Work Text:
Hawkeye is the only one in the Swamp when the door creaks open. BJ is still in Post Op, Charles is still languishing in Potter's tent, and Newsome is… Well. Newsome is in Post Op too, but not as a surgeon right now. When he hears light steps and the soft thump of a bag being dropped on the cot that had been Steve's before his unexpected change of scenery, Hawkeye doesn't move from where he's been flat on his back, staring at the canvas ceiling since his own shift had ended. Without Newsome, the deluge had been brutal. Untenable. He doesn't know where their record stands now, but there's no way it's sitting pretty at 97% anymore.
Hawkeye has never lost so many limbs or so many patients in a session for the entire two years he's been stuck in this hellhole.
"I hear the VIP tent is full of nurses with the mumps," Sidney says, cool as a cucumber, from where he stands at the foot of his newly claimed cot.
"Yeah," Hawkeye mumbles, finally moving just enough to turn his head and see Sidney looking at him with that soft, solemn smile of his. "You'll have to slum it in the Swamp with us rats tonight."
"I can imagine worse fates."
"You ought'a share them with Charles." Hawkeye manages a halfhearted grin, along with his lackluster verbal parry. "His imagination could probably use a boost. Then again, if he manages to survive bunking with the Colonel, he might change his tune."
Sidney's warm chuckle settles over him, lodging in his chest with a familiar warmth, and he heaves himself over, rolling onto his side to face Sidney fully. He's glad to see him. He's always glad to see Sidney really, whether he's just here for the conference, or for a patient, or just to visit. He wishes Sidney was just here for a visit now.
"You look like you could use a boost, yourself," Sidney hums, still observing Hawkeye from the distance of his cot, and seems utterly unfazed by Hawkeye's miserable snort in response. "Do I have two patients for the price of one this time?"
Hawkeye considers the question for a moment. It's not a terrible thought, but it's hitting a little too close to home, all things considered. He's not ready to look too closely at the similarities between himself and Steve Newsome right now. "I'll be alright, Sid," he says finally, and when Sidney simply raises a disbelieving eyebrow at him, he sighs. "It was just… I've seen combat fatigue before, Sidney. But this… this was…"
Bone chilling? Like an omen? And I'm not even superstitious, Sidney, but it felt like I was looking into a mirror and seeing myself after just a few more months of this hell?
"Different?" Sidney offers, and Hawkeye nods. "I thought it might have been. It's one thing when it's a man coming in from the front lines. Someone who's been in battle, seeing and experiencing all these horrors that you never see directly yourself. But Dr. Newsome—"
"Hey, Dr. Freedman?" Hawkeye cuts in wearily, and Sidney looks at him with what might be real surprise for what Hawkeye thinks could be the first time. Any other time, he might have considered it an accomplishment, to render Sidney speechless for even a moment but, right now, he's too exhausted to enjoy it. "Think I can talk to Sidney for a bit instead of being psychoanalyzed?"
Sidney is quiet for a moment, considering.
"I'm surprised to hear you don't consider them one in the same," Sidney replies and Hawkeye can't tell if the man sitting across from him is hurt by the accusation or relieved by the reassurance that Hawkeye sees him as more than just his job.
"Sorry," Hawkeye says as Sidney's gaze softens and he hauls himself up to a seated position, gracelessly crossing his legs underneath his hunched torso. "Sorry, it's just… it's been a long day."
"So I've heard."
Finally, Hawkeye reaches a tentative hand out and Sidney immediately takes his lead along with his hand, as he steps closer and crouches down in front of Hawkeye's cot. His eyes are shining and Hawkeye knows there are thousands of thoughts whirring behind them that Sidney is keeping at bay for the moment. He still hasn't let go of Hawkeye's hand. Hawkeye squeezes it gently, feeling each of Sidney's fingers, counting the pads of them against his palm. It feels grounding, in a way, and he closes his eyes, sighing.
"I'm glad you're here."
"Any time," Sidney murmurs and Hawkeye finds that of all the people who could make that kind of promise to him in this moment, Sidney is one of the few that he thinks he could still believe. He feels Sidney's lips pressing against his forehead, there and then gone an instant later, but his fingers remain in Hawkeye's, his slight but steady presence weighing in front of him like an anchor, even without being able to see him.
But they can't stay like this forever.
"Shouldn't you be visiting Newsome instead of worrying about little old me?" Hawkeye asks, taking a breath and opening his eyes, trying for a moment to straighten out his posture before grimacing and melting back into his usual slouch.
"Trying to get rid of me already?" Sidney asks, his familiar, wry smile teasing at the corners of his lips. "I only just got here. Besides, I think Dr. Newsome is still asleep."
"Ahh, so I'm just the backup," Hawkeye grins. "I get it. Always a mistress, never a wife…"
"I don't know," Sidney hums, watching Hawkeye with indulgent amusement. "Whenever I come to the 4077th, seeing you almost feels like coming home, Feygele."
"I think your sense of direction is a little twisted, Sidney. Brooklyn is what… 7,000 miles away?" He grins when Sidney rolls his eyes, and Hawkeye pulls him in a little closer by their joined hands. "Welcome home, then, honey. Dinner's on the table if you go to the mess tent, but don't you dare accuse me of making it."
Sidney chuckles and Hawkeye really ought to thank him for what has to be a pity laugh. It certainly wasn't one of his best jokes. But instead, he leans forward. Sidney meets him halfway, keeping Hawkeye from tipping out of the cot and knocking him flat on his back. The tension seeps out of his body, sinking into Sidney's grasp as soon as it lets go of his hand to steady his hip with one hand and cup his face with the other. He can almost forget the haunted look in Steve's eyes when he'd sat frozen on Potter's floor. The lurid, vibrant red of his gloves. The more he focuses on Sidney's presence, his lips steady against Hawkeye's, his slight but sturdy frame a warm blanket around his shoulders, the more distant it all feels.
When they break apart to breathe, Hawkeye doesn't pull away. Just rests his forehead against Sidney's. For once, allowing someone else to keep him from collapsing.