Chapter Text
“I'm taking advantage? I'm taking advantage!?”
Hawkeye paused, brushing his teeth. He met his own eyes in the mirror and sighed, continuing the up and down motion. 12345678910. 12345678910. 12345678910.
Although he was listening, the terse reply was only a murmur under the floor boards. He had always thought of Trapper as the loud one, but maybe he was thinking of his laugh.
Yeah, he mused. B.J. rarely allowed for more than a chuckle unless drunk or especially tickled. Trapper’s laugh could rival his own cackles.
They could be fighting over lots of things, he told himself, but he knew himself to be a liar and didn't pay himself much attention.
He finished his teeth, washed his face.
“That's rich coming from you!” BJ exclaimed.
He decided that today he would shave. He made a real meal of it, careful and precise in front of the mirror. If he hadn't been a surgeon he could have been a barber. Or in a barbershop quartet. He started singing as he continued his morning routine, loud enough to drown out the argument.
With nothing more to primp he was forced to make his way downstairs.
He was greeted with silence. Smoldering on one side and icy on the other.
BJ and Trapper's eyes snapped to him and he was tempted to turn back around and go back to bed.
Hawkeye had absolutely no grand visions of After Korea beyond food and sleep. He had toyed with the idea of Europe early on, but really what he had desired was anywhere but where he was. Small town doctoring was more a coping mechanism than something he looked forward to.
BJ though? BJ had always been a planner. Hawkeye would often indulge his friend's bursts of passion. How he would be happy to do all the chores he used to neglect. How he would take Peg out dancing whenever she wanted. How he would spoil Erin rotten. He shared all his annoying little domestic plans and Hawkeye listened both besotted and irritated all at once. You can only hear about hedges so many times after all.
No. Correction. He shared most of his annoying little domestic plans.
All those conversations and BJ never mentioned that there were also plans for Hawkeye himself.
Hawkeye was of two minds about being so well understood by another person. On the one hand it was real human connection and love. On the other hand, BJ used his knowledge for nefarious pranks.
Trapper was not a planner. Trapper was impulsive. California was a clean start as far away from the Boston winter as he could get. He drove south west with his car and two suitcases, everything else left for Louise to sell or trash. She got everything. The house, the girls, the pity and even avoided the stigma by marrying her lawyer and moving to Washington D.C. six months later.
BJ and Trapper worked at the same hospital. Small world. This was before Hawkeye had hauled himself off to sunnier shores. BJ would write tirades about his rival. Every promotion, every accolade. The two of them neck and neck and constantly compared. Dr. Smug, BJ would call him.
Trapper didn't write about BJ at all. He was too focused on reestablishing connection. When he moved to California for his fresh start, one of the first things he did was send Hawkeye a postcard.
It was because he heard about the permanent ceasefire. Missing Hawkeye hit him like a tidal wave crashing over his head at a time when he was already adrift in his loneliness. He had lost Louise, he had lost his girls, he had lost most of his money, and he didn't have any choice about that, but Hawkeye? Why the hell had he given up Hawkeye?
He had given him up so that he could be the husband Louise deserved, and then he hadn’t even managed to do that. What was it all for?
The postcard was waiting for Hawkeye on his Dad's side table the day he came home from Korea. It had arrived a day before he did. It was bright and cheerful. Pretty girls lying on the beach with the Golden Gate bridge in the background. Wish You Were Here.
As the gesture was crafted on impulse, the only writing other than the return address had been:
Hi Hawk, how're you doing?
- Trap
The bright colours had caught Hawkeye’s eye. He picked it up in half a daze. Days of no sleep. Cramped in little airplanes over large bodies of water. Stones left on the face of the Korean landscape etched in his mind. BJ’s tears and his own dry hopeless eyes.
He hadn’t heard BJ’s promise to him over the sound of the chopper blades, that they would see each other again.
“That's it?” he said with all that in mind, staring at the two cent postcard.
Hawkeye was also an impulsive creature. Sidney had once written that ‘anger turned sideways is Hawkeye.’
“Oh, I don't know, it sounded good, and it's not like I expected to have to explain myself to anyone,” Sidney said with an elegant shrug. “I think it's your great capacity for cruelty, while somehow channeling it to show the most tender amount of heart and empathy. Twisting anger into love.”
It had stung. Hawkeye, for all his admitted faults, had never considered himself a cruel person. Margaret had scoffed when he had told her that. A plaintive question on a night of ceasefire between them. It became common practice for them deeper and deeper into the war, for them to lick their wounds together. Hearing her answer had hurt a little too, but had a lot of weight.
