Hey everyone! So this is an out-there idea of mine that I recently came up with while watching M*A*S*H. I wondered what it would be like if Hawkeye had to not only cope with the struggles of war but also deal with a disease he's been plagued with his entire life. Who would look out for him? How would he survive? The life of a doctor who was also a patient was interesting to me. I apologize for any medical inaccuracies, as I'm sure this story is full of them. I'm not an MD, just so you know. Please R&R- it inspires me so much and I love to hear from you guys. No flames, plz, but constructive criticism is appreciated. Enjoy!
Hawkeye Pierce was a lot of things. Charming raven haired captain, leader of the camp, a talented surgeon, frighteningly smart, and the lady killer of all time. He was the king of jokes and making people laugh. There was hardly a thing he would reply to seriously- from his CO to his still in the swamp. He was constantly and skillfully spinning quips from the glum sentences thrown at him. For his popularity and high status, many people seemed to regard him as some sort of unbreakable dam to lean on, an indestructible superhero that was always capable of saving the day. But that was far from the truth.
Hawkeye Pierce was quick in his thinking and even quicker in his actions. He was headstrong and fiercely independent. At times he could be cocky, selfish, and irresponsible. And God, was he cynical. Though it was hard to stay optimistic or see any kind of light in this war zone hell, there were few things Hawkeye could refrain from complaining about. He would be disrespectful, reckless, or just plain cold. Hawkeye would even get depressed, a trouble he found he could drown in the bottle of cheap beer that was often the culprit of his well known spontaneous drinking.
Hawkeye Pierce was far from perfect. He would be the first to admit that.
But ask BJ Hunnicutt and it'll be a whole other story. Because there was more to Hawkeye than it seemed. Just by looking at him, you could tell he was sick. Hawkeye was born 4 weeks premature and died twice within the first two hours of his life. He weighed just 9 ounces and was approximately the size of a beer can. The doctors didn't expect him to make it past the age of 5, and told Daniel Pierce to prepare for the worst. But the Maine native refused to give up on his son, determined not to lose his only child as well as his wife. Several years passed, with Hawkeye constantly being in and out of the hospital, but eventually he made it to his 12th birthday and had found a sort of middle ground to help deal with his diagnosis; chronic kidney disease, the biggest of his many problems. His kidneys were practically non-existent when he was born, and he was put on dialysis for the first year. His immune system was compromised at best, and by the time he was 13 he'd had a grand total of 32 surgeries. He remembers very clearly the day he first aspired to be a doctor himself. He was 9 years old and sitting in bed at home, tethered to the IV pole while he was given his sixth dose of medication, when he had a great revelation. He remembered his favorite doctor out of the many who'd worked on him over the years. Dr. Sawyer had been the most famous nephrologist on the children's ward, and was known for his silly antics and brilliant ideas. He wore a pair of groucho glasses to work every time he examined Hawkeye, recounting a particular tale of how he himself once came down with a case of the chicken pox in 1901, before vaccinations even became an idea, and his family called him a pepperoni pizza for a week while he was covered in the red spots. He always made Hawkeye laugh, so much so that sometimes he forgot where he was, that he had three needles stuck in his arm, that he was getting prepped for a surgery with a 40% survival chance. Laughter truly was the best medicine, and realized that he could turn his weaknesses into strengths if he became a doctor and worked hard. He wanted to give people the same smile that Dr. Sawyer gave him so many years ago.
So, he went to medical school and got around residency surprisingly well despite his frail and fragile constitution. He got his degree in surgery and PhD from the University of Maine and graduated cum laude. His father was overjoyed and he himself couldn't help but he proud that he'd made it this far. He was ready to start his own practice when North Korea attacked South. The U.S. was sending their men in, but Hawkeye's father told him not to worry. "You won't get picked," he'd assured, "you have medical status on your side." But apparently, the army discounted losing the genetic lottery as a get-out-of-jail card. He was drafted within ten days, despite the many angry letters and rants his father wrote to every military clown he could think of. Hawkeye was numb, didn't know what to think.
When he'd first arrived in Korea, he'd been assigned a 'special bunk mate', in other words, someone who he'd not only share a tent with but someone who took specific classes about CKD and would be able to treat him regularly. BJ Hunnicutt was his name; a man with a gentle expression and a mustache that was just starting to come in. So BJ was not only became his best friend, but also his registered doctor and caretaker.
Personal space was nonexistent for Hawkeye his whole life- someone, be it his father or a nurse, was always up close to give him medicine or fix his IV and chest tubing. So, as far as the two best friends, they were pretty much joined at the hip, subconsciously leaning on one another with their shoulders bumping against one another. And BJ, Hawkeye noted with amusement, had the fiercely protective habit of grabbing Hawkeyes hand at least five times a day, fingers flittering just above his pulse point as if making sure he was still alive, still there. At night, the two shared (a very rare and surprisingly comfortable) a real bed. Not a cot, but an actual mattress and everything. It was foldable, of course, since it was a mobile hospital, but far more spacious and soft than the army issued cots everyone else had to deal with. Because of low blood pressure, hypertension, risk of respiratory problems and all the other joys of losing the genetic lottery, Hawkeye could never sleep without being monitored. When he was away at residency, it was a small alarm connected to a relatively new heart monitor that would serve in place of a person, but machines that could pick up electromagnetic pulses had just been introduced to the market, and were outrageously expensive and unreliable at best. It was just easier to have someone next to him.
