"You're drenched."

Shrugging, Hawkeye pushes the sopping hair from his eyes. Casual frame leaning against the iron gate, he avoids BJ's questioning gaze, eyes shining. "Comes from standing in the rain for two hours."

BJ sighs. "You're going to catch cold, then where will you be?"

"It's okay. I happen to know an excellent doctor who will give me a low rate."

Standing to the side, BJ holds the door open, ushering the dripping man into the hall. Firmly, he closes the door to the storm outside. Amusement gone from his voice, he looks on, annoyed. "What are you doing, Hawk?"

"At this moment I'm freezing the skin right off of my body. What do you say to offering an old war buddy a drink?" Hawkeye shuffles his feet, ignoring the puddle of water forming beneath him.

"I haven't got anything as fine as the still, but what do you say to a glass of scotch?" Without waiting for an answer, BJ turns a corner, making his way down a darkened hall. "Lucky Peg and the kid are at her mother's, you know."

"I know." Hawkeye calls out, poking a head to peer into the next room. "Nice -- nice place you've got here."

"Yeah, I like to call it home."

"Mmm." Hawkeye makes a noncommittal sound, eyes scanning the house around him. "Can see why you wouldn't want to leave it."

The faint clinking sound of glasses sounds from a few rooms over, as BJ's voice calls out. "Hawkeye, you can't -- you can't keep doing this."

Beneath his feet, Hawkeye spots a miniscule stain in beige carpet. "Funny that -- seems to be all I can keep doing."

Footsteps fall closer as BJ appears once more. "About last month --"

"No, no, I understand. You couldn't leave." Bitterness shines in sharp blue eyes. "Priorities, I get it."

Handing a drink over, BJ's shoulder sag slightly. "Look, Peg's going to be home in a few minutes, maybe you should just --" He stops. "Well, maybe later, over lunch, we could --"

"No, no, I've got -- I've got to be getting back, you know how it is. Busy, busy, running a practice by myself. I'd hate to leave the house empty for long." Hawkeye grips at the glass, wondering if he could crush it in his grasp. "I -- I won't be back. If you don't -- well."

BJ looks away, unable to meet Hawkeye's gaze as he mutters. "I don't."

"Right."

Lifting his own drink, BJ plasters on a smile. "Cheers?"

"Cheers." Carefully, Hawkeye downs the scotch, turning back to the storm without another word.