A/N: Yay, new chapter! I'm trying my best to keep up this once-a-week pace, but that may only hold out for a couple more chapters. Thanks so much to you lovely reviewers! You are definitely my biggest motivation. This was... a toughie to write, so I hope it meets with your expectations. Ciao!
"Colonel, something has to be done!"
"You think I don't know that?" Potter retorted. Hawkeye was pacing back and forth in his office, agitated as a hive of bees that had been poked with a stick. Colonel Potter couldn't blame him. The situation with Captain Hunnicutt was only getting worse by the day. "I'd give the man three days R&R if I didn't think he'd spend it on a seventy-two hour bender."
Hawkeye shook his head. "Whatever this is, it's not that kind of sadness. I haven't seen him touch a drop in weeks. He'd be more likely to stay locked in his hotel room for three days and come back wearing a big smile, pretending he'd had the trip of a lifetime."
"So what would be your prescription, doctor?" Colonel Potter asked, bowing to Hawkeye's superior knowledge of his friend. "What's it gonna take to get our jolly green giant singing campfire songs again?"
"That's just the problem. I have no prescription." Hawkeye regarded the Colonel seriously. "We need to bring in an expert."
Having now alienated not just one but both of his roommates, B.J. decided it was a good time to familiarize himself with the linen closet. He'd brought a pack of cards and some writing utensils, with every intention of bunking down for the night so as not to bother Hawkeye or Charles with his presence.
Truth be told, he felt a little embarrassed over blowing up at Major Winchester. But it was as if the man had tailored his speech specifically to rile B.J.! His scornful words had been so reminiscent of Frank—back in the time when a staged fight had become a real one—that B.J. lost control.
It was more than that, his mind whispered at him. Against his will, a memory, far more recent, floated in front of his eyes.
"Don't," Hawkeye had said. "Don't treat me like I'm a child."
And then for Charles to say such a thing... "like a child dressed up in his father's clothes"... it had been too much.
Thus the family of rats occupying the linen closet had graciously allowed B.J. to move into their home.
"Much obliged," B.J. murmured to them. He held out a bite-sized piece of bread left over from dinner. One of the rats crept towards him, then away again. B.J. held still.
"Don't worry," he said. "I only eat rat on Wednesdays."
The rat scampered out again. This time it sniffed at the bread pinched between B.J.'s fingers. Then, nose a-wrinkle, it scurried back to the corner.
B.J. let out a bright laugh. "Yeah, can't argue with you there, little fella."
A knock came at the door. B.J.'s head snapped up. Before he could decide what to say, if anything, a voice came through the door.
"Can I come in?"
The voice was one B.J. knew well. He relaxed with familiarity, even as his gut clenched. There could be no mistaking the purpose of this visit.
"Unless the war's cut you off at the knees too," he answered.
The closet door creaked open. Sidney Freedman poked his head through. Spotting B.J., he slipped inside and closed the door behind him. He observed their surroundings, hands tucked casually in his pockets.
"So what brings you to my neck of the war, Sidney?"
"Oh, I'm here for the poker convention," said Sidney. "Thought I'd stop by and check out the new hotel in town. I hear it's getting great reviews."
"You wouldn't believe the going rate," agreed B.J. "Shaun and Valerie were kind enough to rent me out a room half-price."
"Shaun and Valerie?"
B.J. gestured towards the rat-occupied corner. Sidney nodded as though this made perfect sense.
"Well, it's very nice," he said.
"Only five-star joint in town. One for each rat," B.J. explained.
"Mind if I sit?"
B.J. motioned to the floor next to him. "Be my guest."
Sidney crouched and then lowered himself onto the ground.
"So," he said.
B.J. immediately looked away, hands fidgeting. Small talk could only last for so long, but that didn't mean he was ready for the conversation he knew was coming.
"Not that I don't like your new place, but I can't help but wonder why you left the old one. Wanna tell me about it?"
B.J. shrugged one shoulder. "I was taking up too much space."
"Physically or emotionally?"
B.J. didn't say anything. His thumbs rubbed frantic lines over his palms.
Sidney shifted, settling himself more comfortably. "Colonel Potter tells me that you and Hawkeye have had a falling out. Is that true?"
"Sure, you could call it that."
"What would you call it?"
Already the surgeon's body was growing tense. It wasn't Sidney's questions that set him on edge, but rather the remembering of his own monumental mistakes.
"I'd call it an 'I pushed Hawkeye off a cliff and then fell after him because it turned out he was the only thing keeping me balanced on the ledge,'" he said tightly.
