Disclaimer: Not mine
Pairings: If you haven't figured it out by now, tough cookies.
Desparate Plea: I am a review whore. It's awful. Do you think my story is rubbish? If that's the case, send me rotten reviews! Do you think it is pure brilliance? Say so! Or lie! Anything! I don't care! I would just like to know if the story is being read, is all. Sigh. Please review... please ... pretty please with all the toppings.
Note: I nicked one quote (oh the shame) in this chapter, the 'tumor of rotten principles' bit, from Jack London.
Note #2: I'm not sure if I'm entirely satisfied with the way this chapter came out. Perhaps this is because it's been so long since I've written a chapter, or because it is of inferior quality. Not having a beta, I am not sure how tofix it. I know it's choppy in places, but I don't feel as though it is emotionally intense or... or I don't know. At any rate, this story is nearing completion, so if you have anything to say about it, do not hesitate to review/email me. And anything you can say à propos de this chapter would be appreciated beyond belief. Anyway, read on.
UPDATE NOTE: Sorry for posting and reposting this bloody chapter so many times, it's just that there are some formatting and posting problems that are driving me mad. Oh, and while I'm at it, please please review... I worked dreadfully hard on this chapter... I just want to know if it's being read, and whether or not I should finish it... oh, to be insecure...
"Sir?" he cautiously prodded the swollen mound of bedclothes lumped in the center of the cot.
The mound shifted and moaned.
"Cap'n Hawkeye, sir..."
A hand emerged to wave him off.
"Radar, go bug B.J.-sir."
"But I've got-"
"And for God's sakes, do it quietly. I'm battling the hangover that ate the bronx, here."
"-mail."
The cot exploded as Hawkeye all but flew off the bed. Ducking a wayward martini glass, Radar dropped the mail and bolted.
Hangover forgotten, Hawkeye sprang over to wake his friend.
"Mmph."
"Mail!"
"Whuh?"
"Me Hawkeye, you B.J., this Korea, mail!" Hawkeye leapt off B.J.'s cot onwards to new territory.
B.J. pushed himself up onto his elbows and blearily rubbed at his eyes.
"PIERCE! YOU ANIMAL!"
"Well, Frank, it's how my dog used to wake me."
"That's barbaric!"
"Speaking of which, here's this week's last month's copy of Stars and Stripes, Frank."
"Gimme that!" Frank struggled into his pants, wiping his face with his shirt with brisk, military efficiency.
"Well, Frank, since you asked so nicely..."
A jeep honked in the distance.
"So, Frank," asked Hawkeye offhandedly, "anything interesting today last month?"
"Lot YOU care, unpatriotic simp, but while our boys were tearing down a village that was suspected to be a commie STRONGHOL-"
Hawkeye waved him off with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Really, Frank, I said interesting."
"It IS front page."
"Well," he let out a yawn.
"Well?!" Jacket on and buttoned.
"Oh, yes, well, strip-searching and destroying in the name of freedom is all well and good, but if you aren't murdering in cold blood and pillaging, you aren't really living, Frank!"
"You may have a point there, Pierce..."
Hawkeye rolled his eyes towards B.J., who still propped upright, grinding his palms into his eyes.
"See, Beej, and you can take this doctor's word on it, where others have hearts, Frank carries a tumor of rotten principles."
Right boot, lips disappearing, jowls quivering.
"I should know. I did his autopsy, after all... still don't know how he escaped the morgue."
Dressed and brushed and livid, Frank stomped out of the tent to the mess for his morning cup of coffee and cowardice.
"Like clockwork," said Hawkeye lightly, flopping down on his cot, tossing his new medical journal to the floor with a groan.
"Speaking of pillaging and manslaughter, what on earth did we do last night? It feels like my brain's been shredded and used to reupholster the inside of my mouth, like the sandman's been using me for batting practice, like a machine gun manufacturer has taken up shop in my skull, like someone's been using my marbles as maracas, like... Beej?"
