Work Text:
He gently pressed his lips into the skin of her shoulder, pale in the moonlight and tasting slightly of salt. Peg was breathing calmly in her sleep, tucked up against him like Korea had never happened. He was relieved she still fit so snugly, that when he kissed her in the airport he was kissing the same woman he’d left so many months ago. The curtains in the kitchen were different, a few more dishes were missing from the set they’d received when they were married, Erin’s diapers and baby blankets flung over the back of the armchair had given way to little toys and shoes, but his wife still loved him, still fit against him, still hummed while she cooked and breathed in the same slow, steady way when she was sleeping.
BJ had let Peg think he had drifted off to sleep hours ago, after their enthusiastic private homecoming. When they were first married, it had made her laugh how quickly he’d want to go to sleep afterwards, and tonight she’d teased him before they started and rolled on to her side after, running her hand up and down his arm, watching him with the same steady look she’d had at their wedding. But he didn’t know how to sleep in his own bed. It was too large, too comfortable, the air was fresh and sweet. Their bedroom window faced south and he thought he could imagine a faint orange glow on the horizon — San Francisco, or the red glare of shells exploding against foreign soil, creating wounded for their choppers to bring in? He didn’t know how to tell her what he was thinking of; an ocean, a war, piles of amputated limbs and miles of used bandages between his brain and his mouth, Carrie Donovan the barest hint of a memory he knew he’d have to tell her about.
He almost wished Erin would wake up, and he let himself imagine rocking his little toddler in the rocking chair, humming a lullaby as she drifted back to sleep. He pushed away the thought that she’d want Peg instead, not this tall stranger called “Daddy” who she peeked at from the corner of her eye. He could hold her all night, rocking her, his perfect child who had grown so much since he’d left. Unconsciously his hand moved from Peg’s arm to her stomach, wondering if Erin would end up with a baby brother or sister in nine months. Something slammed in the distance — a window, probably, or a screen door — and his hand clenched.
Peg mumbled and stretched into the pillow. “BJ?” she asked sleepily.
He kissed her hair gently. “I’m fine, go back to sleep,” he said quietly. She was so warm and alive, no bandages or bleeding wounds waiting to be stitched up. It had been so long since he’d gone to sleep without the aid of exhaustion or alcohol. He was almost tempted to wake her up, to make up for lost time, to see if a second round of sex could put him to sleep. He had missed her so much. As if reading his mind, Peg rolled over onto her back and looked up at him, bringing her hand around to the back of his neck. He kissed her.
“What were you thinking about?” she asked.
“Erin. You. Babies. You and things that lead to more babies,” he said, surprised at the feel of a blush creeping up his cheeks as if he was back on their wedding night, amazed at the look and feel of her, completely his.
“Couldn’t stay asleep?”
“No, you’re too beautiful. How could I sleep when you’re right there?”
“Are you flirting with me, Dr. Hunnicutt?”
“Of course, Mrs. Hunnicutt. I have months to make up for. ‘A hundred years should go to praise your eyes and breasts,’ or something like that.”
“Where did you learn poetry?”
“Bunkmate,” he said, kissing her again, “Had a book of it, Hawkeye and I used to read it aloud dramatically, and I’d think of you.”
“And my breasts?”
“Of course,” he said, rolling on top of her, “And your eyes, your hair, the way you look when you’re making coffee or first thing in the morning or last thing at night or when I’d get home from work or on our wedding day. Just thinking of you, of coming home.”
“My romantic husband,” she said with a gentle laugh, “Need help sleeping?”
“I think I could be persuaded into accepting help,” he said, ducking his head to kiss up her neck. He’d learn to sleep here in the quiet again someday.