Chapter Text
Hawkeye’s hands gripped the wheel with a misplaced sense of urgency. He had nowhere to go -- not yet. It was still three days before he was to officially hit the road. Destination: Mill Valley. Stops in Philadelphia, Hannibal, Ottumwa and Toledo. Quite the laundry list of places, Hawkeye thought, as he became conscious of his attempted strangulation of the wheel. He flexed his hands out and sucked in a breath. He knew this road like he knew the human body. A snaking path, like a vein running through an arm, that was only wide enough for one and a half cars. Hawkeye drove in the middle. The only person out this late was him.
When the road became straight, he would watch the reflection of the moon as it raced along the surface of the water beside him, shimmering with the waves and flowing with the wind that made the riptides and crashed the water along the jagged shore. The boom of the water as it his the rocks below was deep and rumbling. It shook Hawkeye to his core. It had only been two months since coming back to Maine, and here he was, so ready to leave again. He couldn’t sit still. He had to get out. He had to move.
Which brought him to the road. His dad let him take his treasured Cadillac because, even though he might never know what his son truly experienced overseas, he had heard so many stories about the jeeps that he felt his own body ache after reading Hawkeye’s letters. It was nearly September now. The wind in his hair was chilly, but the ocean breeze was warm, with all the absorbed heat from the summer sun finally setting itself free. Hawkeye had celebrated his 31st birthday just two days ago. If he were a normal person, he’d be next in line for a midlife crisis, but time meant nothing to him anymore. Korea was both a blur and the longest three years of his life. In the mirror, it looked more like a decade.
Hawkeye slowed as the road became more curvy. He was almost there now. He carefully turned with the wide bend that flanked the cliffside, and as soon as he rounded the corner, the moon was directly above him like a guiding light. Just as he remembered. As far as he was concerned, Maine was the only thing in the world that remained untouched.
He slowed to a crawl now, looking for the small patch of grass he was going to call his parking space. Grass. The type of grass that grew from down in the sand up to your knees. It was a miracle that, through all the road and rock and erosion, this grass managed to stay. And it kept growing, no matter what harsh winds and cold temperatures it had to endure.
Hawkeye shut the car off, letting the engine hum for a few moments before pulling the keys out of the ignition. He had never cared much for mechanics. Even after reading Trapper’s magazines ten times over, it never made sense to him. There was nothing beautiful in the manmade. All the beauty was right here in front of him.
His eyes wandered along the rocky beaches he spent hours on as a kid, waving around a wooden sword with an eyepatch his mom had helped him sew. He would run around digging in the sand, following the treasure map he thought his parents had found stored under a panel in the attic. He remembered being very disappointed when he realized they were all made up. But he also remembered how grateful he was that they put that much effort into keeping him happy.
Maine was all he could think about in Korea. But he found himself wincing every time a wave crashed below, and he tensed up when a gust of wind blew at him from behind. Korea was all he could think about here.
Hawkeye reached into his jacket pocket and felt the familiar crunch of the letter. He gently tugged it out and unfurled it. He gripped the edges delicately, yet tightly -- as only a surgeon could. As if it were his most prized possession. As if letting it go would somehow diminish its importance.
He had carried it around with him since receiving it. It smelled just like BJ, though it was different somehow. A little more flowery. That must be what she smells like . Hawkeye had always thought BJ smelled like oranges. No, like citrus , like every sweet fruit rolled into one. Like those candles that were labeled summer breeze that Hawkeye always found so ridiculous, because the breeze didn’t have a smell, and he maintained that position until he met BJ. Even after a grueling plane ride to Hawkeye’s little corner of the earth, he had still managed to look so good in that suit. To smell like something Hawkeye had never experienced before. Even with Hawkeye in the midst of reeling from Trapper’s sudden departure, BJ was there, all clean-shaven, wide-eyed and looking so stupid with that hat. The hat that flew off, the hat that BJ didn’t realize at the time he wouldn’t miss. Maybe it was BJ recognizing Rudyard Kipling. Maybe it was the way he responded to Hawkeye’s jokes like they were long-lost friends; the way he instantly understood who Hawkeye was, and played along with him. The army could have drafted anybody. They plucked up BJ. It was the only thing Hawkeye would ever thank the army for.
He found himself standing right at the edge of the cliff. The waters below would swallow him up in an instant; unforgiving, unrelenting. Three years ago, those waters were inviting; inspiring. Hawkeye wondered what else he once loved was now warped. He turned his head down.
Hawkeye,
Feels weird to be writing to you like this. I find myself not even knowing what to say -- I stared at a blank piece of paper for 30 minutes before figuring out I should start with your name at the top. And another 30 minutes passed before I started the rest. But I just knew I had to send something.