Hawkeye stepped over to sit by his friend.
"I know you didn't get a letter, but rubbing your eyes into oblivion isn't going to make anything but dots appear, you know."
B.J. slowed his movements, head in hands, body quaking with every halting breath.
"Christ, Beej, you're making even me look good. What's going on here?"
A warm, gentle hand began to massage soothing patterns onto B.J.'s back, and he shot to his feet as though bitten, eyes puffy and red and frightened.
"Who died and named you as successor for King of the living dead?"
"Hawk, go have breakfast. You drank a lot last night and..."
Hawkeye cocked his head in confusion.
"Beej, wh-"
"... and so you're probably dehydrated and... and I need to get dressed."
"What the hell is-"
"I'll see you then, later, alright? Ok, Hawk? I'll..." He floundered, trailing off into tense silence. Hawkeye blinked.
"Sure Beej, sure... I'll see you..."
"... so after that, at about noon, I'm going out for coffee and cards with the girls, and there's a stew that you need just heat up-"
"Peg..."
"- for supper, which I should be home for at five-thirty, but I won't be home for three, so if you could pick up Erin from kindergarten for me, that would be fantastic. Remember, darling, don't you fret if-"
"Peg, honey, I-"
"Oh no, don't yo worry about me, after all, if I could take care of the family while you were in Korea, well-"
"PEGGY."
She froze, wide-eyed. Her husband never raised his voice.
"Oh, honey, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to yell, I just..."
With Hawkeye, there was simply spontaneity and red and green and brown, mud and muck... and here before me is a light blue summer dress and thinking, planning... and why can't I be satisfied with the perfection of... of perfection... of Peg?
"B.J., were you ever... you know..."
"Was I what?"
"Did you sin while in Korea, away from me?"
"Sin how... which sin?"
Caught in the cross hairs of her eyes, he continued, nervously, "What is a sin, anyway, really?"
"Don't joke, darling, it's a serious question."
A serious question. He had played that card before.
He looked into her open eyes and kissed her.
"B.J.?"
"I'm sorry, I just... have the most awful headache."
"My poor darling..."
He kissed her, but found himself counting the flowers on the wallpaper, and found her eyes to be closed.
It was midnight when he felt the cot sag, felt the warmth of another body by his feet.
"I know you're not sleeping."
"Why, should I be?"
"B.J., just turn over and look at me, will you? You've been avoiding me all day, as though I were the bubonic plague or syphilis or Frank or something..."
"Hawkeye, it's nothing, really, I've just," he sat up to face the other man, "had a long day. We both have. By back is sore and my feet are pleading for surrender.
"Well, my body's been trying to organize a peace treaty for the past twelve months, but what does that mean anymore?" his hand moved to squeeze B.J's shoulder. Hawkeye had always punctuated much of what he said with touches.
And my body goes rigid. This needs to be resolved. This needs to be closed and done away with.
A deep breath, as though it was to be his last.
"Hawkeye, who are you, I mean, what are you?" They locked eyes, confusion warring with fear and determination.
"Who am I? You need ask? Why, I am invincible, a crackerjack doctor, the miracle with ten fingers, a licensed skirt-lifter and bed-warmer, heartthrob extraordinaire, a dedicated pacifist..."
"I'm serious." There it was.
I'm serious. You're being cute. You're being evasive. You're being Hawkeye. I know what you're doing. Now you know I know. Does this frighten you?
Hawkeye's eyes grew steady and focused. To B.J., it almost seemed as though the man opposite him on the cot began to shrink in on himself, smokescreen. His back became that much more hunched, the shadows and creases and gray hairs became that much more prominent, the eyes became that much darker and expressive and ready to fight.
"I don't know, Beej. What am I?" Almost taunting.
"What, besides a living breathing mass of psychological double-talk that I sometimes wish I'd never met but ultimately can't imagine ever having been without?"