"Sounds serious."
"Look, Sidney..." B.J. sighed. "I know you only want to help, but I'm so twisted even I don't know what's going on with me."
"Well that's perfect; I got my undergrad in untwisting," was Sidney's light-hearted reply. B.J. huffed a laugh, but there wasn't much behind it. "Why don't you tell me how it started."
"That would be easier if I knew what 'it' was."
The doctor's head tilted, his eyes never leaving B.J.'s face. "I think you do know."
B.J. flushed. He should know better. Sidney had always been able to see through everybody's bull. Even so, he couldn't force the words out. They sounded so petty and childish even in his own head.
Why did I pop my top, you ask? Only due to insane, irrational jealousy towards a man I've never even met.
It's not insane if you're right, his mind hissed back. He gritted his teeth. If Hawkeye did like Trapper better, it probably had something to do with the fact that Trapper had never treated Hawkeye like an object to be used in order to make himself feel better, Hawkeye's feelings be damned.
How could he even begin to explain that to Sidney?
"Do you have any siblings, B.J.?"
The man blinked. "Uh, no, I don't. Why do you ask?"
Sidney shrugged. "I've got two older brothers myself."
"Yeah?"
"Mhm. Jacob was six and Andrew was four when I was born."
"Are you close to them?"
"As adults we are," Sidney said. "But growing up was a different story. I was always the small one, too young to ever really be friends with them, even when they were friends with each other. Somehow I could never shake the feeling that I was less a part of the family than they were. After all, they'd had a whole four years before me, without me."
B.J. gave a noncommittal hum. It didn't take a genius to see the metaphor at play.
"But you wanna know the funny thing about it?" Sidney said.
B.J. couldn't help but meet the psychiatrist's steady, honest gaze. His heart thrummed a little faster with something he didn't want to recognize as hope.
"Once, when I told my brothers that, they said they never felt that way. That I was always their little brother, as much a part of the family as they were."
B.J. sighed and shook his head. "That's a nice homemade parable, Sidney, but it's not the same."
"It is and it isn't," was the doctor's simple answer. "Do you really believe you haven't become an irreplaceable part of this unit in the time since you got here?"
"Everyone's replaceable," B.J. said, his voice a little hoarse. "Colonels are replaceable. Nurses are replaceable. Doctors are replaceable. That's what war is. Trapper left Hawkeye so the army shipped me here to replace him."
"Trapper left Hawkeye?" Sidney repeated, in the very calm, unsurprised, non-judgmental way he had of digging your deepest fears out of your most innocuous utterances. "Not the four-oh-seven-seven?"
B.J. looked aside. For a minute neither of them spoke. Sidney seemed just as content to stare at the wall as talk. B.J. had always appreciated that about him, that he knew when not to push.
In the silence, B.J. began to unwind. Gut unclenching, teeth unclamping. Instead, helium filled his stomach and the tightness moved up into his chest, pushing upward, words rushing up to his mouth as through propelled by a geyser. If B.J. were a superstitious man he might have thought Sidney had some special voodoo power that compelled any who looked him in the eyes to share their darkest secrets.
"Peg and I met in high school," he said. Sidney turned to listen, no indication that he found this topic of conversation a non-sequitur. "I liked her right away. But she liked a friend of mine, Digger. They dated for eight months before Peg and I ever got together."
"And that bothered you?"
"No," B.J. said honestly. "She chose me."
It was quiet for only a few seconds, then,
"But Hawkeye didn't choose you."
These words were said, not meanly, but as the unspoken finish to B.J.'s confession.
And there it was. The greatest source of B.J.'s insecurity, finally spoken aloud. Hawkeye hadn't chosen B.J. over Trapper; the choice had been made for him. And if Hawkeye were given the choice today either to keep B.J. or to have Trapper back, B.J. didn't know what Hawkeye would do. A truly devastating thought. There were few things in the world quite so heartbreaking as not being your best friend's best friend.
This was something B.J. hadn't even known until recently. He'd had friends before, even boys he called 'best friends.' But it wasn't until meeting Hawkeye that he truly learned the meaning of the phrase, and discovered just how intensely a person could experience the feeling of friendship.
Free from the anguish of self-imposed silence, all of B.J.'s muscles went limp. He released a bitter, breathy laugh. "What do you think of that, eh, Sidney? Here we are in the middle of a war and they send you to deal with a five-year-old who doesn't like hand-me-downs. What a joke."
