December 26, 1954

Hawkeye couldn't stand the look on Peg's face, so he cast his gaze away, focusing again on the Christmas tree. The blinking lights shimmered because his eyes were filling with tears.

And for some reason, something inside of him snapped. "Yeah, well," he said, bitterness rising up from out of nowhere, "no need to feel guilty, Peg. It was just a simple kiss. It's not like B.J. was a perfect little angel while he was in Korea, you know. Or do you know? I kind of doubt he told you." The regret was gone now, replaced by a hostility he didn't understand. "I doubt he confessed his infidelities."

Peg was shocked into silence, her body rigid and her lips pursed. Clearly she was confused and hurt already, and any sane man would have the good sense to stop. But Hawkeye heard himself barreling on.

"First there was the nurse he slept with… Carrie. Oh, he didn't tell you about that, did he? He hadn't even been over there a year and already he was falling into bed with someone. But the second one—I think the second one should concern you even more. This woman journalist visited the camp… Aggie O'Shea. A real knockout. But it wasn't physical, or should I say it wasn't just physical. She went after him like the letter U follows Q. And I gotta say, he got pretty obsessed with her in return… fell for her hard. So yeah, first there was the one he slept with and then there was the one he wanted to run off with, and you never knew about either one, did you?"

"That's enough," Peg said. Her voice was harsh, trying to project anger, but he could see her lips quivering. She was seconds away from sobbing. "I'm not listening to any more of this." She turned and bolted out of the room and up the stairs, presumably to her bedroom.

Hawkeye covered his face with his hands. What the hell had brought that on? He didn't recognize himself. He felt out of control of his own actions. He sat there on the couch, with Ed Sullivan yammering on in the background, and tried to figure out how he could possibly undo all the damage he'd just done.

Because that two-second kiss he'd planted on Peg? If he had stopped there, the mess would probably have been reversible. His bond with B.J. was strong enough to withstand a silly, drunken mistake like that. He was fairly certain B.J. would have been briefly angry, but later they both would've been able to laugh about it.

But telling B.J.'s secrets—that was the unforgiveable part. Those were not Hawkeye's sins to confess. What had come over him, for God's sake? Why dredge up the past like that?

He was still sitting there with his head in his hands when B.J. walked through the front door less than 10 minutes later. Hawkeye blinked at him, trying to get his mouth to work, but no sounds came out. He had no idea where to begin anyway.

"Hawk?" B.J. asked, his brow furrowed.

But before he could say anything else, Peg hollered from upstairs: "B.J., I need to see you right away!"

Things happened very fast after that. Hawkeye didn't even wait for their conversation to be over. He went to the guest room and started to pack his things. He was throwing clothes into his suitcase haphazardly, wondering how he was going to get to the airport because B.J. certainly wasn't going to drive him. His brain was spinning, trying to figure out logistics, how to get away from here and home and not get killed by his best friend.

But he didn't finish packing quickly enough, because then B.J. was bursting into the room, his hands clenched into fists. "Hawkeye, what the hell?" His face was red, veins standing out on his neck. "Why would you…? My God, what did you do to my marriage?"

Hawkeye's mouth had gone dry… his heart pounded. He was in full panic mode, fully aware that he had lost his best friend in the entire universe… and he had no idea why it happened, what had possessed him. "I…," he started. He swallowed, and reached out a hand toward B.J., but B.J. backed away. "I…," Hawkeye tried again.

I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry… please forgive me. I don't know if I can live without you in my life. Please let's try to fix this. Don't hate me. I hate myself enough for the both of us.

None of that would come out. He felt like he was drowning and couldn't get any air.

B.J. took another step backward, appalled. "Yeah, it's always all about you, isn't it, Hawk? Listen to yourself. All you can say is 'I.' As if I'm supposed to be concerned about you right now. I don't give a shit about you right now, and I'll never give a shit about you again!" Those fists kept clenching and unclenching at his sides. Hawkeye watched them, waiting for the blows to start. Instead, B.J. picked up a music box that was sitting on the dresser and threw it across the room, where it crashed into the wall and tore away a chunk of plaster. The box opened and Debussy's Clair de Lune began to play, providing a surreal soundtrack to their fight. "You'd better leave, Hawkeye. Because throwing that just now… that felt good, but I have a lot more rage where that came from. And I can't swear that I'll stop with inanimate objects. You hear me?"

"Yes," Hawkeye managed to croak out. He tossed the rest of his clothing into his suitcase and rushed past B.J., out of the room, down the stairs. He had one hand on the front door when he remembered the letter. The one he wanted to give to little Erin.

He hesitated. He heard B.J. go back to his and Peg's bedroom… heard their door close. Hawkeye made himself wait a full minute, standing as still as a statue. Then he quietly tiptoed back up the stairs and stepped into Erin's room, waking her up with a gentle shoulder rub. He dug around in his suitcase until he found the letter hiding beneath his socks, and he pressed the envelope into her hands, trying to explain even though she was only marginally awake. And only 3 years old. Too young to understand the adult problems going on around her.

He kissed her forehead and left her room and the house. It was the last time he saw any of them.