Rumors

I was walking back to post-op from the mess tent, smiling because it was such a beautiful April day, the sun warm, the breeze gentle. All across the compound, people were milling about, enjoying the extraordinary weather, making the most of our first sunny day in about a week. Birds were singing, corpsmen were playing football, Klinger was hanging wet lingerie out to dry, and nurses were gossiping. Spring had most definitely sprung.

Nearing post-op, I approached the gossiping nurses and inadvertently caught a snippet of their conversation.

"I really think they're sleeping together," one of them—Baker, from the sound of it—said.

"What?" one of the other women replied. "I can't believe—"

"No, I think so too, actually," another voice interjected. "Have you seen them?"

I smirked. This sounded like juicy gossip, all right. An undercover affair. Could they be talking about Margaret and Frank? No, that didn't make sense. Most of the camp knew about Margaret and Frank… it wasn't anywhere near as secret as they imagined it was. Intrigued (though feeling a little sheepish, I admit), I slowed my pace so I could continue to listen in.

"Of course I've seen them," answered the skeptical nurse, and I finally identified her as Anderson. "They're close. So what?"

"They're beyond close, Becky."

"I'm sorry, I just can't believe it," Becky insisted. "Hawkeye and B.J.? Are you kidding me?"

It was like a karate kick to my gut… the wind was nearly knocked out of me. I stopped dead in my tracks, shocked, stupefied. Huh? What were these women implying? No, not implying… outright saying.

"Watch them sometime," said one of the nurses I couldn't quite place by her voice. "They touch each other an awful lot. They stand close together, they practically gaze at one another. I mean, Hawkeye can barely keep his eyes off of B.J. Whenever they're in a room together, it's like he's constantly staring…"

"But B.J.'s happily married." Good ol' Becky, coming to my defense, unwilling to believe the speculation could possibly be true.

"He says he is," Baker countered. "Heck, I'm sure he was, before he came here. People change a lot in a war zone. Look, don't take my word for it. Ask Bigelow. Ask her when was the last time she went out with Hawkeye. He hardly ever takes her out anymore… it's like he lost interest. She says he's not dating someone else. He's just… not dating, it seems."

"That's not possible. The camp loverboy?"

"I'm telling ya. He's too obsessed with his roommate."

Flustered, feeling like I'd been sucker-punched, I turned around and searched for escape. I made a beeline for the Swamp. I felt like I needed privacy, needed to get away from the nurses before they caught me listening in.

Mostly I needed peace and quiet to think.

I dashed into the Swamp, which was mercifully empty. Hawkeye was in post-op, and who knew where Frank was. I was just grateful for the solitude.

Hawkeye and I, an item? What the hell?

I sat on my cot, my mind racing. If a few nurses thought that, then maybe a lot of people around camp thought it. Based on what? Touches… looks… the vibe. I shut my eyes. I had to admit, I could see where people might get the idea…

No, we weren't lovers. I'd never even considered such a thing. But was it true, did Hawkeye gaze at me? Did we touch too much? Were we together too much?

My heart was pounding. I knew I should just ignore the gossip, pretend I hadn't overheard the nurses' conversation and just carry on with my life as if nothing had changed. I'm allowed to have a best friend, and dammit, I'm allowed to touch my best friend, to be there for him, to share my thoughts with him. If other people read something into it, that was their problem. Hawkeye and I didn't have to explain anything to anyone.

I curled up on my cot, my thoughts still jumbled, my head starting to hurt. Hawkeye was expecting me in post-op, but I needed some time to regroup first. Needed some time to calm down.

I was hard pressed to understand why a little ridiculous camp gossip had so utterly knocked me over.

When I did finally make it to post-op, I found myself at a loss for conversation as I worked alongside Hawkeye. Suddenly self-conscious, I couldn't stop worrying about what people thought about me… about us. We worked together, lived together, did just about everything together. And it caused people to think we slept together.

Taking a patient's temperature, I watched as Hawkeye approached and smiled warmly. "Private Harris doing all right, Beej?" he asked, indicating the patient I was attending to.

"Seems to be," I replied a bit curtly.

Hawkeye cocked his head. "Everything OK with you? You've been quiet this evening."

I shifted my focus to Private Harris so I wouldn't have to keep on looking at Hawkeye. "Yeah, I'm fine. Maybe a little bit of a headache, that's all."

Hawkeye moved closer—always getting close, that Hawkeye—and rested a hand on my shoulder. "Then why don't you head back to the Swamp? I can handle things here, you can take off."

