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BJ turned to his other side, pulling his cover over his head tightly in a weak attempt to block out the coughing just a few feet away from him. When that didn't work, he yanked his pillow out from under himself and held it over his head. Sure, it made it harder to breathe, but it was a lot quieter. More muffled anyway.
“Pierce,” he heard Major Winchester whine, voice just as obscured as the coughing, yet somehow less annoying.
There was about another ten seconds of coughing and throat clearing before he heard Hawkeye’s bunk squeak with his shifting followed by his hoarse, agitated voice, “Sorry, Charles, is my dying keeping you awake? I’ll try to pass away quieter.”
“Please, you’re not dying, stop being so petulant,” the major replied, throwing himself back down with a huff.
The captain cleared his throat a bit dramatically and rolled over. This time the coughing was a lot quieter. BJ assumed he also had his cover pulled up or was turning into his pillow. He couldn’t be bothered enough to sit up and look for himself. This continued far into the night. Or at least until he finally managed to fall asleep. Unfortunately for him, it was also what he woke up to a few hours later.
BJ blocked out the sound as much as he could as he cracked his eyes open. He squinted as light filtered in between the threads of his cover. It did as good a job keeping light out as it did sound. Yawning deeply, he pushed the cover aside and slowly sat up, pressing both hands against his eyes. Once he dropped his hands to his lap, he slowly turned his head in Hawkeye’s direction, appearing to still be asleep.
He was glad one of them could.
BJ shifted his gaze to Charles who was in the same boat as him. The major was on his side, pulling his own pillow tightly over the side of his head. From the looks of it, it wasn’t doing him any good either.
“Hawk,” BJ called out relatively softly. When the other man didn’t respond, he swung his legs over the bed and stood, dragging his feet over next to Hawkeye’s bunk. “Hey, Hawkeye,” he said again, nudging his shoulder.
“Hmm,” he other man mumbled, turning his head to peer up at the other captain. “Whaddya want, Beej? M’tryna sleep.” He didn’t wait for a response as he turned back around, eyes already shut before he could settle back down.
“It doesn’t sound like you’re doing a whole lot of sleeping,” BJ muttered, wincing when Hawkeye coughed again. “In fact, I think you’ve been coughing more than sleeping.”
Hawkeye let out a few more unpleasant hacking sounds as he rolled over to face him. “Well, it would be easier t’sleep if this place wasn’t more dirt’n’dust than air,” he wheezed, coughing into his fist.
“Really…” BJ deadpanned.
“Yes, really. Look at this place. When was the last time it was cleaned?” Hawkeye asked, waving a hand around the interior of the tent. “And don’t get me started on the soot. It’s a miracle any of us can breathe at all…” he trailed off, voice straining more and more with each word. “It’s awful,” he whispered, fist pressed against his chest.
“Uh huh,” Captain Hunnicutt hummed, hands folded over his chest. “Then why are me and Charles breathing fine?”
“Better genetics.”
“That’s not …” the other captain started but shook his head against it. “Actually, I don’t feel like arguing with you right now. It’s too early and I need coffee.”
“Bring some back for me,” Hawkeye requested, barely raising a hand.
BJ stopped at the door and leaned back in. “Come get it yourself. If the tent is as dusty and musty as you say it is, then the fresh air will do you some good.”
Hawkeye groaned in annoyance as he sat up. His hair was a mess, one he put zero effort into straightening out as he untangled himself from his covers. It took some yanking and pulling, but eventually he was able to free himself and get to his feet. He stood for a few seconds, blinking the haze from his vision before following after BJ, just with a little less grace.
He kept his head turned slightly to the side as he walked, burying his face into his shoulder every time he had to cough. There was a constant itch in his throat and the chill winter air wasn’t helping. Every inhale pricked all the way down to his lungs.
The only way to make it to the mess tent quietly was to hold his breath for most of it. Sure, it made his chest burn but it was better than coughing and hacking every couple of seconds. It also kept a lot of wary eyes off of him.
He stepped up behind BJ, who turned and offered him a small smile. “Nice of you to join me. I wasn’t expecting you for at least another hour.”
