ve done it. Charles was big and tall, Klinger was neither of those, not to mention those kitten heels doing nothing for stability. Unfortunately, everyone that would’ve been willing to do that had already gone to bed. Klinger was the sucker that had bothered to stay up and make sure the idiot got back to the Swamp ok.
He kicked the door open as gingerly as he could with the extra weight on his shoulder making him lurch, and carefully bowled Charles onto his cot. It complained about the force at which this guy had been thrown on it, but hey, he was down.
If he thinks I’m helping him any more than this, he’s got another thing coming, he thought as he pushed Charles onto his side and slipped off his boots. Having done his duty as a concerned citizen, he tossed a blanket over the muttering lump and turned to leave and get his own rest.
Hawkeye wasn’t in his bunk! Dammit, was there someone else that needed dragging out of a gutter? At least Captain Hunnicutt would be in his bunk, surely, he was responsible-ish-- oh, good. There he was-- could just barely make out the lump of a person in the dark.
Hang on, two lumps! Conjoined lumps! Oh no, not this- he’d been such a prick today, had this been why? Did he step out on his wife? Was he taking his guilt out on everyone in camp?
“Candygram?” Wait a second. Hawkeye’s voice, coming from BJ’s bunk. Did Hawkeye bring a nurse back to the Swamp and use BJ’s bed? That was just disrespectful, not to mention gross-- and that’s one tall nurse, her legs were hanging off the end of the bed!
“Just Charles.”
“Oh goodie. Get me a pen, I want to sign return postage.”
“No, sir, that’s all yours.”
“Damn.”
“Hawkeye, why are you, uh-”
“You woke me.”
“Not my fault you sleep like a princess. What are you doing in Hunnicutt’s bunk?”
“Being Hunnicutt’s pillow.”
Oh. “That’s BJ with you?”
“Sure is.”
Well that was fine, then. “Gotcha. Well, go back to sleep.”
“Already am. Goodnight, Klinger. Thanks for the delivery.”
“You too, sir.”
And out he went, hurrying away in the dwindling rain. Wasn't anything to worry about, and it was finally time to hit the sack.