"That's why I'm over here, B.J.," Sidney said. "You patch up the ones with holes in their stomachs, I patch up the rest. Your pain isn't insignificant just because it wouldn't show up on an x-ray. Would you ever tell a soldier that he had no right to be unhappy because others had taken worse hits?"
No answer was needed so B.J. didn't give one. Honesty had cut away his defenses, leaving him open, vulnerable. He couldn't look at the psychiatrist. He stared at the wall instead.
Sidney allowed the silence to settle for a moment, but B.J. knew their session was far from over. With Sidney's experience and insight, there was no question that he could tell there was more going on than B.J. had given voice to thus far.
B.J.'s heart began to race faster and faster as he visualized the remainder of their chat. Sidney wouldn't leave before discovering the crux of the issue, and if he did that, then he would know. He would know the truth that B.J. had been desperately running from, trying to ignore, to will out of existence, the truth that could end B.J.'s life as he knew it. His pulse pounded in his ears. The more he thought about it, the more afraid he grew. Maybe he could stop it from happening, maybe—
"I noticed that you drew a comparison between your relationship with Peg and your relationship with Hawkeye," said Sidney.
Ba-bum ba-bum ba-bum ba-bum. B.J.'s sweaty hands clenched and unclenched.
"So?" he asked.
There was a pause. B.J. looked up—and what he saw was Major Sidney Freedman thinking, pondering, carefully considering his next words. B.J.'s heart slammed against his chest. He'd never known Sidney to be anything but direct and plainspoken. The man had never before needed to plan out his words before daring to speak them. But now, for the first time ever, he felt that need.
Sidney opened his mouth.
BA-BUM BA-BUM BA-BUM.
"Are you angry because you feel that Hawkeye was better friends with Trapper than he is with you?" Sidney asked. His head tilted, his eyes drilling holes into B.J.'s soul. "Or, is it possible that you feel guilty for certain feelings you have towards Hawkeye, hurt that he doesn't share those feelings, and then guilty all over again for feeling hurt?"
BUM. One last heartbeat like the ring of a gong.
Then it all melted away. B.J. felt the warmth gather in his face before the sting of tears behind his eyes. His lips quivered, despite his best efforts to stiffen them.
Sidney knew. He knew he knew he knew he knew.
Shaking, his eyes trained down at his hands, B.J. asked, "Are you going to report me?"
"Now does that sound like something I'd do?"
He pushed out a tremulous breath, shame mixed with relief. "No. No, of course not." He forced himself to look his friend in the eyes. "I'm sorry, Sidney. I didn't mean it."
"I know you didn't," Sidney said kindly.
B.J. looked away again. He dragged his teeth over his lips, as though that would halt their trembling. Biting down hard, he stared up at the ceiling. "How did this happen?" he croaked.
There was a momentary, thoughtful silence. Then, "The way that human beings experience attraction is still by and large a mystery to us." Even though B.J. was looking elsewhere, he could feel the doctor's gaze upon him. "But just because you're attracted to a man now, that doesn't invalidate the way you've always felt towards women."
B.J. scoffed. His shame was already lessening, no doubt due to Sidney's exceptionally understanding attitude. Sidney's easy acceptance of the situation had the effect of making B.J. feel as though he hadn't just revealed a deep and shocking secret. Rather, they could be discussing something as commonplace as the latest Army vs. Navy football game. His cheeks began to cool.
"That's not what I'm talking about," he said, almost offended by the suggestion, though he knew it was a fair one. "I don't care about that. So what if I've never felt about a man the way I feel about Hawkeye? That doesn't matter."
"So what's the problem?"
"What's—?" He turned wide, disbelieving eyes on his friend. "Sidney, I'm a married man! I love my wife! I... Before I left home, I never swore to be faithful to Peg because I never thought I'd be tempted otherwise! This isn't, this isn't some, some middling attraction, some mistake because I'm missing my wife and kid. This is real. I'm... I'm..." B.J. swallowed. Oh God, was he really going to say it?
He really was.
"In love," he completed. Something, some emotion, struck his chest like a drum, but he ignored it. "With someone who isn't my wife, someone who... Who I can never, never have."
And if he'd thought that saying the words 'in love' had been painful... it was nothing compared to acknowledging the fact that his love was hopeless.
B.J. sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes darting back and forth with surprise. The sharp ache in his gut was real and painful and caused him far greater anguish than the simple admittance of love had. What could that possibly mean?
No, he knew what it meant. It meant that he was much farther gone than he'd realized. Somehow, somewhere along the line, he'd come to accept his love for Hawkeye, unspoken though it was, as though his love for the man was... inevitable. Incontestable. Hardly an issue worth feeling guilt over.