"I couldn't survive without you," Hawkeye blurted out one night after BJ had finished getting him ready for bed (medication, IV port, oxygen in check).
BJ was slumping against his shoulders whilst reading a letter from peg, and he looked up at his friend with a knowing smile. "Somehow I feel like we've been talked about this before, Hawk." He murmured, "I think we decided on the fact that neither of us could stick around without the other. That's how this game works, right? I save you and you save me, whoever lasts the longest wins."
Hawkeye grinned and laced fingers with BJ, saying nothing but content enough to fall asleep in the warmth of his friend, the feeling of BJ's steady hand over his heart.
They were each other's everything. They were each other's doctor, brother, friend, advice giver, partner in crime, joker, martini buddy, body guard, and sometimes even psychologist. Sydney freedman was the first choice for everyone to talk to, of course, and Hawkeye loved any time he got to spend in the mans company- Sydney just appealed to everyone. He was calm and confident, practical yet fun to be around and always a great poker buddy. But he was also the busiest man Hawkeye knew besides the ever moving radar, and often he was swamped with broken soldiers who were in even more need of his wisdom than Hawkeye. So, the two captains would talk to each other. That was just one of the thousand things Hawkeye loved about BJ. There was no dividing wall in their relationship- they told each other everything, for better or worse. There was no judgement, no fear of rejection. If something was bothering one of them, they'd confide in the other and tried to help each other best they could.
Some days Hawkeye's convinced that he's too much- he's a cynical, hopeless case with an expiration date, and he'd often worry that BJ would get tired of him and leave, that he'd do something so stupid that would force him away. But the captain never faltered. When Hawkeye got drunk one evening, angry at the world, he insulted BJ and even his family, spewing words that he's still ashamed he ever said, smashing the still to bits and raging like a deranged mad man.
But BJ didn't get angry. He held the man against his chest and made sure he hadn't ripped out any of his IVs, and rubbed his back and even laid a small kiss on his forehead. They remained together until morning came and Hawkeye realized what he'd done, and he'd apologized whilst sobbing, so ashamed and disgusted with himself, refusing to even look at BJ. But his friend only took his hands and looked him in the eye, sincere and true and honest, and told him that everyone has a breaking point, especially in this crummy war where escaping horrors is just about impossible. "You never have to ask for my forgiveness, Hawk," he'd whispered, "whatever you do, you'll always have it one way or another. If you ever feel like that again, just let me know and we'll figure something out, ok?"
Hawkeye hugged him and held onto him like a drowning man would a lifeboat.
June 21st, 1952;
The day started before the sun was even up. BJ felt a light touch on his shoulder, shaking him gently. Trained to wake up on command, his eyes shot open to see if Hawkeye needed anything. However, the brunette was sleeping soundly, face pressed into the crook of BJ's neck, arms folded as he snored ever so softly. BJ frowned and looked up to see a large Lebanese nose obscuring a view of a familiar face.
"What is it, Klinger?" He asked quietly, careful not to wake the sleeping body beside him.
"A Dr. Cho from Tokyo general is on the phone, sir. He's read about Hawkeye's case and wants to speak with you immediately." The clerk whispered.
BJ rolled his eyes, tempted to lay his head down and go back to bed. "Tell him to call back later. I don't do house calls." He murmured drowsily, situating himself under the covers again.
"He says he has a patient with CKD stage 4, and he's fading fast. He needs your help." Klinger didn't waste any time, telling the truth like it was.
This got BJ's attention successfully, and he groaned inwardly as he knew what he had to do. Carefully and silently, he untangled Hawkeye's arms from his own and slipped out of bed, shrugging his robe on. "Keep an eye on Hawk, I'll be right back." BJ muttered, exiting the tent as Klinger gave him a mock salute.
"You have to stop giving him fluids... No... Yes, I understand that, but CKD leaves no room for extra supplements. Patients with this disease can barely absorb nutrients, let alone a saline solution. Their kidneys are practically non functional... Yeah... Uh huh... That's what I did for Captain Pierce a few months ago and it worked like a charm. If he gets any worse within the next hour, put him on dialysis immediately. Respiratory shock is a pain that just loves to rear its ugly head when the immune system is down... Ok... Yes... You're welcome, doctor, glad I could help. Ok. Bye bye now." BJ sighed as he hung up, rubbing a hand tiredly across his face.
"It's too early for this." A voice agreed.
BJ spun around to see Hawkeye up and out of bed, his hawaiian shirt hanging loosely on his skinny frame. It seemed like no matter how much BJ pushed him to eat, the man would never be more than a wispy frame of bones. Hawkeye was grinning that cheeky smile of his, IV still in his wrist. "What're you doing out of bed?" BJ asked, voice raspy with sleep.
Hawkeye shrugged, fiddling with his dogtags. "Couldn't sleep. What do you say we head over to the mess tent and see if the food is moving or not? I could eat."
BJ chuckled, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Ok, I'll give it ago- but if the macaroni is still squirming, you owe me 5 bucks."
The two headed out the door to face the day.