The Reunion

The last thing on earth B.J. Hunnicutt had expected to be doing on the morning of July 29, 1955, was breaking up a fight between Hawkeye Pierce and Trapper John McIntyre.

The world had, in fact, turned loopy that morning. When he'd walked into the hotel's dining room minutes before, he'd passed Frank Burns and Margaret Houlihan, off in the corner laughing and chatting like the best of friends. He'd actually stopped in his tracks, amazed that the two of them could have put so much… stuff… behind them to get to the point where they were pals.

Just as he was shaking his head in amusement over that, he'd heard the ruckus. He whirled his head in the direction of the noise, and to his shock he saw Hawkeye and Trapper going toe-to-toe, actually, honest-to-God fighting… fists up and flailing with intent to injure.

He couldn't mentally process the scene, and he didn't even take the time to try. He rushed over and stepped between them, throwing an arm into Hawkeye's chest as he tried to make sense of the things they were yelling at each other.

"Don't even act like you don't know—" came from Hawkeye.

"You're off the deep end, Pierce! I don't know—" was what Trapper was saying.

B.J. somehow ended up getting hit then, luckily not hard, in the shoulder, and that's when he threw all of his weight and muscle behind one well-placed shove. Hawkeye reeled backward, ending the immediate threat. He was breathing hard and glaring at Trapper with steely eyes, but he dropped his fists.

"Hawk? What the hell are you doing?" B.J. wanted to know. He realized he was still standing with one hand practically in Trapper's face, still breaking up a fight that had already ended, so he lowered his hands and took a deep breath. "Either one of you want to explain that?"

Trapper said, "He's his typical crazy self," and waved his hand dismissively. B.J. didn't know Trapper well at all, but he could see this was a man who had a nonchalant air about practically everything.

B.J. turned his attention back to Hawkeye, who still looked fired up, still looked upset about whatever had set him off. B.J. only raised his eyebrows and waited.

Pointing a finger toward Trapper, Hawkeye began, "He left without saying goodbye, without so much as a note—"

"Jesus, where have I heard this song before?" B.J. interrupted, exasperated. He shook his head, in disbelief this nonsense was still going on, all these years after the fact.

"Well I don't think he's got the right to just blow in here and act like everything's all peachy between us. Like we're the best of friends. Like he has any idea what my life has been like the last few years. I haven't heard from the man, not one word, since the day he shipped out of camp, and now I'm supposed to just make nice…?"

B.J. sighed. His impatience got the best of him as he said, "I have an idea, Hawk. Maybe try acting the adult you're supposed to be." Instantly he realized how harsh that sounded, and he reached out and placed a hand on Hawkeye's shoulder. "I'm sorry. That was out of line."

Trapper wasn't saying anything, wasn't trying in any way to offer an explanation or excuse for being incommunicado for the past several years, so B.J. barreled on with his peacekeeping ways. "Why don't we sit down to breakfast and try to act civilized, hmm? We're all here for a nice, pleasant little reunion, and I, for one, would like to see you two put aside any old problems that may still be lingering." He was speaking to both of them, but his gaze held Hawkeye's. "What do ya say?"

Hawkeye's shoulders relaxed as he looked from B.J. to Trapper and back again. "Fine, fine," he said, trying to sound cavalier but not quite succeeding. "You'll get no more trouble from me, Beej. Best behavior. Scout's honor," he said, making the salute.

"Hey," Trapper said in his devil-may-care way, "I got no beef with anyone. He's the one flying off the handle."

"And he said he's going to behave," B.J. reiterated, feeling a bit defensive on Hawkeye's behalf. "And now we're all going to settle down and have some breakfast." He steered them both toward the table and they actually agreed to sit next to each other, which B.J. considered quite a feat given what had just happened. He had to smile. He better than anyone knew that dealing with Hawkeye was often like dealing with a child. Some things never change.