Hawkeye shrugged. “Yeah well, it was getting a lil’ stuffy in there.” He leaned his head back slightly, trying and failing to rid his throat of its most recent itch.
“Oh? And is it any better here?” BJ asked with a raised, skeptical eyebrow.
“Mmhmm,” Hawkeye hummed, voice pitched ever so slightly. One hand rubbed at his chest, attempting to ease the tension building. “Jus’ … gimme a m’ment,” he mumbled, words breaking up as he turned around on the ball of his foot. As soon as he was through the door, he leaned over with one hand on the doorframe, body shuddering with each cough. Once done, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and returned to BJ’s side with his head held high. “Much better,” he said with a nod.
“Right.”
Captain Hunnicut poured himself a generous cup and felt nice enough to pour one for Hawkeye as well.
“Here.”
“For little ol’ me?” Hawkeye asked, with feigned flattery and a hand on his chest. He took the offered cup as BJ rolled his eyes. “Thanks,” he added flatly, taking a deep sip with a sigh. He silently followed after his friend, cup held between his hands as he slipped onto a seat across from him. “Is it just me or is it … more palatable today?”
BJ gazed into his cup and took a sip, letting it sit on his tongue for a moment. He cringed with a shudder. “I think it’s just you.” He placed his coffee down and raised his attention to Hawkeye, squinting at the other man. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”
Hawkeye drank about half his beverage in one long sip. “I told you yesterday, I’m fine. It’s all this kicked up dirt. It’s been getting dustier here lately. Don’t tell me you can’t see it floating in the air. It’s everywhere. It’s in the food, in the water, in my dreams,” he ranted, gesturing here and there. “It’s fused into the very shee-” he stopped suddenly, turning his head to cough violently into his shoulder.
“Or you could just be getting sick,” BJ offered the much more likely cause, but Hawkeye shook his head, tears in his eyes from the last bout.
“I don’t get sick,” he rasped with a tight smile as he took another sip. He barely got the drink down when it sputtered back up a moment before he turned his head away in another fit.
“Uh huh. You were saying?”
Hawkeye took an extra second before turning back towards his friend. “Went down th’wrong pipe,” he croaked. He took a deep breath through his nose, the slightly safer option, and carefully let it back out with closed eyes. “M’good, though. But, uh. It’s my day off, so I think I’ll take advantage of that and get some sleep while I can,” he said in a whisper.
BJ watched as the man stood, shaking his own head. “Of course, Hawk, whatever you say.”
Hawkeye offered his friend a small wave on the way out, forgetting his coffee where it was as he stifled yet another cough in his elbow. He was dead on his feet as he trudged the short distance towards the Swamp, feeling as though he hadn’t slept for a single minute. Though, when you were waking every few minutes with a tickle in your throat, it was a little challenging to find any sort of rest.
He didn’t even bother kicking his shoes off before falling face first onto his bunk. With his bed the only thing on his mind, he hadn’t even noticed Charles was still there. The major, on the other hand, was more than aware of his roommate's return.
“You could have at least bathed before you came back,” he complained, turning the page to his book.
Hawkeye let out a huff as he weaseled his way under his cover, curling up in its warmth. “Why would I do that, Charles? I’ve been working on this signature scent for a week.”
“As always, Pierce, you are utterly repulsive.”
“You really need to work on your compliments.” Hawkeye yawned deeply, sinking deep. If Winchester said anything else, he didn’t hear it. Well, that’s not completely true. He heard the man speaking, he just didn’t care enough to concentrate on the actual words.
He didn’t know how long he slept for, but it was long enough to get a slight ache in his neck. The first thing he did upon waking was shiver and pull the cover tighter over himself and the second thing he did was cough, harshly, into his pillow. He pulled the slightly damp fabric close to his face, letting it muffle the sounds. As the episode slowly subsided, he breathed in shakily, slightly out of breath and whispered a quiet swear.
Carefully, he unraveled himself from both the sheets and his limbs, finding all of it to be tacky with sweat. With a disgusted cringe, he tugged his shirt from his chest. Realizing how rough he must have appeared as well as sounded, he took a quick glance around, relieved that he was the only one there. Major Winchester’s book was closed and sitting on his pillow.
