Work Text:
There’s a brass bell on the door above the Island Tavern that jingles when it opens, alerting staff and patrons alike to the newest arrival. He pauses under the frame, not yet ready to announce his presence. He can see the through the window—they beat him here, which is a little embarrassing considering how much farther they had to travel—already seated around a circular, white-clothed table, set with glasses of water and laminated menus.
It’s a nicer place—which mostly means dinner is served in a cozy, candlelit dining room, and not on a chill, windy pier that smelled vaguely of sea—and he chose it for the occasion. It’s all the way over in Spruce Harbor, but that’s where the locals go when they’re in the mood to get out and be fancy.
BJ Hunnicutt is nothing if not a man of his word. Hawkeye has to admire his persistence, even when it gets annoying. He writes dutifully, long, boring letters, and then after a while short, boring letters, and they come every month instead of every couple of weeks, but he writes them. Hawkeye answers them to the best of his ability, with short, boring letters of his own. They spend a lot on postage, and never manage to say very much, but it’s nice to know they’re both still breathing, now that they’re too far apart to check.
Life after the war isn’t quite what he thought it’d be, but then he’s not sure anymore just what he thought it would be. The circus came to town, he writes. I saw a clown with a pair of shoes almost as big as yours!
The circus only came as far as Portland—that’s as far as it ever comes—and Hawkeye didn’t go. A couple of hours in a tent full of shrieking children sounds more like his idea of hell than a good time. But he sees the flier in the general store, and it gives him something to write about. If he bends the truth a little, it’s only for stylistic flair.
BJ’s persistence rears its head in April, when he starts talking about plans for the summer, and taking Erin to see the country. Hawkeye thinks he’s insane, but BJ insists Peg read in a parenting book that three is the perfect age to start traveling. Erin will be three in July, so they plan the trip for the end of the summer. Hawkeye still thinks they’re insane, but they load up the car and drop Waggles at Peg’s parents’ and set off on Erin’s first road trip.
The East Coast will be the mid-point of their journey, since they have to drive back, and BJ sends telegrams every couple of states to update him on their expected date of arrival. Left Yellowstone early—pouring rain. Stayed an extra day at the Grand Canyon. Stuck in PA—car blew a flat. The last telegram is almost threatening. See you on Monday—I’ll walk if I have to!
Hawkeye isn’t too concerned with any of it. He doesn’t answer to anyone these days, except himself and sometimes his father. They’ll get here when they get here. The sick feeling in his stomach doesn’t quite go away, but he tries to ignore it.
They finally show up in the middle of August, which isn’t a bad time to come to Maine. There are still a few blueberries left, they’ve past blackly season and the worst of the ticks, and the water’s as warm as it’s going to get.
Hawkeye takes a deep breath and pushes open the door. The bell jingles inevitably. Two of the people waiting for him are strangers, but oddly enough it’s not them he’s nervous about.
The door isn’t shut behind him before BJ is on his feet. Peg follows him at a less excited pace, smiling politely. She looks just like the pictures. Erin stays in her highchair, blinking at him with her big, blue baby eyes. She doesn’t look anything like the pictures, not even the one in the Christmas card. They grow too fast at that age. He resents the initial stab of anxiety, but he takes a deep breath and it passes. The first couple of weeks, he crossed the street when he saw baby carriages. Now he peaks in toddlers’ ears for signs of infection.
“Hawk!” BJ shouts, his voice a little too loud for a crowded restaurant and far too eager. He smiles sheepishly under the sideways glances of the other patrons, and lowers his voice as Hawkeye approaches.
BJ pulls him into a hug before he realizes what’s happening. He can feel how stiff he is in BJ’s arms and he knows BJ can feel it too, by the way he leans back, putting some distance between them. He wonders if the difference between their last hug and this one is as stark to BJ as it is to him.
“God, it’s so good to see you! How are you? How’ve you been?”
BJ’s gotten his volume under control, but his pitch his climbing. His eagerness has crossed the line from puppy-like to slightly desperate. Hawkeye smiles tightly.
“I’m good, Beej.”
He doesn’t point out that BJ knows how he’s been from the letters they’ve been writing. He’s not entirely sure if that’s true, anyway. Over BJ’s shoulder, he can see Peg standing patiently; one eye on them, one eye on Erin.
“You look good!” BJ exclaims.
Hawkeye supposes he does, compared to the last time BJ saw him. Dad still compares him to four year ago.
“So do you,” he answers in kind.