Anyway. He sent Trapper a postcard of a lighthouse.
Disappointed.
-Hawkeye
Disappointed with Trapper, with coming home, with himself, with everything? It was a great word that covered a lot of things at the time.
Trapper, once he made an impulsive decision, was committed to it stubbornly. It was how he got into Hawkeye’s cot in Korea. It was why he decided not to write Hawkeye after he left. Now it was why he continued to write him despite getting back terse replies on coastal postcards, even after he had switched to letters.
The thing was, Hawkeye didn’t like being angry at the people he loved. What he should have done was not write back at all, or tell Trapper where he could shove it in no uncertain terms. Instead he let himself be soothed, and Trapper wooed his way back into his good graces.
When the anger was gone, there was only love left. Maybe Sid was on to something. Not surprising. He often was.
He wondered, not for the first time, if BJ had known it was Trapper he was writing about. There were lots of good excuses for why he never connected the dots. John McIntyre wasn’t exactly a unique name. Trapper wasn’t going by his old college name at his new position at Frisco Gen. Hawkeye had probably never said the names John and McIntyre together out loud.
But then again he knew Beej. For all the man’s virtues he had a jealous heart and could get self-absorbed when he felt wronged, which severely limited his capacity for what was usually a football field worth of empathy.
Hawkeye never asked because it would become a THING and it didn’t matter either way.
They were still staring at him.
‘See, this is why your wives left you,’ was on the tip of his tongue in situations like this. He didn’t say it. It was over the line. Besides, he didn’t even have a wife and kid to lose and he was here too. Still, he was sure it would burst out of him one day at the worst possible moment. He remembered yelling at Radar, the kid, his friend, lying in a hospital bed that Hawkeye put him in.
You ninny!
Cruel. Yeah, he was seeing it now, and not with all those redeeming asterisks Sid had tacked on.
He could only hope BJ and Trapper were able to take it with the grace that Radar had and eventually forgive him.
Some days he had hope. Some days he doubted either of them had the maturity of nineteen-year-old Radar O’Reilly.
“The hell with me, huh? The hell with you!”
Walter, he reminded himself. He preferred Walter now. Last time he’d seen him Hawkeye had even called him Walt. It didn’t suit him, but it made Walter grin from ear to ear. As if no one else had ever thought to shorten it, so Hawkeye made a habit of calling him that in their letters.
He still hadn’t spoken. They were still staring at him, as if he would fix their argument without actually knowing what the hell had BJ yelling at seven–eight in the goddamn morning.
Disappointed. The perfect word.
Anyway he hadn’t had plans for After Korea, but he would have thought having a private practice with his best friends in the whole wide world might have been more of a wild (slightly dirty) fantasy and not whatever the hell this domestic purgatory had become.
Well, better than Korea, he decided. He took a piece of bacon off BJ’s plate and paused. When had they bought it? When was the last time any of them shopped? BJ was still in the habit of shoveling food in his mouth without thought. He sniffed the meat, which had BJ gritting his teeth and Trapper’s brow furrowing in concern.
He looked between them. “Well, don’t stop on account of me.” He moved to the empty coffee pot and sighed. This was why he didn’t take his time with the razor everyday, but usually BJ was the last one up. The gloomy mood meant he was inclined to think of them as greedy for not leaving him any, but he knew in his heart of hearts BJ, who was the main caffeine addict now that he was dry, was in the habit of finishing off what was left in the pot with Hawkeye and Trapper already beating him to the table. It was out of habit he had drained the pot, not malice.
Working that out and feeling rather proud of his deductive reasoning, he mentally forgave them for the lack of his preferred source of caffeine and put on water to boil. Black tea. He didn’t mind tea. He didn’t mind anything that had flavour.
He kept his back to them as he busied himself with putting together some kind of breakfast. After the sniffing incident, if he skipped, it would be more trouble than it was worth. He’d choke down some peanut butter on toast. Maybe even drizzle the maple syrup from Dad’s last care package on top to really sell it.
The silent tension behind him didn’t abate.
Despite BJ’s bouts of jealousy, Hawkeye had always thought the two of them would get along. Or at least, if BJ was being difficult, Trapper would be his usual charming self and win him over. He hadn’t worried at all about Trapper liking BJ, even a porcupine BJ.
“You’re kidding right? You’re friends with Big Foot?”
Apparently, Trapper had not liked BJ.