Hawkeye cleared his throat once more while he slowly sat up. He shuddered with the foul taste left in his mouth that seemed to stick to every surface with how dry it was. Prying his lips apart, he sat up on the edge of his bed, head bowed slightly with a fist against his chest. He inhaled as deeply as he could, not too fond of the way it rattled in his lungs.
He sat there, taking a few more experimental breaths; they got a little quieter with each one, but the discomfort it brought didn’t change much. One hand pushed sweaty bangs off his forehead as he finally stood and breathed carefully through the racing of his heart from such a simple action.
‘Ok … that’s a little weird,’ he thought, dropping his other hand from his chest.
All he wanted was to get some water and come right back and curl back up in bed. Still, even after a pretty lengthy nap from what he could tell based on the sun shining through, he was still exhausted. Maybe BJ was onto something. Or maybe he was just overreacting. He hadn’t had much sleep and it had been a stressful week. The body did some weird things under such conditions. Nothing some proper hydration and rest couldn’t fix.
Telling himself it was that simple, over and over, he forced his feet to move, dragging them out the door and towards the mess tent. He kept his gaze lowered, away from the midday, bearing down sun. The back of his neck prickled from the intensity of it. They were approaching that peak summer heat.
He shielded his face from the worst of it during the short trip over.
Hawkeye stumbled in, placing a hand on each table on the way by until he reached the counter with Igor behind it.
“Water, please,” Hawkeye requested as casually as he could, one arm leaned on the surface. He tried to give a smile, but even he knew it was awkward and unstable and so he dropped it almost right away.
“Captain, you look … unwell,” he said after a moment, trying to choose a safe word to describe the mess of a man before him. There were numerous other words that matched better: terrible, horrendous, like shit, but all of them felt a little too harsh.
Hawkeye just returned the smile to his face and took the offered glass with a hushed thanks. He downed it in one gulp and placed the glass back down. “And one for the road, if you don’mind,” he muttered, tickle coming back with a vengeance in the base of his throat.
He swallowed against it, but it only made it worse. All he could do was tighten his throat and try to hold it off for the time being. When the new glass of water was presented, he took it with a satisfied nod and turned on his heel, ready to get out of there. His feet shuffled along. He probably got a few odd stares but if he did, he honestly did not notice.
Once he was outside and in the clear from so many prying eyes, he no longer held back and allowed his lungs to expel whatever it was they so desperately were trying to rid themselves of. He squeezed his eyes against the onslaught of coughs and turned his face into his shoulder. This one went on a lot longer than the other fits and he had to brace his feet to make sure he didn’t lose his balance.
By some miracle or some superhuman levels of willpower, he managed to stay upright.
After a long few seconds of composing himself, he deemed himself stable enough to carry on. It was shaky going and a lot of pausing to keep his footing, but he had a nice rhythm going soon.
The glass was held between both hands as he returned to his tent to keep the trembling in his hands from spilling any. As carefully as he could he placed the glass next to the distillery, wanting it nearby should he wake up on the verge of thirsting to death again. With that out of the way, he was able to comfortably return under his cover where he belonged.
This time, he was out before his head could hit the pillow.
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This had to have been one of the most mind-numbing shifts BJ had ever experienced. And not because it was boring but quite the opposite; there was too much to do after the rush of wounded they’d had over the last few days. Of course, surgery was just the beginning, now it was time to make sure they all stayed in the clear. He craned his head from side to side, working all of the kinks out of his neck as he exited post-op.
All he wanted was to get a drink or two and hit the sack.
He trudged into the Swamp to find the other two bunks already occupied. Seeing as neither lump was moving, he walked quietly and carefully towards his bed and gently lowered himself on the edge with a sigh. BJ poured himself a drink, also doing that with as much grace as he could, barely making a sound.
The captain leaned back with his drink, sipping it slowly, savoring every drop as he settled in, letting his muscles relax and joints crack into something a lot more comfortable. He was about halfway through his martini when Hawkeye shifted in his bunk with what sounded like a pained groan. The bed creaked as the man tossed to his other side and a second later, he was coughing.
