Past Tense

"Are you Hunnicutt?"

"Yeah." B.J. shook the offered hand and looked up at the tall, curly-haired man from his seated position. So this was the guy… finally. He hadn't even seen photos, which was odd when you thought about it. "You're McIntyre?"

"That's right."

Sandy hair, cocky grin, mischievous eyes, kind of burly. B.J. hadn't pictured him quite like this. He'd assumed dark hair, like Hawkeye's; he'd also assumed shorter and maybe heavyset, though he couldn't say why.

He gestured across the table, "Have a seat. Please. All right if I call you Trapper?"

"Sure," McIntyre said with a dismissive wave of his hand as he dropped into the booth. "But I'll tell you straight out, I don't know why you wanted to do this. Meet and have coffee, as if we're old buddies or something. Not that I have anything against you personally…" He shrugged, looked around the diner as though he felt watched and uncomfortable. "Just doesn't seem to be any point to it."

"Well," B.J. began carefully, "we have a camp in common. We have a friend in common." It seemed like an enormous understatement, but even he wasn't sure what he was trying to accomplish here.

His mind flashed back to the Friday before, near the end of his shift at the hospital. His surgical chief, Matt Harrington, had caught up to him in the hallway, slapped him on the back, and asked, "What was the name of the unit you served at? In Korea?"

B.J. had stopped in his tracks, thrown by the out-of-the-blue question, but he managed to stammer, "Not name. Number. 4077th."

"Yeah, yeah," Harrington said with an enthusiastic nod of his head. "That's what I thought. You serve with this guy?"

B.J. was still struggling to get his bearings on the conversation. "What guy? What are you talking about, Matt?"

And Harrington shoved a paper toward him, which turned out to be a list of surgeons who would be coming from across the country to San Francisco General for a two-day seminar. Among those on the list: Dr. John McIntyre, whose bio pointed out that he proudly served in the Korean War at the M*A*S*H 4077th. B.J.'s eyes backtracked over the "proudly" part.

"No shit? Trapper John? I actually replaced this guy," he said to Harrington, tapping the bio with his finger, stunned at the coincidence. "I literally slept in the same bed he'd vacated. How weird is this?"

"You should meet up with him while he's in town! Swap war stories. Meet the guy whose shoes you filled. I'll bet that would be a kick."

Yeah. A kick. So far it was a blast, that's for damn sure. He hesitated now as he studied Trapper, uncertain how to proceed.

Trapper had folded his arms across his chest, sending body-language signals that B.J. read all too well. "I take it you've seen him recently," Trapper finally said. B.J. noted that he avoided saying Hawkeye's name.

"Well, last I saw him was about five months ago," he said after a quick calculation in his head. "But I spoke to him on the phone just last week. We talk fairly often."

"Then you know I haven't seen him since we served together. He left on a week's R&R, and I got my discharge while he was off partying in Tokyo."

A bittersweet smile touched B.J.'s lips. "I know the story well," he nodded.

Trapper John shrugged his hefty shoulders again, as if to say, And so…?

B.J. tilted his head and leaned back, studying this man, this for-whatever-reason rival of his. "You don't care about him? He wasn't your friend?"

"Of course he was. But Korea was then. It was a time, it was a place. It's over. Would Hawkeye Pierce and Trapper John McIntyre have been friends if they hadn't been thrown together in a war zone?"

It seemed as if he was going to continue that thought, but B.J. cut him off. "You wouldn't have been? You really think you were only friends because of the circumstances? It sounded to me like you two were pretty compatible… two peas in a pod, is what Margaret Houlihan used to say."

Trapper smiled broadly at the mention of Margaret's name. "Ah… Hot Lips. How the hell is she?"

"Doing well, as far as I know. She's getting married in the spring." But B.J. wasn't going to fall for the attempted change of subject. "Are you afraid of seeing Hawkeye again? Afraid of even talking to him?"

"Look," Trapper unfolded his arms and leaned forward, as if about to finally reveal something personal and genuine, "I'm sure you're a nice guy, but I don't need you to psychoanalyze me. It seems you're trying to fix an old friendship that you think has been broken, but hey… friendships die out, people drift apart, war buddies lose touch. Happens all the time. If I ran into Hawkeye on the street, of course I'd say hi to him. I might even buy him a beer. But I don't have any reason, or any particular desire, to get in touch with him and hash out old times. Like I said, those days are over. I try to forget I was ever in Korea, you know? The past is the past."