Hawkeye watched his water boil.
BJ’s plan had been luring Hawkeye to California and opening a private practice together once he had saved enough money and Peg could quit her job.
Peg wasn’t so thrilled with these plans. She liked her job. She didn’t see why she had to quit, especially since having him home should have made less work for her, not more, so there was no reason to throw away the extra income. Also why exactly did BJ want to convert the room she was using as an office into a room for his old war buddy? Did he expect Hawkeye would permanently move in with them?
Hawkeye was glad he didn’t learn about that little detail until much later.
The Hunnicutt divorce had been nastier than the McIntyre’s. For all the pain, Trapper had accepted his fate when Louise finally told him to get out.
BJ wasn’t as accommodating. It was what had finally forced Hawkeye to move, and of course BJ resented it when it happened.
“I didn’t ask for your help. I don’t want you here.”
After all the talk of the sunny skies and the calm ocean breeze. After a year and a half of letters cajoling him to come down.
“I don’t want you here.”
Hawkeye remembered BJ’s story. Androcles and the Lion. BJ wasn’t as docile as the wounded lion, but someone had to get the thorn out of his paw. If he didn't, the divorce would have festered and turned gangrenous. BJ had already lit a fire to the bridge of reconciliation between himself and Peg, but if he kept trying to punish her he would end up losing his daughter too.
He sat beside BJ in the courthouse listening to BJ’s lawyer read out a list of ridiculous petty time wasters that would only drag this out, only make it harder for Peg to look after Erin when she eventually won primary custody, which was looking more and more likely.
“This needs to stop, Beej.”
Hawkeye, who had watched BJ’s heart break time and time again for missing his little girl, knew his friend wouldn’t survive it. Peg was fierce, hardworking, and intelligent. BJ was never going to see his daughter again if Peg was pushed to really put her mind to it.
BJ was at his worst during the divorce. He was hard to live with, but Hawkeye was certain that the BJ he knew would be gone forever if he abandoned him to his misery.
So, San Francisco, sharing a beach house with his old war buddy, and hey, there was his other best friend just over the bridge.
Two for one. BJ had grimaced when he told him that.
Trapper was his own field of landmines, but kept his misery hidden better. The cluttered apartment in the city was a nice break from the Beach House where BJ made his den, at least at first.
Trapper being a charismatic happy drunk also meant that it took a while for Hawkeye to see the problem.
His own habit had been kicked in a mental hospital in Korea, and the few times he had sipped gin or whiskey he swore there was a copper note to it. Blood.
Not drinking was just easier, and he didn’t mind being the sober man among drunks, especially in the poker games Trapper dragged him to. He didn’t mind the way Trapper would lean himself against him. Would pull him to dodgier and dodgier bars. What bar could possibly be dodgier than Rosie’s after all?
It didn't hit him until finally Trapper kissed him during happy hour. Hawkeye had full body flinched, pulled back in terror because what the fuck was Trapper thinking!?
Before he noticed no one batted an eye toward them.
He didn’t lean back in again. He hauled Trapper home.
“Are you crazy? You want to lose your job? Your medical licence?” he had berated the smiling Trapper, who was set on gazing at him with fond nostalgia as Hawkeye tore into him.
“Why not? Already lost my paycheck,” he said as if it was them trading lines back and forth like back in Korea.
“You were playing poker again?”
“Mahjong. I’ll teach you. I bet you’d be good at it.”
“Trapper, how the hell are you going to make rent? What the hell are you going to do? Do you know how screwed you are? What if someone that knew us saw us kiss—hell, what if they saw us in that bar together? What if we got arrested!?”
Trapper laughed. “I always ‘ve remembered you as an optimist, sweetheart."
“I was the biggest cynic in the army.”
“Nahh, you did that to be funny, and you were. But no one had hope in their eyes like Hawkeye Pierce. You believed in things like justice, and decency, and held us all accountable for it. Scolded humanity when we didn’t meet your expectations. What I love about you, Hawk. You keep on believing it can all be fixed one dirty trick at a time.”
Trapper tried to kiss him again.
“Trap! We’re not lonely and bored in Korea anymore!”
“I didn’t fuck you because I was lonely, Hawk. I fucked ya because I couldn’t help myself. You’re magnetic. Most beautiful man I’ve ever known and I’ve been chasing the feeling of you since you left for R&R. I didn’t write you because keeping you would doom my marriage. My marriage is over, and you’re not on the other side of the country anymore. Let me take care of you.”