BJ flinched with the suddenness of it. Even in the dark, he could see the other man’s body convulse with every weighted hack. His chest panged with each one and he waited until it finally began to ease up. By then, though, Hawkeye was pushing himself up, doubled over as he fought to catch his breath.
“Hawk, you alright?” he asked, no longer worried about keeping the volume down.
The other man raised a hand, likely unable to respond right away. He leaned farther forward, breaths rasping in and out. After about five seconds of that, BJ stood, about to take the two steps over when Hawkeye raised his hand higher for him to stop.
“M’good,” he wheezed with a wince, hand flattened on his chest as he pressed against it. “I-I’m a’right.” He took in a shallow, shaky breath, clearly straining just to do that. “Wa’er,” he forced out between his teeth, pointing towards the glass.
BJ acted instantly, handing the glass over.
Hawkeye nodded his thanks as he took it, drinking from it as soon as it was in his hands. He took slow steps, as if drinking too quickly would trigger another fit. BJ watched the man closely as he drank, sitting at the very edge of his bed, barely even touching it as he leaned forward as much as he could without slipping off.
Eventually, the other captain lowered the glass and muttered a quiet thanks. He still held the half empty glass in his hands, water rippling with slight tremors. “Think I need some fresh’air.” The words were soft, hoarse as his brows knit together in clear discomfort. He stood, keeping one hand on the bed.
BJ watched with unwavering scrutiny as his friend stood on unsteady feet. When Hawkeye moved, he could see the sheen on his features. All in all, he looked far worse than when he’d last talked to him, which was just that morning. He was pulled from his thoughts when Hawkeye reached over with the glass, going to place it back on the table. But, before it could completely reach, it slipped from his grasp and before BJ could react, it shattered on the floor.
That was the least of his worries. The most concerning was when Hawkeye was about to follow suit, swaying on his feet dangerously. BJ disregarded the shards scattered around his feet and moved before he could think about it, catching the other man before he could collapse face first into broken glass.
“Whoa, Hawk, I gotcha.”
In the middle of the commotion, he wasn’t sure at what point Charles had woken up, but he was on his feet and next to them before BJ ever noticing until he spoke.
“What on Earth is going on?” he asked, more shocked than anything to see Hawkeye being held up by nothing other than the other captain.
Hawkeye, not fully unconscious, blinked, seemingly just as caught off guard and surprised as they were. “S-sorry,” he stammered, one hand clinging to BJ's shoulder, while the other clutched at the fabric over his chest.
Major Winchester switched on the light to get a better assessment of the scene he’d woken up to.
With Hawkeye clearly visible, they were both cued in to the actual state of the man, and it was far worse than BJ had originally assumed. Particularly a blotch of color added to his shirt that wasn’t there previously.
“Is that blood?” he asked, nodding towards the red stain on his shoulder.
Charles looked for only a second. His gaze found something a lot more interesting worthy of his attention. “Hunnicutt,” he said softly, pointing towards the bed. More accurately, the pillow. The other man’s eyes flicked over and there it was, more red stains on Hawkeye’s pillow.
“Jesus,” he whispered, hold tightening on his friend. “Easy does it, lets get you sitting back down.” Both hands on Hawkeye, BJ gently sat him down in the chair, eyes never leaving the stain on his shirt. Once he was settled and no longer at risk of falling into glass, BJ sat down on his bed, sucking in a hiss between his teeth.
“I’ll get some tweezers,” Charles offered, meeting BJ’s eyes for only a second before taking his leave.
Captain Hunnicutt nodded as he pulled his feet from the floor and let them dangle just above it.
“Hawk,” he started, keeping his voice light, “why is there blood on you and your bed?” He had a feeling he already had an idea, but it would be nice to get an honest answer out of he man. It was the least he could do.
Before he could answer, Hawkeye turned his head to cough to the side, whole body shuddering. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth as he turned back, eyes dropping to it for a split second. The flash of alarm across his features said it all. And if that didn’t, then the fact that Hawkeye wiped the blood from his hand onto his pants did the trick.
