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B.J. felt Pierce's brow tense beneath his hand. Glancing down in surprise, he watched the man's features twitch, then relax. A barely audible moan sounded from behind the oxygen mask. "Hawkeye?" he asked sharply.
He removed his hand from his friend's forehead, but Hawkeye's own hand suddenly lurched upwards to grasp his arm with the desperation of a drowning man. He flinched at the vice-like grip, but didn't pull away. Placing his other hand on top of Pierce's firm grasp, he asked again, "Hawk, can you hear me?"
At the commotion, Charles glanced up from the stack of paperwork he'd been going through. Standing abruptly, he raced over to see Pierce practically wrenching Hunnicut's arm from its socket. B.J. didn't seem to notice as he immediately reached with his free hand to lift up one of the man's eyelids. "Hawk!" he called out, louder this time. "Come back to us, pal!"
Charles brought out a penlight and shined it into his bunkmate's eyes. Hawkeye responded by gasping wildly and jerking his head away, squeezing his eyes shut. His entire body tensed, and he tried to tear the oxygen mask from his face.
B.J. gently helped him lift the offending instrument away, ignoring the fact his trapped arm was now rapidly turning purple. The memory of his friend's vacant, unaware gaze yesterday taunted him as he assessed the man's current condition. "Calm down, Hawk," he instructed, sounding far more composed than he actually was.
Show me you're okay. Please...
He gingerly grasped Hawkeye's shoulders and quieted his thrashing. The man seemed to relax, and stopped fighting. "Open your eyes if you can hear me," B.J. said. To Winchester's ears, it sounded more like a plea than a command.
Pierce didn't react, and for a minute B.J. thought his friend had slipped back into unconsciousness. He shot a frustrated look at Charles, who held up a placating hand as he watched Hawkeye's face closely.
A single eye opened halfway, followed immediately by a muted groan deep in the man's throat. The eye promptly closed again.
B.J. forcefully tapped the side of his face. "Come on, you'll have plenty of time to sleep when I'm not busy worrying about you."
Both eyelids gradually blinked open, revealing hazy blue orbs that locked with his own.
You're not the nurse I ordered for breakfast, Hawkeye thought blearily, but when he tried to vocalize it he started coughing uncontrollably. B.J. brought the oxygen mask up to his face again and his windpipe relaxed. He finally released his death grip on B.J.'s arm, much to his friend's relief. The feeling would return to it soon...probably...
"I'll alert the Colonel," Charles said quietly, and slipped out of post-op. B.J. barely noticed as he searched Hawkeye's face for some sign of recognition. He saw that the man's pupils were back to normal; he just hoped everything else was, too. "How are you feeling?"
Pierce massaged his throat, clearing it painfully before taking the mask off again. Learning from his previous mistake, he spoke slowly and carefully. "Like the aftermath of a marine's shore leave—completely spent, with just enough dignity left over to feel regret." He cringed and rubbed his temples. "Whoever rented my head out to a jackhammer enthusiast should be sent to bed without dinner."
B.J. smiled weakly; at least his humor had come through intact. "You should be thankful—he probably chased away all the bats."
Hawkeye closed his eyes wearily. "What happened?" he asked hoarsely.
"Klinger said he 'found' a source of firewood for us. I guess we forgot to clean out the stove like we were supposed to." B.J. eyed his friend critically as he replied, every muscle in his body tensing.
"Oh..." Shadowy memories of the incident surfaced in Hawkeye's brain, but the pounding in his head drowned them out. He rubbed his eyes vigorously, hoping that driving them deeper into his skull would ease the pain.
B.J. absently chewed the part of his lip that had bled earlier. I have to find out, or I'm going to lose my mind. "Mind if I ask something?" His voice was deceptively aloof.
"Just make sure it doesn't involve loud noises of any kind."
"What's your name?"
"It depends on which hotel is calling," Hawkeye responded dully, trying hard to shake off his lethargy. Glancing up at B.J., he suddenly realized the man was very serious. "Why?"
B.J. shrugged, non-committal. "It's just a question."
Hawkeye watched him silently through his daze. As far as doctors were concerned, there was no such thing as "just a question". How bad was his condition for his friend to ask something like that?
He saw the worry lines deepening in B.J.'s face, and realized it would only get worse every second he neglected to respond. Clearing his throat again, he answered, "Benjamin Franklin Pierce at your service. Known as Hawkeye to his friends, 'Hey You' to his non-friends, and Casanova to those he'd like to know on friendlier terms."
He expected a relieved grin to cross B.J.'s face. He didn't expect the man to clench his fists and force back a sob. "Hey, I'm sorry," he said, alarmed. "Was that the wrong answer?"
B.J. shook his head mutely. Before he realized what he was doing, he lunged forward and hugged Hawkeye tightly, feeling the heartbeat that had been terrifyingly absent the day before.
He recalled the haunting images he'd witnessed in Pierce's mind when his own life was in danger, starting to understand more clearly the raw fear behind them. "I don't want to be alone," his friend had thought back then; now, as he grasped Hawkeye tightly, relying on the steady rhythm of his pulse to assure himself the man was okay, he truly understood the meaning of those words.
Hawkeye numbly returned the embrace, still in shock. He could feel the subtle tremors of fatigue coursing through his friend's body, a sensation he was more accustomed to feeling himself. He didn't dare move, not exactly sure who was supporting whom. I just wanted to help...and I only ended up scaring the hell out of him. He closed his eyes, blinking back tears of exhaustion. Some friend he was; he hadn't helped B.J. at all.