Hah. Didn’t Trapper know that doctors made the worst patients? No one had looked after Hawkeye since he was ten years old. Not since mom. He avoided his favourite older cousin (tried to drown him), and threw himself into helping his Dad take care of everyone in the Cove (because sometimes Hawkeye would find Dad in the morning at the kitchen table with dried tears and an empty bottle).
Then his dad noticed his son’s own developing anxiety and insomnia as his eleven year old tried to balance his life and his father’s life. He had gone to a shrink. It wasn’t something that people would talk about, especially in those days. Shrinks were for crazy people. But Dad talked about it to him. He wanted Hawkeye to know he was being looked after. That he would be okay. That Hawkeye didn’t have to take things on himself. And miraculously it did help. Dad got better. The kitchen became a place of laughter instead of dread. He wondered if it was the shrink that had pushed Dad to actually tell him all that. Before and after Dad never told Hawkeye his problems.
(He can’t disappear too. He can’t disappear too. Not like Mom. Not like Mom.)
Probably why Hawkeye was so reverent of Sidney, at least until their final extended appointment with each other in Ward D.
The point was, instead of Trapper taking care of Hawkeye, Hawkeye proceeded to take care of him. No more queer bars. No more days off spent pickled. No more gambling. All while Hawkeye was soothing his wounded lion.
He and BJ had never screwed in Korea, which you would think would make where they stood a lot more well-defined than Hawkeye and Trapper.
It was one of BJ’s better days, where he was soft and appreciative of the company. Apologetic for his behaviour. Reassuring that Hawkeye was actually wanted. Telling him some of the plans he had. A morose BJ was still better than a bitter BJ. This was when Hawkeye learned about the room marked for him in Mill Valley.
“You wanted me to live with you?”
“I wanted to look after you.”
“I’m not— BJ, I’m fine.”
“You’re fine now,” BJ had said, emphasising the word now like an accusation while still sounding gentle about it. “I wanted to make sure you stayed fine. The practice was always the plan. Selling you San Francisco would be hard but then... But then—okay, I know from your point of view—look. It was hard, okay? I had to get back to them. Back to her,” he said bitterly. “But leaving you was like leaving behind a limb, Hawk. It was like a meatball surgeon was sawing us apart. Amputation. You were beside me like a phantom limb every step of that attempted journey home. What you would say about the hold up. What you would say to the MP. You probably would have convinced them you were a priest. Would have blessed them and agreed to give a service in the officers club. Put on a sermon Father Mulcahy would be envious of. And when I got back we were still severed. The war was going to end. I was going to lose you. Two weeks was long enough to realise I couldn't stand it. I couldn’t stand seeing you in that little dark room. I couldn’t stand not being able to see you were okay with my own eyes. Every one of your letters I was looking for clues. Every time you were late with them I was sure you had driven your car into the Atlantic and become one with the sea.”
“Did you tell Peg that?” Hawkeye felt embarrassed, horrified.
“Of course not, she wouldn’t want—”
“Wouldn’t want what?” But Hawkeye already knew. “Wouldn’t want a crazy man living in the same house with her and her daughter? Yeah Beej, of course not!”
“I don’t think you’re crazy. It’s me that’s crazy. I’m certain you’ll need me and I’ll be too far away to do anything.”
“I’m not your wife, Beej!”
BJ grabbed his hand. Held it tight so Hawkeye couldn’t storm away. They stared at one another, Hawkeye a buzz of humiliation and anger, and BJ…
“Sometimes I wish you were. Even back in Korea. You … you understand me a lot better than Peg ever did. The real me.”
BJ let go of Hawkeye’s hand. Hawkeye didn’t move from his place at the kitchen table. Something was about to break. He was sure of it. BJ stood up and ever so gently cupped Hawkeye’s cheek, stroked the edge of Hawkeye’s lip with his thumb. For the life of him Hawkeye couldn’t decipher his expression. None of it made sense.
BJ’s kiss was so much more gentle than his biting words and blistering misery.
Hawkeye had wanted to press in, get a real taste. Instead his took BJ by the wrists and pushed him back. There was no great struggle.
“You’re confused.” Hawkeye told him. BJ hadn’t tried to kiss him since then, but the knowledge was there.
Hawkeye’s water boiled. He made his tea.
The practice, BJ’s initial idea, had become Hawkeye’s. The two of them would be under less pressure if they could make their own hours, and Hawkeye could fill in the gaps. Living together made sense between Trapper and BJ’s alimony. He could keep an eye on them. The beach house made BJ morose anyway.
