Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. I don't even own the idea of the whole "I can't" thing, that belongs to someone else who I can't remember right now. I'm just expanding on that idea, changing it completely so it's my style and not their's.
A/N: BJ's thoughts during and after the war. Please review. -Nic
BJ sits down on his bed in the Swamp and looks across, meeting Hawkeye's glance for just a second. And he knows that the older doctor is thinking about Trapper again, thinking about the man that was there first, about the man who was there first and left his mark and now BJ has to compete with that. And how the hell do you compete with a memory of perfection?
You don't, you can't, and so BJ doesn't even try. He chooses to ignore that Hawkeye wakes up screaming out Trapper's name and his name and sometimes only Trapper but never only BJ, because Trapper was there first and Hawkeye only dreams of memories these days, never about hopes and wishes and promises. Because all of Hawkeye's hopes have been in vain, and his genie seems to have taken a permanent holiday, and all the promises-whispered in the still of the night in between Frank's snores and bullet shots-the promises were all broken, forgotten, forsaken.
Their eyes meet again and Hawkeye can't help but ask what's wrong. Because nothing's ever allowed to be wrong with anyone else but Hawkeye, it just isn't permitted. So BJ turns to him and smiles, bitterly, and says, "Nothing," in a voice so dull and lifeless it makes anyone watching want to cry.
"Tell me, Beej," Hawkeye asked, begged, pleaded, and BJ wonders, for a moment, how many times Hawkeye asked and begged and pleaded with Trapper. But that train of thought is only going to lead to dangerous ground especially if it's spoken aloud-
"Trapper"- the word was said before BJ had a chance to realize it, to stop it. And now that it was out in the open, he wasn't about to take it back. Because BJ Hunnicut was nothing if not brutally honest, maybe that was why he and Hawkeye were so alike, "It…it kills me Hawk, to know that he was here first. To know that he touched you and caressed you first. To know that he left his mark and that mark isn't ever gonna leave you."
"What do you want me to do about it?" Hawkeye whispered in a terribly-dangerously-low voice, "I've tried to forget, to let bygones be bygones, but I can't. What do you want me to do about it?" He's crying, and BJ really wants to put his arms around his friend-lover? Soul mate?-and tell him that there's no reason to cry. That he understands.
But something won't let him do that. Something makes the next words come out of Baja's mouth faster than he can stop them. "Tell me he doesn't mean anything to you," BJ pleaded. His voice was desperate, pleading, hopeful.
But even when it meant killing his lover's hopes, Hawkeye remained brutally honest.
"I can't."
And BJ doesn't understand why those words were spoken. He doesn't understand why Hawkeye couldn't lie to him, just that once.
VVVVVVV
Three years later, he and Peg just had a fight and he's sitting on the chair out in the yard thinking-again-about a certain older officer at the 4077 MASH. He's thinking about Hawkeye's perfect blue eyes and winning smile and black-silver-black hair. He knows that Hawkeye's probably thinking about him-or Trapper-or maybe not Trapper-because Trapper wasn't as important to Hawkeye as BJ was, even though Trapper was there first. It just took Hawkeye a month or two to get over Trapper and allow himself to really fall in love with BJ. But once he did, the love was true and undying and unconditional.
But that was in Korea, and-just like everything else that happened in that God forsaken country-it was an issue that hadn't yet been put to rest, that haunted BJ unyieldingly.
He's haunted by Hawkeye's presence in everything he does. His drinks, no matter what they are, always taste like too-dry martinis from the still, and the food, no matter how well prepared, always taste cold and uncooked. And everything that's warm reminds him of blood and everything that's cold reminds him of Korean winters, bundled up with Hawkeye under the covers trying to recover some form of warmth and-
"BJ?" Peg's voice interrupts the thoughts and BJ is not sure whether he should be happy or sad and for a moment he feels like Henry Blake and-of course-that thought leads to the one time when he and Hawkeye did that thing to Colonel Blake and-
"BJ, I need you to tell me something. Tell me this one thing and I'll forget everything. I'll take you back with open arms and everything-everything-will be forgotten," Peg demands-commands-and she sounds like Margaret. But you'd never actually say that to her because it should be the other way around, Margaret should sound like Peg. But she doesn't, and it's not.
"Tell me he doesn't mean anything to you," she asks, begs, pleads, and suddenly, suddenly, he understands why Hawkeye said that to him all those years ago. It's because Trapper was a part of him. A part of his heart and soul and past and present and future and he couldn't let Trapper go. Just like he can't let you go and vice-versa.
"I can't," you answer, truthfully, because you can't lie to her, not about this.
And she breaks down into tears and he wants to comfort her, but he can't. Because she isn't the person he needs right now-Hawkeye is. Because to Hawkeye, BJ'll always be number one and vice versa. Even though Trapper was there first for Hawkeye and Peg was there first for BJ. Even though Trapper will always be a part of Hawkeye and Peg will always be a part of BJ. Hawkeye and BJ would always-always-be in love, forever, soul mates, completely.
And neither of them could ever let go of their past lovers, but that didn't matter. Because they understood. They really, really understood each other.