The only thing causing him pain now was, not the guilt over falling in love, but the knowledge that his love would never, could never be returned.
B.J. swallowed, lowering his head with shame. God, what would Peg think if she saw him now? Would she hate him? He hoped so. If only because he couldn't find it in him to hate himself, and he knew, he knew, that he deserved it.
He'd almost forgotten the Major's presence when suddenly,
"Do you feel that there's no point even in being friends with Hawkeye unless you can have him in the way that you want?"
B.J. jumped. "What?" he said. "No! Of course not!"
"Because that's how you're treating him," Sidney pointed out.
Another shot of guilt sank down into B.J.'s gut, its taste more bitter than any homebrewed martini. "I don't..." He swallowed. "I'm not doing it to hurt him. Really. That's the last thing I want. I just... It's me. I can't control myself."
"I suggest you try to learn to, or you may lose him completely," said Sidney, his gaze sympathetic. "And I don't think you want that."
B.J. knew the wisdom of Sidney's words, knew them with every piece of his soul. God, he would do anything to go back to the way things had been once upon a time. There was nothing he wanted more. But...
"It's more than that now," he said. "There's a... a gap between us. Of my own stupid making." He shrugged, eyebrows raised in helplessness, a distinct wetness in his eyes. "And I don't know how to bridge it."
"The neat thing about that," Sidney said, "is you're not the only one who wants to."
A warm updraft caught B.J.'s heart and carried it high. He breathed deep, a man ten pounds lighter. "You think so?" he asked, unable to contain a shy, hopeful smile.
"I'd stake all my poker money on it," was Sidney's straight answer. Then the doctor slapped his knees and stood up. "Which reminds me, the game's about to get started. Would you like to tag along?"
B.J. smiled at his friend, his first true smile in weeks. "Not tonight," he said. "Soon, though, I think. Thanks, Sidney."
Returning B.J.'s smile, Dr. Sidney Freedman nodded his goodbye and then was gone, as though nothing had ever passed between them.
Only the flare of optimism in a young man's heart proved that anything had.
B.J. returned to the Swamp in the early hours of the morning, when he knew the poker game would be long over.
Sure enough the tent was dark, all visiting players retired to their own beds and Hawkeye and Charles asleep in theirs. B.J. eased the door shut behind him. Best not to wake Hawkeye if possible; the man got little enough sleep as it was. The door closed quietly. Hawkeye slept on, dead to the world.
Standing just inside the door, B.J. allowed himself a moment to watch his friend. Just watch him. As often as not, Hawkeye's nights were plagued by bad dreams, nightmares that dug a perpetual crease between his brows and fluttered his lips with nonsensical mumbling.
Not tonight, however. Tonight he rested as peacefully as a man who had never known war, and B.J.'s heart ached to see it.
Having looked his fill—or rather, looked as long as he could without feeling guilty for watching Hawk like some perverted stalker—B.J. stepped forward, as quietly as possible.
BLAM. His foot slammed into the side of a wooden table, left out from the poker game. An unconscious snort came from Charles's cot. Cringing, cursing in his mind, B.J. briefly hopped on one foot. It was a quiet hop. He still didn't want to wake Hawkeye. There was a chance his clumsiness hadn't—
"Beej?" said a voice slurred with sleep.
Wincing again, B.J. turned towards his roommate. Through the dimness of the night it was difficult to see much beyond the whites of the eyes peering back at him.
"Yeah, it's just me," he said quietly. "Sorry to wake you. Go back to sleep."
"Will you still be here in the morning?" asked Hawkeye.
In the un-guardedness of still being half-asleep, B.J. heard, clearer than ever before, the true, heart-wrenching hurt in Hawkeye's voice. He sounded physically wounded, as though B.J. had chopped off one of his arms and now he sought assurance that he wouldn't take the other as well.
B.J. squeezed his eyes shut.
But even as it broke his heart, so too did it fill him with hope. Because Sidney had been right. Hawkeye wanted to be friends again just as much as he did.
"Yeah, Hawk," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."
Hawkeye's head moved up and down in a feeble nod. Then he turned over onto his side, slipping easily back into the Sandman's embrace.
As he moved more carefully through the tent, a smile warmed B.J.'s face. Did he feel guilt? Sure. Loads of it. But nothing could overpower his joy. His overwhelming feeling of rightness. This was it, the beginning of their reconciliation. Tomorrow they would talk. And tomorrow everything would be all right again.