He had expected more of a fight from both of them after it was firmly established that they both knew and disliked each other.
But both of them quickly agreed when he laid out his plan.
So here they were. Two months of this. Hawkeye was tired with all the hours he had been taking, but he wasn’t Korea tired so he was fine. Mornings like this were hard, but B.J. got to see Erin every second weekend, taking her up to the beachhouse making happy memories there. Trapper wasn’t spending his free time in queer bars or illegal gambling dens. Louise even let him talk to the girls on the phone. All of them were dry. Their practice was new, but already successful.
There were no choppers. No wounded. No flea infested blankets, or rats, or babies—
He flinched. BJ and Trapper were close now. Trapper had a hand on his back. BJ was checking his eyes.
His eyelashes fluttered and he pulled away. “I’m fine.”
“Heard that one before,” Trapper tutted.
BJ reluctantly pulled back, but didn’t go far. Hawkeye felt cornered. Insanely he thought of his proposal to Carlye.
That was the unspoken thing. They had both kissed him and he hadn't really done anything about it. Just asked both of them to move in with him and work with him.
BJ noticed every touch of Trapper's fingers on Hawkeye and Trapper would start getting disruptive if BJ and Hawkeye were in deep conversation.
He cleared his throat, leaned against the counter to try to give himself more space.
“Me and BJ were talking,” Trapper said slowly.
“Going over the schedule,” BJ said, his simmering frustration was back. He exchanged looks with Trapper. That was weird. They didn't exchange looks.
“This is a scheduling conflict?” Hawkeye frowned. Really? They were fighting about work hours? “Well whenever it is, just put me on it.”
“That’s the problem, Hawkeye,” BJ said shortly.
“Yeah,” Trapper agreed. Hawkeye was pretty sure it was the first time he had ever heard Trapper agree with BJ about anything.
“What’s happening?”
“You’ve worked fifteen days in a row! That’s what’s happening!” BJ burst. “Without saying anything!”
“You had court. And Trapper is still working part time at the hospital, not to mention his volunteering." What was happening? They were mad at each other because Hawkeye was working some overtime? Fifteen days? So what? Fifteen eight hour days where he got to go home and eat dinner and sleep? Or at least had time to do those things if he wanted to.
“He doesn’t get it,” Trapper sighed.
“I can do another day, it’s fine,” Hawkeye insisted.
“It isn’t fine, Hawk,” BJ said. His anger had dropped significantly the more Hawkeye talked, replaced with concern.
Trapper was right, Hawkeye didn't get it. “It’s one more day! It’s better than you two fighting again! Do you know how—”
“Hunnicutt and I ain’t fighting right now, Hawk.” Trapper cut him off.
Hawkeye crossed his arms mulishly. “Certainly sounded like it a few minutes ago.” He was still cornered by the two of them.
“We had a misunderstanding,” BJ said. Of all the ridiculous…
“Oh yeah?” Hawkeye egged him on. “About what?”
“You slept in,” Trapper said. “You never sleep in. Even in Korea if you were in bed past seven hours it was because you were making up for a 36 hour OR session.
“Forty-five minutes!” Hawkeye protested. “I can't sleep in for forty-five minutes?”
“When BJ came down before you, I may have said something snotty,” Trapper said, ignoring his reasonable protests.
“He accused me of taking advantage of you,” BJ supplied, happy to tattle on his… roommate? Were they all just roommates? That didn’t feel like a strong enough word.
“You—”
BJ continued, unwilling to hear anything Hawkeye had to say about it. “So I got angry and pointed out how much time he’s been giving to you so he can work at the crisis centre.”
“And yeah, we got into it with each other,” Trapper continued, and Hawkeye suddenly felt like Frank Burns, cornered by a pair of fast talking doctors, and boy did it feel rotten. Whatever happened to Frank anyway? Should he try to send a letter? “But then it occurred to us. You’re the one that makes the schedule Mr. Chief Surgeon. You’re the one that hasn’t given yourself a break.”
“So this is my fault?” Hawkeye, cornered and defensive, wanted to flee, but there was nowhere to go. Why did both his roommates have to be over six foot tall and stronger than him?
“In a way,” And BJ was soft and placating now, like even though whatever this was was Hawkeye's fault, no one was mad at him for it.
Trapper frowned at him. “Do you know why I agreed to move in with you, Hawk?” he asked. “Even though for all the time I’ve known him I couldn’t stand Hunnicutt’s guts?”