The two men embraced in silence, neither knowing what to say. Finally, Hawkeye's raspy voice sounded from somewhere behind B.J.'s lab coat. "Beej—I…air…"
"Oh. Sorry." B.J. released his grip, unaware he'd been holding on so tightly.
Pierce gently rubbed his neck and inhaled, watching his friend carefully. "When was the last time you slept?"
B.J. didn't answer as he sat down again. He didn't need to; he had a feeling Hawkeye already knew the answer. "Do you have any clue how worried I was? I didn't know how long you'd stopped breathing. I thought...maybe..." he trailed off, painfully aware of his wavering tone.
"Maybe I broke the four minute rule?" Hawkeye finished softly. "As far as I know, my cognitive abilities and memory are just fine—the past twenty-four hours notwithstanding. If I start suturing patients with yarn and singing along with Charles' records, then you can worry."
B.J. stared into the distance. "You don't get it, Hawk. First my daughter gets sick, then my best friend damn near dies on me when I'm not looking. It's been—I mean, I couldn't...I just felt..."
Alone.
The word hung in the air, unspoken but loud enough for them both to hear. Their eyes met, and Hawkeye could almost visibly see B.J.'s frayed nerves. Sensing the silent anguish behind his friend's words, he reached out and touched the man's knee reassuringly. "I'm not sure which of us needs this bed more," he commented gently. "I'm sorry."
"Just don't do it again, okay?" B.J. gazed at his friend, quite serious despite the somewhat ridiculous request.
A response was on the tip of Hawkeye's tongue when Klinger came barreling in. "Sorry to bother you, Captain, but I just got news over—" He stopped abruptly at the sight of Pierce. "Hey! Good to see you up! How're ya doing?" His features darkened as he added, "I'm sorry my present didn't turn out as expected. I just wanted to help. You okay?" His question was edged with the same tension that had lined B.J.'s face earlier.
"Don't worry, Klinger—this is just proof that I can take on any clogged stove in Korea and still smoke the competition."
B.J. shot a withering glance in Hawkeye's direction at the bad pun. "What is it, Klinger?"
"Wha—? Oh, right. An aid station just told us to expect incoming wounded any minute now. A patrol of our guys came across a patrol of the other guys a few hours ago, and let's just say it didn't end with a handshake and a tea party."
"They told you? On the phone?" A hopeful note lingered in B.J.'s voice.
"Sorry, sir, they used the radio. Their phone line's been out even longer than ours," Klinger replied apologetically.
Hawkeye watched as B.J.'s spirits plummeted through the floor, and held back a sigh. "Keep working on the phone, Klinger," he said. "Or at least strap a 'Get Well' note to a San Francisco-bound pigeon."
"Yessir." Klinger nodded and turned to leave. Pierce added, "And dust the lobby, will you? Beej and I will put out the vacancy sign for our new guests."
"Excuse me?" B.J. raised an eyebrow as Klinger left.
"We don't know how many are coming. You're gonna need help."
"I don't recall discharging you yet."
"I'm discharging myself. My name does have M.D. after it, you know," Hawkeye reminded him peevishly as he tried to stand.
He never made it. Only managing to struggle into a sitting position, he almost immediately fell back onto the bed—more from the sudden change in blood pressure than from B.J.'s restraining hand. The jackhammer enthusiast responded by pounding even harder inside his skull, and Hawkeye let out a muffled groan as he grasped his head.
"Yeah? Well my M.D.'s at the bottom of your medical chart, and I say you can't leave yet," B.J. responded with equal annoyance. " My God, Hawk, seventeen hours ago we weren't even sure you'd ever wake up! I've been sitting here the entire night wondering if my best friend would even remember me! You might as well enjoy the rest while you can."
"Oh, come on! You've been awake for so long your bed can't remember what you look like!"
"Yes, but I'm not the one with carbon attached to every blood cell in my body."
"Beej—"
"I said no! Stop playing the hero, okay? Charles and I can handle it. And with Colonel Potter as the playground monitor it shouldn't take long." He caught the sullen look on Hawkeye's face and couldn't hold back a brief, relieved smile—just to see any look on his friend's face was welcome.
His tone softened. "Look, I'll come back with a report. Will that make you feel better?"
"Do I have a choice?" Hawkeye's irritation was evident, but he calmed down and folded his arms in resignation. The two men watched each other silently, listening to the muted din outside post-op.
Something in B.J.'s posture made Hawkeye pause, then smile. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. "Beej?"
"Yeah?"
"I know I came into the world a little before you, but if we really are brothers…are you the older or younger one?"
B.J. blinked, confused. "Huh?" After a moment, realization suddenly dawned on him. "I—wait. You heard that?"
"What did you think I was doing all that time I was unconscious—sleeping?" Hawkeye matched B.J.'s indignant expression with feigned innocence, then sobered and rubbed his eyes. His voice lowered, and B.J. strained to hear the words. "Why is it we always wait to say the most important things until we each think the other can't hear us?"
B.J. thought for a moment. "I dunno," he answered finally. "Maybe…because the most important things to say are sometimes the hardest to admit?"
"Maybe." Hawkeye chewed his thumbnail in thought. "I wonder if you—"
Whatever he planned to say was lost in a cacophony of shrieking metal as a loud crash sounded outside.