It was a long speech for him, B.J. knew. He could tell this guy was closer to the strong, silent type than to the open, outgoing, maniacal type of Hawkeye Pierce. Well, people often say that opposites attract.

It was B.J.'s turn to cast his gaze around the diner, buying time as his brain processed everything that had just transpired. He was getting more of a hostility vibe than he'd anticipated from this man, who clearly didn't want to patch up any misunderstandings he'd had with Hawkeye, and apparently didn't want to shoot the breeze about life at the 4077th either. The waitress hadn't even arrived yet to take their order, and already the conversation was essentially over.

He looked back at Trapper, his emotions having gone from hopeful to annoyed in the space of just a few minutes, and he spread his hands. "So why'd you even bother to show up? You could have told me all this over the phone."

A slow smile spread across Trapper's face. "Curiosity," he said. "Had to see this Hunnicutt guy for myself. Radar had written me once, saying something about this new practical joker in camp… seemed to have more up his sleeve than even I used to. I had this mental picture of what you looked like and I had to see how close I was." He laughed a little. "Not close at all, as it turns out. You've got this wholesome look I would've never imagined. I suppose it worked to your advantage."

B.J. couldn't help smiling at that. Yeah, his "apple pie and hot dog face," as Hawkeye had once called it, definitely belied his inner devil. "Pulled a bunch of pranks in my time over there, that's for sure," he admitted.

"Had to do somethin' to pass the time, right? Some of those people… pretty easy targets. Especially Burns."

"Especially," B.J. agreed, and they both laughed.

And for a second, there was an ease, an affinity, between the two of them. It appeared that they were going to travel down memory lane after all… but then Trapper abruptly stood. "So I came, I met the legendary Dr. Hunnicutt, and now I'm going to shove off. No offense. But I'm only in San Francisco for a couple of days and my free time is limited, and I've always wanted to see the Golden Gate Bridge. You understand." His stare was deliberate, as if he thought he was a hypnotist using his special powers of persuasion.

B.J. sighed. He had no reason to try to prolong the conversation. Can't get blood from a stone. "By all means," he said with a nod of his head. "I'm glad you stopped by, even if it was just for a few minutes. It was nice to meet you."

Trapper extended his hand and they shook again. "Ditto."

But before he could turn and make his exit, B.J. took one last shot. "Anything you want me to relay to Hawkeye," he asked, "the next time I talk to him?"

Trapper paused only briefly before saying, "Sure, you can tell him I said hey." Another disarming smile, and then he headed out the door and onto the street beyond.

"Pierce residence, Hawkeye speaking."

The phone line crackled with static for a few seconds and B.J. waited it out. "Hey, Hawk," he said when he could. "It's me. How you doing? Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"Hey, Beej! No, not a bad time at all." Now B.J. could distinctly hear the sound of a bottle being opened and he knew without a doubt it was a beer. He smiled. "I'm great. My dad and I just got back from seeing a high-school play, of all things. You believe that? The neighbor girl, Sally Ann, had the starring role, so we went to see her and cheer her on. God, do you remember high-school plays?" He laughed, and B.J. could hear his high spirits in his voice. Sounded good. "It was ridiculously amateurish, of course, but we had a nice time. Some of the kids were pretty good. Sally Ann, actually, was very good."

"Sounds like a fun night out, Hawk."

"It was. And now Dad has parked himself in front of the TV and I was about to read a book. I'm glad you called, though. Always great to hear from you. How are you and the family Hunnicutt doing?"

"Just fine. Everyone's doing well."

"Good," then, muffled, "No, Dad, it's B.J., go back to watching your show. Sorry, he always thinks the phone is for him. Pretty self-centered old bastard, aint he? So what's up? Anything new since the last time I talked to you?"

Well, I finally met the famous Trapper John McIntyre…

Well, there was this one crazy thing that happened… you wouldn't believe who I ran into today…

You know how you always wondered what had happened with Trapper…?

B.J. shut his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. "Nah, not really. Just, you know… same ol' same ol'."