Title: During the Night
Author: Am-Chau Yarkona
Rating: PG-15
Pairing: Hawkeye/BJ
Disclaimer: Not my characters.
Feedback to: amchau@popullus.net
During the night, BJ dreamt. Every night. Hawkeye lay awake, listening to the other man toss and mutter in his sleep, and wished that things were different. He wished that he could soothe BJ, stop the nightmares coming. He wished that BJ wasn’t there at all, that Trapper was still in the cot just three feet away.
Mostly, though, he wished he could fall asleep himself. Sometimes he nearly drifted off, but then some image or thought would come to him, and he’d have to wake to dispel it; or BJ would make some noise, pulling him back into the real world. Then someone would start shelling them, and all hope of sleep was gone until they stopped.
He tried all the old tricks. He thought of home, trying to distract himself from the horror all around, but that just make him crazier. Counting sheep, and all he could think of was Rader and the Spam Lamb. That, at least, made him laugh; but laughing aloud made Frank sit up and ask what was going on.
Somehow, he felt that “I was just counting Spam sheep” wasn’t an answer Frank would be happy with. He pretended to be asleep instead, lying there as still as he could while Frank lay down again and let his breathing deepen into the near-snore that sometimes wormed its way into his tent-mates’ sleep.
Eventually, sleep came and Hawkeye’s uneasy dreams added themselves to the mass of silence that hung over the camp. He’d made it though another night.
***
If there was ever a worse place to be, BJ couldn’t think of it. He was being shot at; working in terrible conditions; and Peggy was half a world away.
There was one consolation prize for being in Korea—the friendship of Hawkeye Pierce. When BJ said that Hawkeye was the best surgeon he’d ever known, he wasn’t joking; and when BJ said that Hawkeye was his best friend, he meant that, too.
What even Hawkeye didn’t know was the BJ meant something else, as well. He’d known all his life that a man could be as attractive as a woman, but he’d never known before quite how attractive a person could be. Lying awake at night, he would roll over with the express purpose, though he’d never admit it, of being able to look at Hawkeye.
Hawkeye was clever, and a great surgeon, and his best friend, and the most attractive person he’d ever met. Whether it was something in the smile, or the eyes, or just the way he held himself—the set of the shoulders that said, “I’m a doctor, I care about patients not your stupid war”—Hawkeye drew the eye. Not to mention the heart, the brain, and other pieces of anatomy.
BJ crept out of his cot (pausing to look once, longingly, at Hawkeye as he passed) and headed for the showers, where he could be alone for a little while.
***
“In fact, there’s only one real problem in this camp—you, Frank!” Hawkeye was shouting when I walked into the Swamp. Realising that things were probably as explosive in here as they could be outside when the snipers were at work, I stopped by the door to assess the lie of the land.
Hawkeye stood in front of the stove, with Frank backed up almost against it so that they were face-to-face, mere inches apart. It occurred to me that they were close enough to be kissing. The thought and its accompanying pan of jealously lasted just a moment, then Frank was dodging out of the way, storming off to report to the colonel, pushing past me and banging the plank door behind him.
“What was all that about, Hawk?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light and pleasant.
“Oh, nothing very much. Just Frank being a jerk. I’m fed up with him, BJ. One day soon I’m going to kill him. I swear it.”
“Hawkeye, come on. It can’t be that bad. He’s just an idiot—can’t you ignore him?”
“No, BJ, I can’t. Not anymore. I’ve had enough.” Hawkeye moved over to his cot and started searching through the piles of stuff around it.
“Lost something? Besides your temper?”
“Yeah. There’s a gun somewhere here.” It doesn’t seem sensible to let Hawkeye go ahead with looking for a gun when he’s in this mood: I suspect he might actually go through with it at the moment, and I really don’t want him discharged. This place would be hell without him.
I put my hand on his shoulder, very aware of how tense he is, the power in his body—normally to save lives, but now to kill as well. “Hawk…” I say, softly, “Let’s take a break, okay?”
“Why should I?” He shakes my hand off, standing, blue eyes flashing with anger. “I’m tired of waiting for someone else to kill Frank. Stupid Korea! It can’t even kill Frank!”
“Perhaps it considers Frank beneath its’ notice. Here—the sill’s doing well today. Want some?”
He sighs. “Okay. If I’m drunk enough, Frank might disappear.”
***
“He felt like he was dead, Pierce. He looked like he was dead. You can’t blame me…”
“Yes, I can, Frank. Not only that, but I do blame you. You were about to let the kid die!”
Again, BJ finds himself stepping between them, holding his hands up, trying to calm them. Frank takes his opportunity and storms out, so that BJ is left alone with a very upset Hawkeye.
“What happened, Hawk? Did the kid make it?”
“Yeah, he made it. No thanks to Frank. He was going to just walk away!”
“But you didn’t, and he made it. Isn’t that what counts?”
“I guess so.” Hawkeye sits down heavily on the nearest cot—BJ’s. “I just wish I didn’t have to deal with Frank for a while.”
“I can understand that. And I haven’t been here as long as you have.” BJ thinks for a moment, and then sits next to Hawkeye. It is *his* bunk, after all. “How long were you in the OR, anyway?”
“Several hours. Too long, mostly. Why?”
“You look exhausted.” Carefully, BJ puts a hand up to touch Hawkeye’s shoulder, trying to make it comforting, not patronising.