"Oh Margaret," Frank practically gushed, "I'm so glad we can stand here talking like the old friends we are, instead of the… well, you know."

"I know, Frank. I know." She beamed at him. "We're older now, and wiser. We can be mature about this. Let's let bygones be bygones."

"My feelings exactly."

She glanced around the room. "It's so strange seeing everyone. It's only been two years, but already people have changed so much. Don't you think, Frank?" She didn't wait for an answer, barreling on in her excitement. "How wonderful to finally meet Mildred Potter. She looks exactly like I imagined. And Pierce's father? What a smooth-talker, let me tell you…"

"Well I'm not surprised," huffed Frank. "The apple didn't fall far from the tree there, did it?" He looked in Hawkeye's direction and shuddered. "I swear, Margaret, I get the willies just being in the same room with that lunatic."

"Now Frank. What did we just say about letting bygones be bygones? That includes everyone, I hope. Just enjoy the weekend and getting to see the old gang again. Don't be bitter. That's all in the past."

"Easy for you to say, Margaret. All three of them are here, together, in the same place. I've had nightmares that went like this."

She laughed. "We're not in a war zone anymore, Frank. They'll be civil, I'm sure."

"Hmmph."

Margaret took another look around the room as something occurred to her. "Frank? Didn't your wife come? You know, in spite of everything, I honestly would like to meet her."

Frank's upper lip disappeared. "She couldn't come. She had… uh, appointments that she couldn't cancel. You know how it is."

Margaret took a long look into Frank's eyes. He was lying, of course. She always knew when he was. She considered how to play this; call him on the lie, or just shrug it off. She opted for the latter. "That's too bad. We all heard so much about her. It's always nice to be able to put a face to the name, you know…"

Suddenly Frank was indignant for no reason. He stiffened and his mouth wordlessly worked in that way he had, until finally he snipped, "Well! That was uncalled for!" And he strode off to the breakfast table.

Margaret couldn't hold back the laughter. Some things, she thought, never changed.

"Klinger, Soon-Lee, may I just say you both look very happy. I trust marriage is treating you well?"

"It sure is, Major!"

Charles held up his hand to stop Klinger right there. "Please. We're not in the Army anymore, Klinger. Call me Charles."

Klinger smiled and said, "Well, then you can call me Max… Charles."

Charles gave a little nod, and Klinger thought: boy, this guy sure has mellowed in the past two years. He'd always been a stuffed shirt during the War, but now he was all friendly and smiley and gooey. And then it struck him: well, of course. What makes a man go all friendly and smiley and gooey?

"You're in love, aren't you, Major? I mean, Charles."

He watched as Charles's cheeks colored a little, and that gave him his answer. "Well, actually…"

"Ahhh, I knew it!" Klinger said as Soon-Lee cooed. They both started to look around the room, "Did you bring her along? Where is she?"

"No, sadly, I could not bring Kathleen along to this little… shindig. She was unable to get away from her extensive social responsibilities in Boston."

"Aw, that's too bad, Maj—Charles. Are the two of you… you know, serious?" He elbowed Winchester's side.

"I would say so, yes. I just presented her with an engagement ring last month."

Klinger exclaimed, "Congratulations, Sir!" as he and Soon-Lee exchanged huge, knowing grins. Marriage had been nothing less than a blessing for them. Klinger fought off the urge to hug Charles, knowing the major was not one for displays of affection, though he probably made an exception when it came to his intended.

"I hope you will be very happy, Major," Soon-Lee said.

"Thank you, Soon-Lee. Max," Charles said with a little bow. "I would be honored if the two of you would attend the wedding. Although the date is yet to be determined, we're planning for sometime next spring."

Just when Klinger didn't think his smile could grow any wider, it did. He put his arm around Soon-Lee and pulled her against him and said with genuine delight, "We'll be there, Major!" He caught himself a second too late. "I mean, Charles."

Old habits die hard.

"Radar?"

"Sir?"

"You wrote out the place cards, didn't you?"

