Chapter Text
"For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love" (John Donne)
"Mmph. H'lo?"
"Hawk, did I wake you? Oh shit, I forgot the time difference…"
"Beej? Beej!"
"Sorry…"
"Oh, never mind. If you've got the time, I've got the ear. How are you, buddy?"
"Could be worse. How are things with you?"
"Great. I love Boston. And Boston Mercy's a real challenge -- makes me feel alive again. Charles really came up trumps."
"While blowing his own trump, I'm sure"
"Oh yeah, loud and clear. Paternal and patronizing as you please. But with pull. Meatball Pierce is the new head of vascular surgery at Boston Mercy Hospital."
"Hey, congratulations! Couldn't have been something to do with your stellar skills and extensive experience in the war, could it? Naaah…"
"Aw, c'mon Beej. You know as well as I do that skills get you admired, but connections get you hired."
"Cynic." BJ laughed aloud.
"Who me?"
"And how's your Dad?"
"Happy as an old Maine clam. I drive up on weekends to see him. Hey - what's that noise?"
"What? Oh, just a bus pulling out."
"A bus station? BJ, where are you?"
"Um, Des Moines, I think. Yeah, Des Moines. We're on a stopover."
"I almost hate to ask."
"I almost can't answer. I wasn't thinking very clearly when I got on the bus."
"Beej, something's wrong. Tell me."
"Can't. Not now. But this bus goes to Boston. Would it be possible… I know it's a lot to ask…"
"Don't be ridiculous. My new place has so many extra rooms it's zoned as a hotel. Come stay as long as you like."
An almost inaudible sigh of relief. "Thanks, Hawkeye. You're a pal."
"Among other things."
"Lay in some strong hooch, wouldya? Think we both might need it… Gotta go. They're announcing my bus. Bye."
"Bye, BJ." Hawkeye put down the receiver and frowned at it for quite some time.
***
"Oof! You been lifting weights?"
Hawkeye released BJ from his bearhug and grinned. "Naw, just overcome by sentimentality. What happened to the crumb-catcher?"
BJ rubbed his upper lip a tad self-consciously. "Got tired of it. And Peg wanted me to keep it."
Hawkeye decided to leave that one alone. "Come on in, then. I'll lug the luggage. Is that all you brought?"
"Footloose and fancy-free, that's me."
"Your letters have been shorter than an Alaska summer. Just what's going on? Here's your room on the right."
"Aw, Hawk. Can we talk about it later? It's a mess."
"Sure, no problem. Settle in. Pizza OK for dinner?"
"More than OK. No olives."
"Gotcha."
BJ dumped the contents of his knapsack near the large bed as his friend's footsteps retreated down the stairs. Not bothering to sort his belongings out, he kicked off his shoes, flung himself onto the bed, and stared unseeingly at the blank wall across from him. His fingers drummed at his sides. "Damn you, Peg," he said quietly. "Damn you and damn him." He reached for his wallet and pulled out a well-worn picture of a toddler. Softly, he ran the tip of his finger over her hair, pale in the black and white picture, golden in real life. Like her mother's. Swallowing hard, he slipped the picture into the breast pocket of his shirt. No point in moping around up here.
"So where's that hooch?" he bellowed as he started down the stairs.
"Beer in the fridge, to go with the pizza," came Hawkeye's disembodied voice. "Or hard stuff in the cabinet in the front room, if you want it."
"Beer's fine." Seizing a pair of cold cans, BJ traced the voice to its source in a comfortably untidy room towards the front of the house. Hawkeye was half-submerged in one corner of an enormous sofa. Not attracted by the angular cane chair which presented itself as an alternative, BJ measured his length into the other corner. Hawkeye pulled back, rather unnecessarily it seemed, to accommodate him.
"Big house," said BJ, tossing over a beer.
"Too big," agreed Hawkeye.
"How did you get it? Must be expensive, especially in this district."
"Um, actually I'm getting a really good deal on it. Colleague at the hospital is lending it to me practically rent-free. Jack MacGregor. Rich as Croesus, but a good guy. I'll introduce you -- think you'll like him."
"Mm." BJ wasn't particularly interested in Hawkeye's new friends. "What's your schedule like?"
"I'm on call tomorrow, but they don't often drag me in. Going in on Monday at 6:30. Wanna come along?"
"Sure."
"A.M., I'm talking about…" Hawkeye grinned.
"Thought you weren't going to do the big-city hospital thing again?" BJ was remembering a conversation the denizens of MASH 4077 had held shortly before they were demobbed.
"Oh well, anybody could have predicted how long I would last as a small-town doc."
"Did your Dad kick you out when you got bored?"
"With his biggest boots."
"Good man."
The doorbell rang, and Hawkeye went to get the pizza. BJ's smile faded. So far, he'd successfully kept the conversation on his friend's business, but the questions were bound to start soon.
Sure enough, Hawkeye's first words as he brought in the steaming pizza were, "So, how are Peg and Erin?"
"Erin's doing just great. She's grown so much in the past year, Hawk. And she's full of talk -- loves to tell everybody about all the new things she's discovering. I can't believe she'll be old enough to start kindergarten next year."
"Think you'll be able to help her with her homework?" teased Hawkeye.
"No," said BJ grimly and took a large bite of pizza to give himself time. He met Hawkeye's sober, understanding gaze, swallowed, and ploughed on.
"Peg and I are separated, Hawk. Well… we never really got back together when I came back from the war. I didn't write you right away, because I kept hoping… " He trailed off.