“I am.” For once, Hawkeye’s voice is quiet: he isn’t joking, isn’t angry, isn’t filled up with the humour and the craziness that are his only way to survive the hell hole he is in. BJ is startled, but he saw that it was a valuable thing: Hawkeye is trusting him.
“You should get some sleep.” He lets his hand move, rubbing gently but firmly on the tense muscles, tracing out the anatomy lines he knows so well until his hand is on the back of Hawkeye’s neck, circling and soothing.
“I don’t want to,” Hawkeye tells him, still trusting, child-like. “The dreams…” His voice trails off, and suddenly he’s the war-weary adult again, ashamed to show his weakness but knowing that he can’t stop.
“You’ll be alright,” BJ says, drawing the man into his arms, wondering as he does so if this is what Hawkeye’s beloved father did for him, if this is what Peggy has to do for Erin. “I promise you that.”
BJ doesn’t know where that promise came from, how he can make it come true, but Hawkeye is relaxing in his embrace, weight against his chest and his legs. They slide down onto the thin mattress, BJ wrapped around Hawkeye, every limb straining for a moment so that neither of them falls and they can relax.
It’s a complex movement, so smoothly done that by the time it’s finished, Hawkeye is asleep. BJ knows what it is to fear the nightmares—he kisses Hawkeye’s forehead softly and stays awake in the darkness, ready to fend off whatever comes to attack.
***
He would have stayed awake all night—he meant to be there when Hawkeye woke up—but at two in the morning he had post-op duty. Briefly, he considered waking the sleeping man. In the end, he decided against it, on the grounds that he’d only get something thrown at him.
Post-op was quiet, despite being nearly full. They’d done a good job.
Sitting in his chair, dozing, he found his mind going back to the man he’d left in the tent asleep. What if Hawkeye had a nightmare? What if he woke up, alone and scared, and knew that BJ had deserted him? He stared into space, and yawned.
“Not long now, sir,” the nurse with him, a pretty young girl called Kathy, said. “Major Burns will be in soon.”
“Yes,” he smiled his thanks at her. “I’ll clock off as soon as he gets here.”
Frank was a couple of minutes late—BJ wondered if it was for the same reason that he hadn’t come back to the Swamp while he’d been looking after Hawkeye—but he dismissed that from his mind in his haste to get back to said doctor.
***
You can’t possibly go to sleep in your best friend’s arms and wake up the same way without wondering what the hell you’re doing. At least, you can’t if you’re Hawkeye Pierce.
Dawn was lightening the sides of the tent when Hawkeye woke up. He didn’t remember any dreams, and when he thought back on what he did remember it made him smile. Hours in OR, arguing with Frank, then falling asleep in BJ’s arms, feeling safe for the first time since he left home to come to war. And there was BJ still, warm behind him: safety.
Something wasn’t right, though. Where was Frank? Didn’t BJ have post-op duty tonight? Wasn’t this—well, wasn’t this Korea, where everything had to be coped with by ignoring it or laughing at it?
Hawkeye swung his legs over the side of the cot and sat up, noticing for the first time that he didn’t have the normal hangover. Odd—he must have been too tired last night to get drunk.
“Hawk? What is it?” BJ asked, woken by the movement. Hawkeye twisted to face him, only to find his friend looking so open, so caring, that he was filled with a sudden desire to kiss him. Then reason took over again, and he stood up, starting to pace across the tent. “Hawkeye, talk to me,” BJ said, on the edge of pleading.
“I don’t know if I can, BJ. I just don’t know.” BJ simply sat there, blankets round him, watching Hawkeye walk back and forth across the tent as if he was staring at a hypnotist’s pendulum. “I can’t tell you what this is, what’s wrong with me, because I don’t know. I… I’m confused, for starters. I’m fed up with the war and I’m fed up with Frank and I’m fed up with wanting what I can’t have!” Hawkeye stopped moving, suddenly aware that he’d been shouting at his friend.
“Come here,” BJ patted the cot in front of him. “It’s okay.”
Hawkeye hesitated a moment, thinking ‘aren’t I supposed to be the one who takes care of him? Looking out for the new guy?’ and then squashed that voice and went, the feeling of safety he’d had the night before an immeasurable draw.
“What’s the matter, Hawk?” BJ asked again.
Hawkeye opened his mouth to speak, then bit his lip, wordless for once.
“You can trust me—I’m your friend, remember? Plus, I’m a doctor. All this,” BJ waved a hand to include all that had been said so far with whatever Hawkeye wanted to add, “is confidential.” A quick grin at that produced and answering one, and Hawkeye took a deep breath.
“Okay then, doctor, these are my symptoms. I keep being shelled, I want to kill Frank, and a couple of minutes ago I nearly kissed you.”
BJ amazed himself by keeping a straight face. He looked Hawk in the eye, frowning the way he always did when brought a new patient. “Hum. I think that could actually have three separate causes. The war, the existence of Frank Burns, and my incredible handsomeness.”
“Who’s the vain one now?” Hawkeye said, only half teasing. They had both leaned forward a little bit, eye contact somehow pulling them closer together. “I’m a doctor too, you know. What are *your* symptoms?”
“Oh, nothing very much. Just a desire to put my arm round you and kiss you until…” but Hawkeye wasn’t about to find out how long he would be kissed for, because Rader was opening the door and coming in. They instantly moved away from each other, knowing the danger they had been in.