The hand on my shoulder felt hot… like an iron burning through my shirt. I wished Hawkeye would stop touching me. I wished I had the nerve to ask him to stop. "It's all right, Hawk," I said softly. "I'm OK—I can help you. Nothin' better to do."

Truthfully, to be left alone with my thoughts was far less desirable than being here with Hawkeye in post-op. At least here, I was keeping busy.

Finally Hawkeye took his hand away, saying, "OK, Beej. Whatever you want." I watched him walk away, getting back to his patients down the aisle, and I felt a stab of dismay. I shouldn't act distant to Hawkeye just because of something a few nurses had said. I hated feeling awkward around my best friend.

I sighed, turning back to Private Harris and removing the thermometer from his mouth. "Your temp's back to normal," I informed my patient with a smile.

Wish I could say the same about my own internal temperature. I could still feel the warmth of Hawkeye's touch on my shoulder. It stayed with me a long time.

There's a full moon outside the window and tiny drops of rain are hitting the pane, but inside it's cozy… very warm… peaceful.

We're in some hotel room, the "we" being me and Hawkeye, and the bedsheets are tangled down at our ankles because we've kicked them down there… just like we kicked and tossed what remained of our clothes off the bed… freeing us until it's just skin on skin, heartbeat against heartbeat…

Our breathing is ragged and our erections are rock hard against each other. He rubs his against mine slowly, deliberately, making me shudder and gasp. Friction. It's exquisite. He whispers "It was meant to be" into my ear, and I nod in agreement, kissing his neck, his earlobe, his temple…

I snapped awake, instantly aware it was a dream… an erotic dream about me and Hawkeye, the images burned into my brain. With a defeated groan, I turned over and buried my face into my pillow. For the second night in a row, a sex dream about Hawkeye had awakened me. I had the distinct impression this wasn't going to be the last time, either.

What was the matter with me? I was letting a little unfounded gossip practically take over my thoughts, and it was clearly putting a strain on my friendship with Hawkeye. I was finding it tough to look him in the eye lately. Tough to joke with him, to talk to him, even just to hang out with him.

Absolutely, utterly ridiculous.

Unfounded gossip? You sure about that?

Yes, I answered myself. I'm sure.

"And competing in tonight's Strong, Silent Type category, we have B.J. Hunnicutt, the man, the legend." Hawkeye gestured toward me and clapped enthusiastically, sarcasm oozing from every pore. "Just exactly how long ago did the cat get your tongue, Doctor?"

We were in Rosie's Bar, just the two of us sitting at a corner table and nursing beers, and yeah, it was true… I certainly hadn't been carrying my half of the conversation tonight. The usual reason lately… that uncomfortable feeling of being watched, of people looking at us sitting alone and speculating… See how they're always together? See how they're looking at each other?

"Sorry, Hawk," I said with an attempt at a smile. "I guess I'm just tired."

"Then you've been 'tired' for what? The past week, almost." Now Hawkeye leaned toward me, presumably so nobody nearby would hear, but I involuntarily flinched backward, then instantly felt terrible for doing so. Hawkeye clearly noticed but didn't mention it. "If something's happened, like you've gotten bad news from home, I hope you know you can talk to me about it," he said instead. His expression had gone tender, sympathetic.

"No, nothing like that, Hawk," I assured him. "Things at home are fine."

"Good. I'm glad to hear that." I heard the sincerity in his voice, and my heart took a tumble. I watched as Hawkeye's mouth curved into the sweetest little smile, and my heart just kept on somersaulting. "Beej, I like to think we're close enough that you can tell me anything… even if it's something horribly embarrassing…" now the grin widened. "I'm not saying I wouldn't tease you if the situation called for it, but I'd also try to help you. If, you know, you needed help with something."

Damn, it was unbelievable. The man was too sweet, too kind, too everything. Did I know anyone else quite like Hawkeye? Somebody who wanted to heal the world, wanted to make everyone feel better, wanted to constantly light the darkness?

"You're a very special man, Hawkeye," I heard myself saying. "But I'm fine, thanks for your concern. Just been tired, that's all."

Hawkeye nodded and dropped the subject. He launched into a story about his childhood in Crabapple Cove, something about the fishing hole near his house, but I only semi-heard it. I was watching bright blue eyes with crinkles at the corners, and an animated expression full of mischief and mirth, and I was thinking what a beautiful man this was, sitting across from me. Beautiful on the outside, yeah, but on the inside too. Intelligent as all hell… empathetic and compassionate… perfectly willing to admit to his faults and equally willing to try to fix them. The camp clown, the camp conscience.