BJ let out a long, almost disappointed sigh. “Why do you do this to yourself?” he muttered to himself.
Regardless, Hawkeye shook his head. “Didn’think much of’t,” he mumbled, eyes half-lidded. Another shiver ran through him as he drew his legs close and reached over with a shaky hand to pull his cover around himself. “M’so cold.” His words were muffled into the fabric.
BJ pressed his lips together as a thin bead of sweat ran down his temple. “Yeah, bud, I think that’s the fever talking.”
“Told’ya. I don’get sick.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” His head turned towards the door with Charles’ return. “Thanks,” he said, taking the tweezers and getting to work removing the bits of glass from his foot. Luckily, it wasn’t much, and nothing he couldn’t see with the naked eye. He flinched with a few of them, but they were easy enough to remove.
“Sorry ‘bout th’glass,” Hawkeye said softly, nodding clumsily towards BJ’s feet.
The other captain shook his head in dismissal. “No biggie,” he assured. “This is nothing. What I’m more worried about is that cough of yours.” He plucked the last shard from his foot - or what he hoped was the last one and reached for his shoes. “In fact, we’re going to get that checked out right now, whether you want to or not.
Hawkeye didn’t reply as he pulled the blanket around himself as tight as he could and coughed into it, sounding all around miserably. “Al’ight,” he wheezed. “Can we jus’do’t here?”
With a pang of sympathy, BJ nodded. “Yeah, alright. But we will need to leave to get some x-rays done.”
Charles, who was settling back into bed, sat up quickly. “Wait a minute, Hunnicutt. He’s likely contagious, do you really think allowing him to continue to stay here with two other surgeons is a great idea?” he asked, eyes wide. “We can afford to be down one, but not three.”
“I’m aware of that, Winchester,” BJ said without looking his way. “But I imagine, seeing as he’s been in here, coughing this whole time, his germs are already all over the place. We’re both going to have to take some precautions as it is,” he shrugged, nonchalantly.
“M’not contagious,” Hawkeye mumbled, dozing off where he sat.
BJ smirked with a cock of his head. “I’m willing to bet you are. Now come on, I need you to uncocoon yourself for a bit and lean forward,” he instructed, reaching for his shoes. “You know how this goes,” he said, reaching for his stethoscope.
Hawkeye was reluctant, and for a moment BJ wasn’t sure the other captain heard him, but slowly - painstakingly slow - Hawkeye unwound himself with a whine. He stopped about halfway to lean down, slipping into another hacking episode. BJ flinched from the ferocity of it. This one sounded especially rough. He even saw a couple drops of blood drip down to the floor below.
“You know what. I don’t think this step is necessary. Come on.”
BJ stood, glass crunching beneath his feet. He grabbed Hawkeye’s shoes and decided just doing it himself would be easier and faster than letting him fight with it. Even so, it was harder than he expected as Hawkeye kept trying to curl back in on himself. It took a lot of yanking and pulling, but soon he was able to get them on.
“Let’s go,” he said, pulling Hawkeye’s arm over his shoulders. “Gonna need you to stand now.” He didn’t wait for a response before pulling Hawkeye up, instantly taking most of the other man’s weight. The first thing he noticed was just how sweaty the man was. Heat was pouring through the threads of his clothes. Again, he was astonished, and yet not surprised, that Hawkeye allowed it to get so bad.
“While you take care of him, I’ll be … cleaning,” Charles said with a hint of disgust.
“Please do,” BJ groaned as he hefted Hawkeye higher up on his shoulder, keeping him from slipping too much.
They took it slow, but even so, Hawkeye struggled to keep up, stumbling every few steps and relying on BJ more and more to keep him upright. Bj honestly didn’t need any tests to know it was pneumonia. He could have figured that out in his sleep. He just needed to know how bad it was. It was also jarring just how quickly it came on, narrowing the strain down a bit at least. He had a head start. First thing before x-ray, he decided, was to go ahead and get him started on antibiotics.
By the time he reached post-op, he was basically dragging the man until he was able to deposit him on an open bunk.