"Yes, sir."

Potter squinted at the card he was holding. "Well, who is this Captain Jonathan Tuttle? I don't remember any Tuttle." He stared off and thought about it some more. Nope, he definitely couldn't place any Tuttle.

Radar had a weird little smirk on his face as he said, "Oh you knew him, sir. You had lunch with him a few times."

Hell's bells, I'm getting old, Potter thought. Forgetting more than I'm remembering. He shrugged and took his seat at the breakfast table next to his wife.

B.J. wasn't wild about having to play master of ceremonies. Shouldn't this be the Colonel's job? He sighed and clanged his knife against a glass, getting everyone's attention.

"OK, everyone, listen up."

"Attention all personnel!" a voice cried from the crowd, and that brought a raucous round of laughter.

"That's enough, Klinger," B.J. scolded, but he didn't mean it. He appreciated the ice-breaker. "Thanks so much for coming. I know we're all thrilled to be seeing each other again, after two years. And for those family members who came along, perhaps grudgingly, we are so excited to finally be meeting you. We've all heard so much about you. As you all know, we've got a little raffle going this weekend. Buy a chance to win Klinger's Scarlett O'Hara dress, a true one-of-a-kind item. The proceeds will go to the Matthew Blake college fund. As you know, Henry Blake was killed in action on his way home to Bloomington, Illinois, and he never got to meet his son Matthew. The lad was born while Henry served in Korea. It's just one tragic story of many that we all witnessed or heard about, and I know we want to do our small part to help the Blake family out." The room had gone deathly quiet, though B.J. hadn't intended to bring everyone down. This reunion was about fellowship and fun, and he needed to get back on point. He put his hands together in a single clap. "OK, so enjoy your breakfast. And let's have a great weekend together, folks!"

There was a hearty round of applause as B.J. sat down next to Hawkeye, who was looking at the place setting across from him and reaching for the card. He read the name written there and broke out into loud, high-pitched laughter.

"What is it, Hawk?" he asked, wanting in on the joke. Hawkeye showed him the place card, which said Captain Jonathan Tuttle, and all B.J. could do was shrug. He didn't know any Tuttle; hadn't heard any stories about him, either.

"Trap!" Hawkeye said, tugging on McIntyre's sleeve. "Lookit this." And then Trapper shared in Hawkeye's hysterical laughter, the two of them nearly doubling over. B.J. had no idea what exactly was so funny, but as long as these two were laughing together rather than fighting, he was all for it.

"Aha!" Potter barked at Radar that afternoon in the hallway, causing the poor kid to practically jump a foot in the air.

"Colonel! You scared me almost halfway to death!"

"You snowed me, son. I asked around. Pierce said there never was a Captain Tuttle, it was some ruse that you jokers pulled before my time." He good-naturedly aimed a finger at his former company clerk. "I knew my memory wasn't that bad."

Radar gave a contrite smile. "Sorry about that, sir. I couldn't resist."

"No harm, son. It wouldn't be a M*A*S*H reunion without a coupla good gags, now, would it?" He put an arm around Radar's shoulders, turning fatherly for a moment. "How is your farm doing by now? Things going well?"

"Oh yes, sir. Things turned around real good for us last year. We hired more help and the crops have been going gangbusters and we're doing real good. Thanks for asking."

"Oh, I'm glad to hear it. Pleased as punch. Just don't work so hard that you forget to have a social life, that's all."

"Oh don't worry about that, sir. Every Friday I take Ma to Bingo Night at the firehouse. Last week I won a gift certificate for a free malted at the Five and Dime!"

"Well you're livin' the life of Riley, all right," Potter said with a chuckle. "Come on, let's go wake Mrs. Potter from her nap. She always naps until 2 and I wake her up. Then we have tea and usually we play cards. You want to join us?"

"Gee, Colonel, that sounds swell. You're living that Riley guy's life too, aren't you, sir?"

"Retirement is the bee's knees, son."