It’s true. He’s relieved to see that BJ’s ditched the mustache. At Peg’s insistence—or so he wrote—but in his last couple of letters he’d been teasing the idea of regrowing it for this trip.
BJ releases him suddenly, as if he’s just remembered there are other people in the room.
“Oh! Hawk, meet Peg. Peg, Hawkeye.”
He takes too long a step back, and almost trips over those big feet of his, but catches himself, all the while gesturing between his wife and his best friend.
Peg steps forward, offering him a gracious warmth wrapped up in a smile. Hawkeye returns the gesture.
“I’ve heard so much about you. It’s so good to finally meet!”
“And you’re even lovelier in person,” he throws in just a little too much charm, because he knows it’ll make BJ scowl. It works.
There’s an awkward bit of fussing over the possibility of a handshake, before Peg finally settles on a quick, polite hug. Once that’s over with, he turns to the girl in the highchair, who’s still watching the goings-on of the grown-ups with a quiet, intent interest.
“And you must be Erin,” Hawkeye says, grinning widely. She nods solemnly. “My name is Hawkeye.”
He holds out his right hand. Erin grabs it with her own, tiny by comparison—it doesn’t even reach his palm. He feels the butterflies start up in his stomach again, and forces them down.
“Hi,” she says quietly, and doesn’t say anything else.
“Firm handshake, that’s good,” Hawkeye winks.
“She’s tired,” Peg says apologetically, as if her daughter’s reticence needs an explanation. Maybe it does—she’s been painted as a chatterbox in BJ’s letters—but he isn’t bothered by it. Between the two of them, Erin’s the calmer one.
“Hungry too, I bet,” Hawkeye says pleasantly. “I know I am.”
It’s half a truth—he’s actually starving.
“Dad sends his regrets,” he explains, as they all settle into their seats. “He had to make a house call.”
“An emergency?” BJ asks. Alarm brings out the worry lines he picked up in Korea.
“With my dad, a case of the sniffles is an emergency,” he rolls his eyes. Dad always said if a patient called his doctor, he must have a reason, and between that attitude and his flexible approach to billing, he was kept very busy by the local hypochondriacs.
“He said to have a nice dinner, and he’ll meet us later.”
Hawkeye can tell Peg is disappointed—she must been looking forward to seeing Daniel again, or at least to having dinner with someone she already knows. BJ is harder to read.
“You’ll have to tell us what’s good here,” BJ says, eyeing the menu.
“As if that’s even a question!” Hawkeye exclaims in mock offense. “Your first time in Maine, and you’re considering anything other than lobster?”
BJ laughs, which elicits a small giggle from Erin.
“What about Erin?” Peg asks.
“Don’t worry about her, she’ll be well taken care of,” Hawkeye promises.
As if on cue, Bill Hendrickson wanders over to their table. Bill Hendrickson wanders everywhere he goes; he’s often in danger of getting lost in his own restaurant. Henry Blake used to remind him of Bill Hendrickson; now Bill reminds him of Henry.
“Hawkeye,” Bill says amiably. “Nobody told me these were your guests.”
“I didn’t want you to frighten them off,” Hawkeye replies easily.
Bill offers his hand to BJ, who shakes it.
“Bill Hendrickson. I own the place.”
BJ shoots Hawkeye an unmistakable look. Hawkeye gives him a tiny shrug, and nothing more.
Bill moves on to Peg, but instead of shaking her outstretched hand, he leans down and kisses it. BJ looks like he might be angry if he has enough time to process what just happened, so Hawkeye intervenes.
“Bill, this is Peg and BJ Hunnicutt. They’re very good friends of mine.”
Technically, he just met Peg five minutes ago, but two years of hearing about her every day—not to mention the conspiracy they’d planned together—makes him feel like he’s known her much longer. Besides, Peg is an extension of BJ as far as such things are concerned. Hawkeye’s never tried it himself, but he’s pretty sure that’s how marriage works.
“You must be from over there,” Bill says in an exaggerated way that makes Hawkeye grit his teeth.
“If by ‘over there’ you mean California,” BJ says mildly. Good-natured BJ, saving the day once again with his impeccable manners.
“We’re absolutely delighted to have you,” Bill says, heeding the warning without acknowledging it. “Now, what can I get you?”
“We’ll take three of your best lobsters,” Hawkeye says grandly. “With all the sides, and bread for the table.” He glances at Erin. “And anything you’ve got that’s suitable for a three-year-old.”
“Is she picky?” Bill asks.
Peg shakes her head.
Bill nods.