“What in God’s name happened to him?” Margaret asked, turning from the patient she was tending to.
BJ shook his head as he assisted Hawkeye in getting his legs on the bed. He didn’t bother getting him too settled in seeing as he was going to have to grab him again shortly. “Pneumonia,” he said simply. “Can you just keep an eye on him while I grab some penicillin?”
“Pneumonia?” she asked, head whipping in Hawkeye’s direction. Well, he certainly looked rough enough for that to be believable. “He was fine yesterday.”
“Correction, he made you think he was fine. He’s quite good at hiding things until he’s dead,” BJ replied with slight annoyance. “Instead, he wants to pretend nothing is wrong until it becomes an inconvenience for all of us.” He spoke as he looked to the other man’s half-lidded eyes, hoping he was still lucid enough to know just how irritated he was. Irritated and worried. Mostly worried, but he didn’t need Hawkeye knowing that.
Margaret opened and closed her mouth a few times, clearly not sure what to say. “Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on him,” she assured, taking a seat next to him.
BJ offered his thanks and left quickly.
As she sat there, the major bounced her leg, gazing around the room and looking at her temp patient every couple of seconds. In that short amount of time, he’d done nothing but shiver, bury himself deeper into the blankets, and cough every few seconds. Each inhale wheezed in and she didn't need any help hearing him struggle with every breath. She figured while she was sitting there doing nothing, she may as well check him over herself.
The way he was pouring sweat, his temperature was the first thing she concerned herself with. She made sure to be quick in her retrieval, not wanting to leave his side for too long.
True to his word, BJ returned just as she was getting the readout.
“What is it?” he asked, getting a syringe ready and prepping Hawkeye’s arm. The latter watched him work lazily. From the look in his hazed eyes, he barely had a clue what was going on anymore.
At least it made the shot easy. There was no fight back.
“103.2,” the major announced with a click of her tongue. “Should I get him started on some aspirin?”
“Yeah, that would be great,” he sighed. He waited quietly while Major Houlihan administered the medication. “If I were you, I’d go ahead and take some penicillin as well, just as a precaution. Seems to be pretty aggressive, don’t want this spreading.”
“Good idea. I’ll get everyone else on it as well.” She knew that she, for one, definitely did not want what he had. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think she was looking at a corpse. A corpse that could still barely breathe.
“Alright, Hawk, we’re going to have to move you again. It’ll be real quick, just need some imaging of your lungs, then you can sleep and relax to your heart’s content. How does that sound?”
Hawkeye stared at the other man for a full two seconds before nodding with a low hum. He brought the blanket up to cover his mouth as he coughed into it, bed rattling beneath him. BJ waited until he was done before prying the blanket away, eliciting another strong shudder and honestly heart-breaking whimper.
“I know, you’re cold. We’re doing what we can. You won’t be for long, I promise. Now let’s get this over with.”
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It was a hassle and a half to get the x-rays, mostly because Hawkeye could barely stay still long enough to get a clear image. He was either doubled over coughing or shivering so much his insides were a blur. But, with some good timing and waiting for the aspirin to do its job and get him coherent enough to follow basic instructions, they got what they needed.
And it wasn’t pretty.
There were more than a few cloudy blotches, most of which didn’t take a lot of staring and searching to spot. BJ hummed as he looked the picture over. It wasn’t the worst he’d seen, not by any means. It also wasn’t something to be brushed aside lightly like Hawkeye so stupidly attempted to do. There was no chance he really thought this was due to dust and dirt.
They had him back in bed, deeming him too unwell to allow back into the Swamp just yet. Maybe after a couple days when he’d had time to recover a bit. But with his fever as high as it was and cough as frequent and rough as it was, there was no way any of them were letting him too far out of the hospital wing.
Within the first day, his fever had dropped by half a degree at least. Not quite enough for BJ’s liking just yet. He wanted it to be down to 102 at most before even thinking about letting the man leave. And he was sure Hawkeye would have a few choice words for him about such a decision if he was awake long enough to voice them. As it stood, all the medication and his own fatigue kept him asleep for most of his stay.