The best person I knew.

Beautiful.

I blinked, mentally reining myself in. If those thoughts went any further down that road, there's no telling where they might end up.

Funny, I thought, feeling a little lightheaded, a little warm. Those nurses… that gossip. Sometimes other people see things about you long before you realize them yourself.

Hours later, we were back home—and wasn't it interesting how I thought of the Swamp as "home," something I never imagined being able to do when I'd first arrived here—and the night was black and still. It was well past 1 in the morning by now, but I couldn't sleep. I'd been tossing and turning for hours. For the umpteenth time that night, I glanced over at Hawkeye, asleep on his cot, three feet away.

Hawkeye was always three feet away. Except for when he was three inches away.

Hawkeye. I let his name turn over and over in my head. I ran my eyes over the gray-black hair and the lanky form, wondering when exactly I had gotten so lost inside this person, when exactly I had… fallen.

I tore my eyes off him, looked up at the ceiling, and whispered, "God help me." Because it was true, and apparently I was finally admitting it. I'd fallen for him, a fact that other people had already noticed. Clearly they had; it was camp gossip that had brought me to this realization, after all.

I'm sorry, Peg, I thought, closing my eyes to stop the tears from falling. I didn't mean for this to happen.

She would never understand. How could she when I didn't myself? This wasn't even on the list of things that I worried about when I got my draft notice. I'd worried about being killed, about being constantly terrified, about being too inept a surgeon to help… but never about falling in love. With another doctor. A man.

Didn't expect it, didn't even imagine it, but it happened.

I sighed. Why fight it? Not only couldn't I… I didn't want to. Hawkeye Pierce filled my mind, and in spite of myself, I smiled. I imagined crawling onto his cot, wrapping my arms around him, holding him close and smelling him, breathing him… becoming part of him.

Feeling warm and comforted and very much in love, I finally fell asleep.

There's a light snow falling outside the window, but inside it's cozy and warm. I'm in bed with Hawkeye, naked body pressed against naked body… his hands running over my flesh, his lips planting tiny kisses on my jaw and neck. I'm breathing hard, trembling in anticipation, moaning. The blood in my veins feels like it's on fire. "Hawkeye," I whisper, just to hear his name.

He reaches down between my legs and it feels like freedom and revelation and relief. It feels like a kind of heaven I never knew existed. "It was meant to be," he says into my ear in between kisses. And I nod in agreement…

"Attention all personnel," the P.A. announcement cut into my dream, "wounded on the way! Incoming choppers! All shifts to the OR, on the double!"

I fought my way to wakefulness, pulling on my bathrobe as I scrambled to my feet. Nobody else in the Swamp; Hawkeye and Frank were probably already on their way to the OR. I headed there myself.

Enough of the hot dreams about my tentmate, I scolded myself as I ran. The only way I was going to get them to stop was to tell Hawkeye how I felt. Finally unlock the secrets and get everything out in the open. There was no other option.

I stepped into the scrub room just as Hawkeye was heading into the OR. He saw me and gave me a wink. And it hit me as I watched him disappear through the door. My world was about to change. The thought wasn't frightening; it was exciting.

Twelve hours in OR, but who was counting? I pulled off my bloody whites, feeling dazed, disoriented, fatigued. A hand settled on my back and I started, then turned to see Hawkeye standing there, but of course I'd known it was him. "Good work in there, Beej." I could hear the sheer exhaustion in his voice.

"Thanks, Chief." We both needed to sleep. Our little chat would have to wait. As much as I wanted to get it off my chest, I also wanted to be lucid when I did.

He was staring at my face… one of those patented Hawkeye Pierce gazes that had gotten the nurses' tongues wagging. I felt warm under his scrutiny. His blue eyes sparkled. Twelve long hours of surgery, practically asleep on his feet, and the man looked good enough to eat. "Take me home, my friend. I can hear my cot calling me."

And so I took his arm and led him home, and as we walked, it felt to me as if each step we took was toward the future.

The next night, I nervously invited him to the supply room. I debated that for a long time: having our conversation there, because it was normally where couples went to… you know… "be alone" in the sexual connotation of that phrase. All I wanted, for now, was to be alone with him to talk. Rosie's would have been too loud and the mess tent would have been too public and the O Club would have been too distracting.