"What happened?" Hawkeye asked gently.
"Oh, just the same old story," BJ said wearily. "A lonely woman. A kindly neighbour. A dentist, actually. Peter Davidson." The name came out as a hiss. "I'm giving her a divorce."
"Ouch."
"Yeah," replied BJ. "What a humiliating business. Hiring a co-respondent. Being 'caught' in a motel. And then lying your head off in court. I tell you, Hawk, if I didn't love Peg so much…" He gulped another piece of pizza, grimacing as it burned his mouth.
"When do you get the decree?"
"It'll take another few weeks at least. But my lawyer says he can handle it all from now on. I'm free to start my new life." His tone was dry.
"You looking to start a practice out here?"
"Well, I sure as hell can't stay in Mill Valley. There's not an old biddy in the town who'll walk on the same side of the street as me since the divorce trial."
"But Erin…"
"Luckily, Peg's being reasonable. And Peter too, damn him. I get Erin every second weekend and alternating holidays and birthdays. It's all in writing."
"How will that work if you're out here?"
"Well, that's the thing. Peter's bought himself a practice in Chatham. They're moving out by Christmas."
"Ah, I see. So here you are."
"So here I am," confirmed BJ.
Hawkeye shifted closer and briefly patted BJ's knee. "And you're welcome to stay as long as you need to. You know that, buddy. Anything I can do…"
BJ turned to him, gratitude clear in his eyes. "Knew I could count on you, Hawk." He reached to pull his friend into a hug.
Hawkeye stood up suddenly, breaking BJ's clasp. "Let me start with a whisky, shall I?" Not waiting for an answer, he strode off into the front room, leaving BJ puzzled amongst the ruins of the pizza.
***
It was several hours and many whiskies later. BJ was stretched at full length on the couch, numbly surveying the elaborate tracery on the ceiling. Hawkeye was prone on the floor below, propped on his elbows and fiddling with his empty glass.
The silence was comfortable. The storm had passed. The whiskey had done its job, as they had both known it would, and BJ had vented forth his pain, his rage at the monstrous betrayal, and his fear of losing his child. Finally, he had broken down into reluctant, violent sobs that said what he could not about the despair of living the rest of his life alone, with no Peg either to love or to hate.
Hawkeye hadn't missed a beat. They had done this for each other before, after all - not often, for neither man enjoyed self-revelation, but the cauldron of fear and filth called Korea had forced it out of them once or twice. Hawkeye knew when to refill the glass, when to listen, and when to pose the hard questions. He knew, too, how to fill in the blanks when the answers were too awful to speak aloud. And he was ready with soft words and strong arms when nothing but soothing would do. If the words had come more readily than the touches, and both a little less easily than they once had, BJ had been too immersed in his own sorrows to give it more than a passing thought. Hawkeye was his friend, and he was here. It was enough.
BJ turned and looked down at Hawkeye's dark, silver-streaked head with a surge of affection. "Sorry about the chair," he said.
Hawkeye snorted. "You did me a favour. Never did like the thing. Dents in your ass and a perpetual wobble." He looked over at the smashed cane chair with ill-concealed glee.
"A good epitaph," said BJ. "May we be summed up just as neatly on our own gravestones." He hoisted his glass and downed the dregs.
"Benjamin Franklin Pierce, 1923-1955," intoned Hawkeye. "He lived by the scalpel and died by the bottle."
"Better than living by the bottle and dying by the scalpel," retorted BJ predictably.
"I'd rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy," free-associated Hawkeye with a giggle.
"Right now, I'd take either. Or both" was BJ's rather lethargic reply.
Hawkeye hoisted himself to BJ's eye-level. "Feeling sorry for yourself, are you?"
BJ managed to summon up a smile. "Nah, I'll be OK." His hand found the other's shoulder. Hawkeye remained passive under the touch, neither rejecting nor responding. BJ frowned, and then sighed and withdrew his hand. "You're remembering the caves," he said quietly.
"Yeah. Sorry," replied Hawkeye, obviously embarrassed.
"Nothing to be sorry about, Hawk." There was an awkward pause, and then BJ added, "I was remembering too."
Hawkeye got unsteadily to his feet. "We're not really in a condition to deal with this, Beej. We should get some sleep."
"You're right," said BJ reluctantly. He held out a hand and Hawkeye pulled him up to face him. "Give me a hug anyway?"
Hawkeye's answer was warm, close and prolonged. "Anytime," he told BJ's shoulder. "Anytime."
***
Fifteen minutes later, lying in the unfamiliar bed, BJ groaned as he replayed his own words in his head. Remembering the caves? God, it was just as well Hawkeye had no idea how well, how often, he remembered. And the reality was tame enough compared to the fantasies he had embroidered around it since.
With an effort, he closed his eyes and forced himself to think of other things. They weren't terribly conducive to sleep. Peg, Erin. Erin, Peg. The divorce. Re-establishing his career -- whatever that was going to be. Private practice? Maybe a surgical post to tide him over? He'd been drafted straight out of medical school, and had nothing to live on but his army benefits. Hawkeye would help. Hawkeye… BJ buried his face in the pillow and drifted off.
It wasn't a noise that woke him. The person sitting on the edge of his bed was being silently unobtrusive. BJ slitted open one eye and, satisfied that it was indeed Hawkeye, let himself drift back into semi-consciousness. A long time later, he vaguely felt the brief, warm touch of a hand on his arm, and then the weight lifted itself from his bed and the door clicked quietly shut.
***