“Can I get you any drinks while the lobstahs are cooking?”
Hawkeye rolls his eyes. Bill has a habit of playing up his accent in front of out-of-state customers.
BJ glances at Hawkeye hesitantly across the table.
“I don’t know, Hawk… should we order martinis? For old times’ sake?”
BJ hasn’t said anything about taking the pledge, and neither has he, but they don’t really have those conversations anymore. Not that they ever did, really—there hadn’t been any need to in Korea. If one of them wanted to know what they were up to, all they had to do was look.
For his part, Hawkeye’s not on the wagon, but he’s careful in a way he never used to be before Korea. Coming home had been a rough adjustment, and alcohol had helped—a little too much. Now he slept more and he drank less, and a martini with an old friend couldn’t possibly hurt.
Hawkeye looks Bill in the eye.
“You know that bottle of cheap gin Ernie keeps in the kitchen?”
Bill opens his mouth to protest but Hawkeye stares him down.
“None of the watered down good stuff, alright? I want two—or, wait—” he glances at Peg. She hesitates, unsure if she’s intruding on some sacred ritual or being finally.
“I’m game,” she says finally.
Hawkeye nods approvingly.
“Three of the driest martinis this place has ever seen. The olives should be dusty. Actually, that would be perfect, if you can arrange it.”
Bill stares at him for a moment, but doesn’t argue.
“Sure thing, Hawk.”
Bill’s barely scurried off before BJ starts in with the questions.
“You didn’t tell me you knew the owner.”
“I dated his sister in high school,” he smiles fondly at the memory. “She was the valedictorian.”
“And he likes you?” BJ asks skeptically.
“Of all his sister’s boyfriends, I was the only one who was a gentleman.”
BJ scoffs.
“You?”
Hawkeye shrugs.
“Hey, believe me or not. Lovely person. I think she lives in Portland, now.”
Bill comes back with the drinks in record time, and even brings a glass of tomato juice for Erin. He also bring a basket of bread on the table. Even after a year at home, the smell of fresh-baked rolls is heaven. Hawkeye inhales deeply.
“Well, that’s one mystery solved,” BJ remarks drily. “I was wondering if you sniffed good food, too.”
Hawkeye sticks out his tongue. Erin watches, wide-eyed, and he tosses her a wink.
Peg eyes the sickly olive in her drink with apprehension, but she raises her glass right along with the guys.
“Cheers,” Hawkeye says.
“To friends,” BJ adds quickly, as their glasses clink together.
They all take cautious, experimental sips.
“Well?” Hawkeye asks, once they’ve all had a chance to swallow.
Peg coughs.
“Believe it or not, the ones we drank in Korea were worse,” BJ replies.
“It’s an acquired taste,” Hawkeye adds.
“An acquired lack of taste.”
Hawkeye and BJ exchange their first real smile of the evening.
Peg pushes her martini glass way with a weak smile of her own.
“I’m sorry,” she says, “I just don’t think it’s for me.”
“Don’t worry,” Hawkeye says, greedily pulling the rejected glass closer to his own place setting, “it won’t go to waste.”
The looters come out quickly, with a bowl of clam chowder for Erin, and a bit of touristy fanfare. Hawkeye privately mourns the image BJ would have made with a lobster bib and the mustache.
Dinner is scrumptious. The potatoes are baked to perfection, the coleslaw is impeccably dressed, and Hawkeye wonders not for the first time where Bill finds such juicy sweetcorn this early in the season. The Island Tavern earns its reputation as the best restaurant for twenty miles.
Hawkeye tries to give BJ a lesson in lobster eating, to which BJ takes offense.
“I’ve eaten crabs before, Hawk, I get the principle,” he complains, as Hawkeye tries to demonstrate the proper use of a nutcracker. “I’ve even eaten lobster before, you know.”
“This is Maine lobster,” Hawkeye says stubbornly. “It’s a whole different world, Beej.”
“You know,” BJ says, trying to distract from his struggle with the pick, “they ought to make little miniature rib-spreaders for meals like this.”
Hawkeye laughs.
“That’s a good idea, Beej. We could invent one. The sequel to our clamp.”
BJ smiles—whether at the memory, or the bit of claw meat he’s just retrieved, Hawkeye isn’t sure.
Peg pulls a face.
“You boys aren’t going to talk ship all night, are you?” she asks.