There’s so much to tell you about, Hawk, I don’t think there are enough pieces of paper on earth to fit all my words. To think Korea was the halfway point in which we had to meet to make this all possible.
Hawkeye always had to pause at this part. Stupid mustache, unbuttoned pink shirt BJ was worlds from the poetic, domestic BJ he was holding.
Oh, wait, you’ll love this. Peg just asked me who I was writing to, and I said ‘Hawkeye’. A minute later, Erin comes crawling in, babbling ‘hawky’ over and over and over. Hawky. That’s cute. Mind if I start using that?
Anyway, I know it’s only been a few weeks. More than anything, I just have to know if you can’t close your eyes without hearing it too. Sometimes, the harder I shut them, the brighter the lights get. I haven’t been able to sleep straight through the night since I got home.
I don’t know what your plans are, but I’m not going back to residency for a while. They’re giving me some time off to help "get used to civilian life again". I hear that’s what they’re doing with a lot of the medics and surgeons. Peeling dirty diapers off Erin as she shrieks is a welcomed change of pace, anyway.
I suppose there are 3,000 miles between us right now. It’s a shame you couldn’t have picked a closer place to live. It’s probably silly of me to even propose this, but 3,000 miles is a two-week trip if you play your cards right -- and if I learned anything about you, it’s that you always know what cards to play. If you ever wondered why they call California the golden state, well… you’ve got a place in Mill Valley waiting for you.
Hopefully this letter gets to you in a few days, not a few weeks. And hopefully I get yours just as soon. I miss you, Hawk.
Write soon.
BJ
That was two months ago. Hawkeye imagined what it would be like when he walked into that house -- the smell of rum cookies floating in from the kitchen. The giggles of a little girl coming from all directions. And one tall, brown-haired surgeon, running from room to room to give his wife a kiss and to scoop up his daughter and put her on his shoulders. He’d have a giant grin -- that wide, toothy grin of his. The one that made him look young every time he flashed it.
And in the last two months, Hawkeye wrote back to BJ again, again and again. It was obvious after the first exchange of letters that 3,000 miles was a paltry distance to overcome. Hawkeye had committed to seeing BJ even before he finished reading the first letter for the first time.
Then came the rest. The first person that came to mind was Margaret, but he wasn't sure where she'd be. He figured he would try and phone around for her when he got to BJ's. It'd cost less money that way. He briefly considered stopping by Boston to find Charles, but the chances of the two of them bumping into each other in a coffee shop before work were much higher than Charles agreeing to willingly spend time with Hawkeye.
Philadelphia was close enough to call, so Hawkeye rang up some churches until he heard the unmistakable diction of Francis Mulcahy on the other end. He wouldn’t mind Hawkeye dropping in to see him at all! The only American city Hawkeye had ever been to was Boston for residency, and he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t a little bit curious as to what Philly was all about. After all, if the good Father could sing its praises, it had to be alright.
Radar was easy. He was more than eager to see Hawkeye again. He scrawled out his address in big block letters -- even though Hawkeye was the one to send him a letter first -- and told Hawkeye to visit him anytime he wanted, as long as he promised to help out on the farm. Hawkeye tore the address out of the letter so he could keep it in his wallet.
Potter took a while to respond, but once his letter finally came through, he was touched that Hawkeye wanted to see him again. Mildred wanted to meet him, too -- through dozens of Potter’s letters, Hawkeye had grown to be an infamous point of conversation among their friends. She just had to see what all the fuss was about.
Finally, there was Klinger. Somehow, he was the hardest to reach, if only because Hawkeye didn’t really know where to find him. He had wasted nearly $10 just to reach Tony Packo’s over the phone. But he was finally able to locate him. Klinger sounded happy to hear from him, right up until the moment Hawkeye suggested a visit. Klinger warned him it was a bad idea, but Hawkeye insisted he just had to eat a Hungarian hot dog straight from the source. Klinger tried to push back several more times before resigning to the fact that he was going to get a visit whether he wanted one or not.
Hawkeye scanned the letter again. He really never did get tired of looking at BJ’s handwriting. It was too neat for a doctor but too messy for just about every other profession. Hawkeye felt bad about his chicken scratch every time he sent something back. BJ had joked that he was getting a stray dog to take notes for him. But he never complained.
A gust of wind caught his attention, and he turned his head back up to the water. He admired the way the waves blanketed the rough rocks in such an intricate, beautiful way. How could something so rough look so gorgeous at the same time? He laughed to himself. He stole that line.
The letter crinkled gently with the beats of the breeze. Like a heartbeat, really. Holding BJ’s letter was like holding California sunshine in the palm of his hand. Soon -- very soon -- he’d be able to hold it in his arms.