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Hawkeye pulled open the tattered shoebox where he kept his correspondence, shivering a little in the cold tent. Even with the flaps down, the wind still blew through constantly, frigid and unceasing. He was a little behind on his usual habit of sitting down on the first day of the month to write birthday cards, but he always was in January-writing letters with a hangover on New Year’s Day was never fun. But now he was over it, and Charles and BJ were splitting a shift in pre-op, so he had a quiet moment to get started. He smoothed out the crumpled calendar he’d torn out of the back page of Yankee last year and covered in ballpoint pen and scribbles in cramped handwriting; names and arrows all over the margins with birthdays and anniversaries he’d wanted to remember.
His eyes slid off January and he caught some of the newest handwriting on it with a sigh-next to April 9th: Henry. After a sigh, his eyes flickered down to July to read Trapper’s name too. Well, hopefully he wouldn’t be here in July either to not celebrate Trapper’s birthday.
Before he could start on the correspondence, he was interrupted by the door opening, with a blast of biting cold blowing straight at him, making him wince reflexively.
‘Aaah!’ he nearly shrieked, keeping a tight hold on the calendar as the gust tried to tear it away. ‘Get in quick, shut the door!’
Thankfully, BJ did get in quickly, but the drop in temperature from the opening lingered for a half second, even with the worst of the wind abated. Hawkeye wrapped his coat a little bit tighter around himself and it occurred to him that BJ, his best friend and constant companion, was not on the calendar he was holding-he had no idea when his bunkmate’s birthday was.
‘Here,’ Hawkeye handed over the calendar. ‘Write your birthday on there so I don’t forget to send you a card,’ he asked, handing it off as BJ walked by and he started digging through the shoebox for his address book.
BJ only had it for a few seconds before he tried to hand it back, holding it out to Hawkeye.
‘Oh, it’s not on there,’ he said casually.
Hawkeye, who’d just gotten his hands on his address book, stared up at him. Reflexively, he took the calendar back because it was offered to him but he didn’t know what exactly BJ was talking about.
‘Not on there?’ Hawkeye asked, as BJ made his way across the tent. ‘What do you mean it’s not on there?’
‘It’s not on there,’ BJ said, with that little shrug of his, pulling off his hat but leaving the earmuffs that were under it on. ‘Have you seen Margaret today? I wanted-’
But Hawkeye wasn’t interested in why BJ wanted to talk to Margaret, he was more interested in why he was holding a calendar without BJ’s birthday on it. Ever since he’d stumbled into camp, drunk and holding each other up, just a few months ago, he’d never gotten along better with anyone else in his life.
‘Oh, no, no, no-’ Hawkeye interrupted him, getting up and putting aside the shoebox, but not the calendar. ‘You were born, weren’t you? I’m a doctor, I’m pretty sure that’s a thing that has to happen.’
‘Mm,’ BJ murmured, flopping down on his own bed and pulling out a magazine. He looked infuriatingly blasé about the statement he’d just made, which just annoyed Hawkeye even more..
‘Come on, I gotta throw you a party,’ Hawkeye wheedled. ‘What day were you born?’
‘Friday,’ BJ answered. Now, Hawkeye was peeved.
‘I wasn’t born last Friday,’ he snapped. ‘You have a birthday. Every year, you throw a party, blow out some candles, become a year older. You have that, right?’
‘Well, not every year,’ BJ confirmed, flipping through his magazine nonchalantly, not even looking up at Hawkeye.
‘Ok, ok, I know people can be sensitive about their birthdays, but come on, Beej, people here need something to celebrate. It’s a reason for drinking and merriment in the middle of the war, you can’t deprive us of that, it would be cruel and unfair.’
‘I told you, my birthday’s not on there,’ BJ said with a shrug, pointing at the calendar.
‘What year were you born?’
‘1924.’
‘Oh, so now I have to go find a 1924 calendar so you can write your birthday on there? It would be on there, right?’ he added sarcastically.
‘Obviously,’ BJ conceded.
‘Alright, alright,’ Hawkeye asked. ‘Stop playing with me. When were you born?’
‘Late winter, maybe early spring-’
The conversation ended abruptly when the PA blared to life and announced the arrival of wounded. Hawkeye folded the calendar away and returned it to the box, shutting the lid a little forcefully, annoyed at how closed off his best friend was being. How can a guy be your best friend when we won’t tell you his real name or his birthday?