The truth is, there isn’t much shop to talk. BJ pulls out kidney stones and Hawkeye doles out antibiotics, and it’s all wonderfully dull and terribly mundane. He does miss it, sometimes—the thrill of surgery—more often now than he did when he first got home. He’s even written to Sidney about it, but he wrote back that’s something you have to figure out for yourself, the bastard.
He thinks he should be able to talk to BJ about it, but what would he even say? BJ isn’t like him. BJ can spend the day stitching up bowels and go home to his wife and kid and be perfectly happy. BJ knows a contentment Hawkeye never has, and he's happy for him, but he can’t understand the way the scalpel calls to Hawkeye, the way he wonders if he shouldn’t be doing more.
The evening passes with a lot more dinner than conversation. With work, too, now miles apart, the only thing they really have to talk about is the one thing no one wants to discuss. They allude, carefully, to stories they shared, but neither one of them wants to paint the full picture. It’s ugly, in red and white and olive drab, and they’re both more than happy to be done with it.
Bill collects their dishes and their compliments, and brings them coffee without being asked.
“Four orders of Grape-Nuts pudding,” Hawkeye requests, “and one to go, too. Might as well bring dad something.”
“Tell him I said hi,” Bill says, wandering off to fetch their dessert.
“Grape-Nuts?” BJ says dubiously.
“Number one, I don’t need any judgment from you,” Hawkeye says pointedly, recalling strips of baloney dipped in lime kool-aid, “number two, it’s an old Maine classic, and number three, it happens to be delicious.”
BJ’s doubts last only as long as it takes to eat the first bite, but his enthusiasm pales next to Erin, who attacks her pudding with the kind of aplomb most people grow out of all too soon.
“I think we have a new favorite over here,” Peg laughs.
“Do you think you can make Grape-Nuts pudding, honey?” BJ asks. “Because I think you’re about to start getting requests.”
“I wonder if they’d give me the recipe,” Peg muses.
“It’s a family secret, but I’ll see what I can do,” Hawkeye promises.
They get the check not long after. Hawkeye pays for everyone, ignoring the perfectly polite protests.
BJ follows Hawkeye back to the Cove, and as he drives Hawkeye thinks he’s rather glad the best restaurant in the area is in Spruce Harbor. During the long days of the war, he’d often fantasized about showing his friends around Crabapple Cove, but now that BJ is here, he feels strangely vulnerable. He doesn’t know what he feels protective of—the town, or BJ. Sitting with Peg and Erin, Hawkeye feels like a guest in BJ’s family. It’s not a bad feeling, but it’s new and uncomfortable, and he can’t imagine stepping into his home will be much different for BJ.
When they pull into the driveway, he sees the light on in the front window. So dad made it home, after all. Hawkeye thought he might be held hostage by Ethel Grissom’s hiccups.
He left the door unlocked, and he’s waiting on the sofa when Hawkeye leads BJ—carrying Erin—and Peg inside. He gets up to greet them.
“Danny!” Peg says brightly.
“Peggy, so good to see you again!” he replies with a grin.
They hug quickly, then Peg takes the sleepy Erin from BJ so he can offer his Daniel his hand.
“Dad, BJ, BJ, dad,” Hawkeye says.
Daniel pulls BJ into a hug instead, and Hawkeye notes with some some surprise that it looks warmer and more natural than the one he and BJ shared a few hours ago.
“It’s so good to finally meet you.”
“Likewise,” BJ huffs out around Daniel’s firm embrace. “Well, we spoke on the phone, once, but these are much better circumstances.”
Hawkeye can’t help feeling a little annoyed with BJ for bringing that up. It’s the last thing his dad needs a reminder of.
“Better for everyone,” Daniel agrees, and then he finally lets BJ go.
“Dad, did you eat?” Hawkeye asks a little pointedly.
He comes by his bad habits naturally—Daniel Pierce works too much and eats too little, and the incident while he was way doesn’t seem to have served as the wakeup call Hawkeye hoped it would.
“Ethel fed me,” he answers, and Hawkeye reminds himself that ninety-year-old hypochondriacs are good for something.
“We brought dessert,” he says, holding up the pudding. It’s going cold, fast, but one of Daniel’s famous quirks is that he doesn’t really care.
Daniel pulls out a spoon, and they all chat a little while he digs into his cold Grape-Nuts pudding. But Erin is nearly asleep, and after driving most of the morning and afternoon, BJ is starting to look beat, too.
Hawkeye and Daniel both offer to let them stay, but Peg and BJ insist on the bed and breakfast, even though it’s halfway back to Spruce Harbor.
“We already made arrangements earlier,” BJ explains, “and anyway, we couldn’t ask that of you.”