And so, as I got up from the dinner table, I said, "Join me in the supply room, Hawk, in ten minutes?"

He looked positively stupefied, but he nodded.

I got a couple of candles and a couple bottles of beer (wine would have been more romantic, but I hadn't planned for this evening, so I had to make do), and I holed up in the supply room, pacing, waiting.

He showed up right on time, still looking bewildered. I had the impression he was about to crack a joke, but then he noticed the candles burning and whatever he was going to say froze on his lips. "Beej?" was all that came out instead.

I gestured for him to sit, and I did the same. Handed him a beer while I took a gulp of my own. I was scared, but not about to back down. Not now.

"Did you know," I started, and my voice sounded odd… a little too high, and jittery, "that there's gossip about us, here in camp?"

"Gossip?"

"I overheard some nurses talking recently. They think… apparently some of them think that you and I are…"

"Are?"

"Romantically involved."

At first he just grinned, but then after a second he laughed. Long and hard. I had to smile at his reaction. Nothing ever bothered Hawkeye. Let people speculate about his sexual orientation… what did he care? Hell, they could probably even muse that he was the devil personified, and he wouldn't take offense, wouldn't be the least bit fazed. "And what?" he finally asked me. "This bothers you? What other people might think?"

"Actually, it did at first. Bothered me a lot," I admitted. I drank some more beer, then glanced at his face. "But after a while, I sort of started to think…"

He was watching me closely, the laughter gone from his eyes, because he could sense the gravity of the conversation now. "Yes?"

"I started to think that sometimes there's a reason behind a rumor. A good reason, I mean. Some kernel of truth."

"And you think there might be something to this particular rumor," he said with a tilt of his head. Damn cute… he was looking so confused and amused and so damn cute. "Are you asking me a question, Beej?"

"I could ask you a question, Hawk. But actually, I brought you here to confess something. Some pretty intense feelings… that I only just recently realized I have."

"Beej—"

"Don't stop me, Hawk. I thought long and hard before I ever got to this night and this situation and these… candles." I laughed at my own complete ineptitude. But he wasn't laughing at me… he was taking me seriously, and I loved him for that. "Somewhere along the line… at some point between shaking your hand at Kimpo Airport and right here and now, I fell for you. Pretty damn hard, as it turns out. And do me a favor, OK? Don't try to tell me it's just the war wreaking havoc on my emotions and my mental state. Don't insult me by saying something like that. You can reject me, you can shove me away, you can tell me you're revolted… but don't rewrite my truth. Because my truth is that I'm in love with you. Thoroughly, entirely, passionately." I let out a shaky breath.

And waited.

I waited for what seemed like a long time, but it was probably only seconds. His expression while I'd been rambling was unreadable, but eventually it morphed into a sweet smile. His right hand reached over and lightly took hold of my left one. I looked down at the interlocking fingers… everything seemed to be in slow motion now… and just the sight of our hands touching like that seemed more intimate than anything I could imagine. He wasn't saying anything so I lifted my lashes to look at his face again, and his clear blue eyes got closer and closer to my own until finally they fell shut. I tasted his mouth for the first time and all the breath seemed to leave my lungs. My heart hammered, my body felt weak.

It was a short kiss, but filled with promise. I smiled at him, ran my tongue over my lips to taste him again. "You gonna say anything?" I teased. The only reason I could be so glib was because I was pretty sure, based on that kiss, that I wasn't about to be rejected.

"Sometimes," he said with a grin, "gossip can be a wonderful thing."

I ran my hand up and down his arm, just wanting the physical contact. "You didn't seem surprised," I said. "To hear that we're the subject of gossip."

He shrugged. "I think maybe other people see things for what they are, before they are… if that makes any sense."

It actually did. "So you've had these feelings… I mean, from the way you're acting, it seems that you've been thinking about this…" I trailed off, not quite able to articulate the question.

But he understood. "I've thought about this—about us, yes. For quite some time."

"Oh."

He laughed, putting his hand high on my thigh, brushing lightly with his fingers. It sent a jolt of electricity through me. "I never dreamed you'd feel the same way."

"I was a little reluctant at first to admit it, to myself even. I was kind of caught off guard. But the truth doesn't go away. The truth settles into your soul and makes itself at home and refuses to budge."

The hand on my thigh gave a squeeze. "It was meant to be," he said softly. My head snapped up as I looked at his face. He smiled, his eyes shining.

I nodded in agreement. "Yeah. It was." Then I put a hand on the back of his head and pulled him in for a kiss.