Hawkeye approached Trapper with more than a little trepidation. Trap was sitting in the hotel's enormous, stunning library, probably just looking for some alone time since he wasn't the world's biggest reader, but Hawkeye had managed to track him down. They needed to clear the air. Without fists.

"Trap?"

Trapper turned around to face him, "Oh. It's you."

"Mind if I sit?"

Trapper gestured at the chair next to his. "Free country. Unlike the last one we lived in."

Hawkeye gave a weak smile. "Can we talk about this?"

"This what, Hawk?"

Hawkeye held his impatience in check. He gnawed on his lower lip to keep from saying something snide. "Whatever the hell happened between us, Trapper. I would like to know why you left without a note. And then why you never wrote me after that. Or called me. It's as if you disappeared off the face of the earth. Except obviously you didn't, because here you are."

"Hey, I told Radar to give you something as a goodbye gift."

Hawkeye searched his memory. "Oh yeah," he said after a couple seconds. "He kissed me on the cheek."

Trapper snickered. "It was supposed to be a kiss on the mouth. I knew he wouldn't do it."

Hawkeye put a hand on Trapper's arm. "So why no letters? It's not like you didn't know the address."

Trapper hesitated, apparently struggling to find the right words. Eventually he said, "It was weird, Hawk… getting my discharge. I was let out, and you had to stay. After I got over the shock and then the thrill, I started to feel really guilty. You were the one who needed out—certainly more than I did. You always seemed halfway to crazy, Hawk. Teetering on the edge. No offense, but it's true."

Hawkeye nodded. It was true.

"So by the time I actually left camp, I don't know… I was feeling so guilty I had no idea what to say to you. And I guess that's why I didn't write you any letters. I was sure you were pissed that I'd gotten out while you were stuck there. I kept thinking, if he writes to me, I'll know how he feels. I'll be able to read it between the lines. And I figured if you weren't pissed, if you weren't sitting there in Korea resenting the hell out of me… well, then I would have written back. Happily. But you never wrote me." He shrugged and spread his hands. "I guess it snowballed, huh?"

"I guess it did. You were waiting to hear from me, and I was waiting to hear from you. And never the twain did meet."

Trapper nodded, his mouth set in a sad little curve that Hawkeye remembered well. "Think we can get back to friends status?"

"I would like to."

"Me too."

Hawkeye extended a hand but then thought better of it. He stood and Trapper stood, and they embraced warmly. Clapping Trapper on the back, he joked, "Just so you know, nothing much happened after you left."

"I figured."

"Just the same ol', same ol'. It was actually pretty boring."

They pulled back and held each other at arms' length, and Trapper gave him a big, toothy grin. "It's great to see you again, Hawk."

"You too, Trap."

A while later, they headed out to the links to play a round of golf.

Hawkeye handed a glass of wine to B.J. and said, "So finally we cleared the air. I can't tell you how terrific it feels to have that weight off my shoulders."

"I'm proud of you guys for burying the hatchet like that. I can imagine your relief. Four years of carrying around that pain and bitterness and anger? You deserved a resolution."

"Well, you were the catalyst, Beej, whether you meant to be or not. You organized this reunion, you talked Trapper into coming, and then you broke up that stupid fight this morning. You're the whole reason I got my resolution. Thank you."

B.J. smiled at his best friend. "You're very welcome. It was my pleasure. Blessed are the peacemakers, right?"

"So I've heard. Actually, now that you've reminded me…" Hawkeye raised his wine glass in a toast. "Let's drink to the absent Father Mulcahy. Hopefully he can join us next time."

B.J. was horror-stricken. "Next time? Are you kidding me? Are you going to arrange the next one? Because let me tell you, planning this thing was one major headache after another…"

Hawkeye grabbed him by the arm to shut him up. "Beej, just drink to the good Father, will ya?"

Smiling and clinking his wine glass with Hawkeye's, B.J. did just that.