But along the second day, when his fever finally dropped and he was less doped up, he lay there and moped for a lack of a better term. Everyone unlucky enough to be placed in a bed adjacent to his was subjected to his complaints, enough so that even the nurses were ready to have him removed. By force if it came down to that.
So, it was with reluctance on BJ’s part and enthusiasm on Hawkeye’s that he was permitted to return to the Swamp on the condition that he remain strictly confined to his bed. There was very little argument on that one given how just standing was still enough to render him breathless. And he needed a hand just covering the short distance from the hospital to his tent and was more than willing to climb under the blanket. One arm wrapped around his chest, trying to cradle his aching and burning lungs.
“We have wounded on the way, think you’ll be fine for a bit?” BJ asked.
“Yes mom,” Hawkeye mumbled with a cough. It had let up a little. There hadn’t been any more blood, so that was a blessing. But the cough itself was a stubborn one. “Jus’gonna sleep.”
BJ nodded. “That’s what I like to hear. But just to be safe, I’m going to have someone check in on you.”
“Don’eed a babysitter,” Hawkeye whined.
“Not a babysitter. More like a nosy neighbor.”
“Always hated my neighbor,” Hawkeye sighed.
BJ laughed lightly. “Well, I think this one might be a little better. Won’t even know he’s here,” he assured. “Anything you need before I go?”
Hawkeye shook his head. Satisfied, BJ looked his friend over one last time before heading for the scrub room.
Captain Pierce never heard the other man leave. In fact, he couldn't repeat the last thing he said as he drifted off, no longer aware of where he was. The only thing he understood was he was tired and sleep was knocking on the door. He was out for hours, completely unaware when Radar slipped in and crept close to his bed.
The corporal sat down in the chair, pulling it closer to his superior. He leaned in close, mostly to make sure the man was still breathing. He wasn’t given much instruction other than to check in on him and make sure he was alright. He took that as just to check if Hawkeye was still alive. Which, thankfully he was. His labored and wheezing breaths didn’t sound right to him, but based on what he’d seen the previous couple of days, it was better than it was.
Humming to himself, Radar leaned back and placed his hands in his lap. He knew he was only asked to check in, but with everyone in the OR at the moment, he didn’t have much else to do. He quickly lost track of time, dozing off himself before jolting awake when the door opened and BJ stepped in, craning his neck from side to side. Checking the time, Radar realized it had been about six hours. He had to blink a couple times to assist in his return to reality.
“Still asleep?” Captain Hunnicutt asked, nodding his head towards Hawkeye.
Rubbing his eyes now, Radar raised his eyes to the man he was supposed to be watching. “Uh yeah. I guess so,” he said with a yawn.
BJ nodded. “As expected. Thanks Radar. I can take over from here.” The corporal nodded, stretching as he stood. He waited until Radar was gone and it was just the two of them before he placed a hand on Hawkeye’s shoulder, gently nudging him.
It took a few attempts to get the man to finally rouse.
“Hey, Hawk, time to take your doses,” he said, shaking a little paper cup.
Hawkeye grimaced and blinked sluggishly, trying to turn to his other side but BJ kept a firm hand on him, easily preventing him from moving.
“Now, now, you know better than to skip out on your medication,” he said with a click of his tongue. “Come on, just take the pills and you can go on your merry way back to sleep and I won’t bother you again until morning. By which point, you should probably eat something. Pills hardly count as a meal.”
With a tense huff, Hawkeye pulled himself upright and held his hand out for the pills to be dumped into. He tossed them in his mouth and practically snatched the water from BJ’s other hand, ready to inhale the stuff. He may not have had much of an appetite or energy, but his thirst had been a constant nag in the back and front of his mind.
“Thanks, Beej,” he sighed, handing the empty glass back, being extra careful not to drop this one. He eased himself back down, pulling the blanket up to his chin.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it,” BJ replied with a deep yawn as he flopped onto his mattress. It was one of the best feelings in the world. “Goodnight, Hawk. And for the love of God, wake me if you need anything.” He turned the light off next to his bunk. As soon as it was out, he heard Hawkeye’s snores and wondered if he had heard any of that.