“You’re not asking if we’re offering,” Hawkeye counters, but BJ does have a point.
It’s an old New England house, with the space to show for it, but over the years the medical practice has crept in and claimed more than its share of square footage. Daniel’s gotten used to living alone and spreading out as he pleases—Hawkeye’s never felt anything but at home here, and even he had to squeeze back in; just now, after a year, he’s beginning to feel secure.
Hawkeye offers to drive back with them, but BJ says he remembers the way, so it’s just a quick hug and out the door, fighting the clock of a cranky toddler. Hawkeye can’t deny that he relaxes a little when they leave his childhood home. Only later, lying in bed, does he realize they never even made it upstairs.
They get up early the next morning and meet up at a local hill to look for blueberries. Daniel begs off, claiming he wants to be available to his patients.
Hawkeye strides up the trail confidently; he’s made this same hike since he was old enough to stand. Peg, to his surprise, nearly matches his pace, and he has to admit he’s impressed. BJ falls behind, weighed down by Erin on his shoulders, but he seems to be enjoying himself.
The blueberries are mostly gone—picked over by wildlife and more punctual hikers—but there’s enough left to get a taste. BJ inhales the pine air, chewing on the last skin of a blueberry, and says
“Okay, maybe I understand why you sniff your food now.”
They spend the afternoon on the beach, and even though Hawkeye’s not sure if they’ll be impressed, having a beach of their own, BJ and Peg both agree it’s like nothing they’ve ever seen before.
The waves crash far beneath, and Erin’s content to sit and play with the pebbles. Peg stays to watch her, and the give the old friends a moment alone.
That’s what they are now, Hawkeye thinks. Old friends.
But he doesn’t feel old as he scrambles across the rocks, reliving his childhood with every step. BJ lags behind him, even unencumbered by Erin, he lacks Hawkeye’s natural instinct for the terrain, and cuts a clumsy path over the damp surface. Hawkeye means to slow down, but muscle memory and the sea breeze on his face push him forward, and the distance between them grows.
Hawkeye stops at his favorite lookout, and stares down at the rocky shoreline below. After a moment, BJ joins him.
“Think those rocks spell anything?” Hawkeye asks.
He had to tell BJ he got his message. He doesn’t look up, but feels the answering smile.
BJ’s getting the hang of it as they work their way back, but Hawkeye still clearly leads him.
“Stop,” Peg calls out, when he’s about six feet away from her. He does, and when BJ catches up, he stops too.
She’s holding a camera—a polaroid, and the memories come rushing back, the fight and all, but he doesn’t say anything. The sun bounces off its silver casing.
Peg takes two pictures, and they all fight over which one is better, but she insists it’s the second one and that’s the one she leaves Hawkeye with. She writes on the back, in neat, felt-tip letters, Hawkeye and BJ, 1954.
They leave that afternoon, before the sun is down. With all the delays getting out here, they don’t want to take a chance, and BJ has to be back at work soon enough. Hawkeye is both disappointed and relieved.
This hug is better than their last one, and he wonders absently if they only know how to hug when they’re saying goodbye.
“See you soon,” BJ says earnestly. “Don’t forget, it’s your turn. You come to us next year.”
“Sure,” Hawkeye says, and he doesn’t mean it, but he doesn’t not mean it either. Next year is hard for him to imagine; he’s been taking it one day at a time, and that’s gotten him this far.
“Oh,” he says suddenly, remembering the envelope he hastily stuffed into his pocket the morning.
He digs it out, and presses it into BJ’s hand. Seeing Erin’s name, he raises his eyebrows.
“You should probably wait until she’s at least old enough to read it herself,” he says, “but it’s hers. She ought to have it.”
“Okay,” BJ says, tucking away what he doesn’t understand.
Hawkeye smiles.
“Goodbye, Beej,” he says softly.
“Bye,” BJ says, and it’s only half the word, but it’s a syllable more than he got next time.
Maybe if Hawkeye does make it out west next year, BJ will have learned how to say it.
He tucks the picture away in his room, in a box of other photographs that are meaningful but not easily missed, but he’s glad to have it. To have proof, at least, that they existed outside of the war.
BJ sounded less sure this time that the parting wasn’t final, but Hawkeye felt less sure that it was. Maybe it’ll keep going like this, until someday they meet in the middle, of Christmas cards and sporks letters and not-quite-annual phone calls.
BJ lives on the west coast, and he lives on the east, and neither of them lives at war.
It’s enough.