Hawkeye shook his head.
“Because I wanted to look after you,” Trapper said, a rare tone of frustration seeping in.
“Look after me?” Hawkeye asked, offended.
“Yeah,” it was BJ who confirmed it, not Trapper. “And you know that.”
Hawkeye shifted. “I know both of you would like to think…”
“He was dumping all his divorce shit on you,” Trapper snapped.
“You were literally the only life line he had!” BJ growled. “Whenever you came home you were quiet. You wouldn’t eat.”
“You were exhausted, I was sure you weren’t sleeping.”
They were both getting worked up again.
“We blamed each other,” Trapper said quickly, exchanging a hard glance with BJ, who reigned himself in. “But it wasn’t just one of us. It’s been both of us. We’ve been running you ragged and blaming the other guy, and you’ve been letting us.”
“I’m fine!” Hawkeye exploded. “Are you kidding me? You think this is too much for me? I spent three fucking years in Korea. They liked me there so much they made me stay twice as long as everyone else, not even counting all the times they were supposed to double my points for my forays in the front. You think after three years of thirty-six hour shifts, and thousands of mangled babies per week that I can’t fucking handle eight hours of check ups or a four hour stint in a sterile OR? You’re the ones that needed help! So what if I’m a little tired? It’s better than Korea!”
“That shouldn’t be your standard!” Trapper yelled. “That shouldn’t be the line by which you measure everything. You were doing well in Maine. You were seeing a shrink for your battle fatigue. What about here? Why aren’t we making accommodations so you can have a few sessions?”
“I haven’t had time—”
“Yeah, we know Hawkeye!” BJ spat sarcastically. “That’s what we’re trying to tell you. I would help you. So would John. We love you, you idiot!”
Hawkeye opened and closed his mouth like a caught fish. Like the ones he threw back in the pond when he refused to kill them and Billy got annoyed.
“We love you, you idiot,” Trapper echoed, gentle again.
“You can’t,” Hawkeye told them, feeling his fight or flight kick in again. He didn't have room to run with his legs so he ran with his mouth instead. “You can’t.”
“We do, we do, Hawk,” Trapper said. He ran his hand up and down Hawkeye’s arm trying to soothe him.
Hawkeye shook his head.
“You don’t have to love me back,” BJ said, looking away jaw tight with yearning. “But I’m not confused.”
“And I’m not trying to pass the time with you,” Trapper said. “But even if you don’t want either of us, we’ve finally figured out that the both of us care about you. That we’re not enemies. That we should be allies.”
“That isn’t it,” Hawkeye said. “That’s not it. I love you both just fine, but you can’t—”
BJ’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with surprise. Trapper’s hand tightened a little around Hawkeye’s arm.
“What are you saying?” Trapper asked urgently. “What do you mean?”
Hawkeye didn’t know what he meant. He just remembered the two of them. And he remembered Tommy, Carlye, and Kyung-Soon. He remembered all the great loves of his life and how he tried to help them and he failed them in some way. He remembered his relief when he and Margaret got the lust out of their systems and realised they didn’t want each other like men and women do. God he wished Margaret was here. She was the only one that ever understood, everyone was relying on them.
He was close to the ground. Trapper squatted beside him rubbing his back. BJ was crouched in front of him, his hands guiding his head down, breathing in and out, in and out, nice and slow, that’s it Hawk, breathe with me Hawk.
“You guys look worried,” Hawkeye said when he caught his breath, staring at the tile floor of their kitchen. Their kitchen. “Sometimes… I’ll admit,” he croaked, throat dry. “Sometimes it’s a lot. You both fighting with each other. And your schedules. And your jealousy. I don’t want it to go away though, alright?”
“It’s …” BJ trailed off, like he wanted to make promises to reassure him, but didn’t want to lie about keeping them.
“You want the fighting and the bad schedules and the jealousy?” Trapper nudged him, focusing him.
“No, no I want you,” Hawkeye said plaintively. “You both came back to me, I don’t want to ruin it.”
“Fuck, Hawk,’ there were tears in Trapper’s eyes. BJ pulled him into a tight hug, he was shaking with adrenaline.
After that he was bullied back upstairs and stripped to his skivvies and told in no uncertain terms that he had the day off and he would spend it sleeping until mealtime.
“You can’t give me orders, I’m not in the army, and even if I was I outrank both of you! Probably!”
But despite his protests the usual anxious jittery tension wasn’t there to keep him awake. He fell asleep instead.