He didn’t cross paths with BJ during triage until they decided to take on a case together, a nasty chest wound that would benefit from the speed of four hands at once.
‘Well, good thing there’s a second kidney,’ BJ sighed as they worked.
‘Yeah, well, it’s something you’re born with,’ Hawkeye added. ‘Unlike all this shrapnel,’ he added, as the sharp clink of another piece fell into the surgical tray Kellye offered up. ‘And we’re all born, aren’t we?’ he said pointedly. The mask covered BJ’s face, but he could tell by the crinkling by his eyes that BJ was smirking at him. God, as much as he liked the guy, this was infuriating.
‘Be interesting to meet someone who wasn’t,’ Potter chuckled from across the room.
‘Oh yeah?’ Hawkeye challenged him. ‘Let me introduce you to Dr. Hunnicutt, the man whose birthday apparently doesn’t fall on the calendar.’
‘That calendar,’ BJ emphasized. ‘Retraction,’ he added, taking a half second to concentrate on the surgery and let Hawkeye stew.
‘How can a birthday not be on a calendar?’ Radar asked, stopping by to replenish the sponges on their trays.
‘I don’t know, ask BJ!’ Hawkeye retorted, gesturing with the clamp he’d just removed before returning it to Kellye.
But his bunkmate didn’t respond or give him any more hints as Radar shook his head and headed on to the next table with the sponges. Hawkeye paused for a moment to concentrate on the surgery, until he removed another piece of shrapnel and BJ had expertly closed the rupture he’d been working on.
‘Okay, fine, fine’ Hawkeye relented, when he was done with the more difficult part, not willing to let this go. ‘How old are you?’
‘Six.’
‘Yeah? You find that medical degree in a Cracker Jack box?’ he retorted.
‘Something like that.’
‘And when are you turning seven?’ maybe he could play into this, make BJ squeal by annoying him back.
‘Next birthday.’
‘And when, pray tell is that?’
‘This year.’
‘But you said it wasn’t on the calendar.’
‘Wasn’t on that calendar,’ BJ insisted again. ‘You’re the one who leapt to conclusions.’
‘Well, what’s so different about that calendar?’
Kellye giggled as she held out the sponge a second before Hawkeye could ask for it, which only wound him up more.
‘What?’ he asked her.
‘Dr. Pierce, the calendar you’re talking about-what it this year’s calendar or 1951?’ Kellye’s eyes were cheerful and she exchanged a knowing look with BJ. Hawkeye felt like an idiot, like he was missing something obvious. The little snort from Charles behind him confirmed it.
‘This year’s, why would it-?’
The realization dawned on him and he met eyes with BJ, whose smirk just got wider.
‘No, it isn’t,’ he nearly groaned. ‘February 29th?’
BJ nodded with a small shrug, his eyes still crinkling as he smirked, obviously really pleased with himself for keeping Hawkeye annoyed for nearly an hour.
‘You’re lying,’ Hawkeye snapped. ‘You have to be. No, no, no, this is the same stupidity as your name, you’re winding me up again with the silliest birthday-‘
‘February 29th, 1924,’ BJ answered, smugness dripping out of every syllable. ‘Are you ready to close?’ he added, pointing at their patient.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Hawkeye agreed, letting the patient occupy his attention for a few seconds. ‘When Radar gets back, you know I’m gonna make him check your personnel files and I swear to god, if you’re lying-‘
BJ was actually laughing now as they finished on the patient, and Hawkeye heard Charles’ give a small, choked giggle, obviously trying to be dignified but also delighted at the way BJ had made Hawkeye so annoyed.
‘Honest-to-goodness, Hawk. I still can’t believe the army drafted a six year old,’ he added, still chuckling, earning a few more giggles from the room, including Colonel Potter.
‘Boy, you really had him going there, Hunnicutt,’ he said. ‘We’re gonna have to throw you one humdinger of a shindig next month, aren’t we?’
‘Oh, you better,’ BJ replied, with a little giggle and a sideways glance at Hawkeye, who just rolled his eyes. ’It’s not every day a surgeon has a chance to celebrate his seventh birthday.’