"I'm gonna need to be a bit less sober if we're going to go psycho-double-talk-profound and all that..."
"Trying to wash yourself away in liquor again?"
"No, I just figured that since I spent both of my psychology classes smashed, perhaps reliving the experience will aid in my recounting anything I might have picked up during those times, amen" He stood and reached over to blow into a martini glass, fringe flipping upwards as his breath came back at him. "Speaking about sleeping through school, any idea what Ferret Face is up to? Hunting for truffles somewhere?"
"That would be a pig, not a ferret."
"Still works, though... actually, I met a pig once that-"
How dare he try and talk circles around me, changing the subject, as though I were just another pawn in his little game?
"Nice try, Hawk."
Insistant, "I'm not trying."
"I can tell."
His head snapped round, eyes wide and shiny and childlike, jaw dangerously tense. All the warmth fled from the room, the air suddenly both thin and heavy, burning hot like molten lead at the bottom of his lungs.
"No, no wait, I didn't mean that. Hawk, I'm sorry, it-"
"What," he snarled, "it just 'CAME OUT'?"
"It amongst OTHER THINGS!"
Anger boiling in the pit of his stomach, B.J. had snapped. The effect of his words was like a punch in the stomach. The color drained from Hawkeye's face.
At the terror on his friend's face, B.J. softened, calmed, a deep breathe, 1... 2... 3... 4...
"It amongst other people," he finished.
The silence stretched on until, his hands flying every which way, Hawkeye burst.
"OH, oh! No, way, Beej... there is no way... sure he may SEEM like a closet case, but honestly, if you've ever seen the way he carries on with Hot Lips, which you can, by the way, every other night through the hole-and-mirror rigged by her tent, you'd never doubt Frank's tendencies or eat your lunch ever again, both of which are well worth the effort, let me tell you..."
"Hawkeye..." and B.J. couldn't help but feel sadness, disappointment that Hawkeye even felt that he had to delude himself.
"What?" Hawkeye questioned, his voice bright but his eyes frantic.
And a strange thing happened. Hawkeye ducked his head, his boyish flop of hair hanging into his eyes, and the light shifted. He was once again human. And hurting. And fearful; afraid of exactly what B.J. was afraid of, fearing exactly what B.J. was about to lay upon him, and B.J. knew he wouldn't be able to interrogate him. But he had to know... had to understand.
"Hawkeye," and B.J. knew. He knew that Hawkeye knew that he knew. The hollow vacuum of the moment rushing past swallowed them both.
"Hawk, are you a... " he swallowed, nearly choking on the dryness, "are you a homosexual?"
Hawkeye sat down weakly, trembling slightly, the impact of the moment gone, color leaking from the room. His shallow breathing, like a death rattle, scratched the silence with its ragged edges.
"Jesus, Beej, I... I don't... maybe... look, I'm sorry. Maybe I should have told you, or..."
B.J. exhaled explosively through his teeth.
"You don't hate me." More of a statement than a question.
"No. But I don't understand you either. I mean, the nurses, Hawk, and the girls in Tokyo..."
"The thing about the vagina, Beej, is that, despite it being attached to beings of the sleek and streamlined variety, it is in fact built perfectly for members of the XY club to dock their steamboats in..."
"Hawkeye."
"I'm sorry. No, it's just that, I'm not sure. I mean, why not? And maybe I'd find the right woman. I thought I might have. I keep telling myself that if it feels so... good... why can't I settle down with one? I'm not sure what I am, anymore. I don't what to be a... I want it to be easy, I guess. But I don't know, because that doesn't sound like me, does it? I can fight for others, but when it comes to fighting for myself..."
"And what about the bible, Hawkeye? What about sin and immorality and perversion and burning forever and all of that?"
"You know I don't really go in for that stuff, right?"
"Yes but... but what if? Where would you be then? Aren't you... afraid?"
"Not of Hell, no. Afraid of others, perhaps. Ashamed, yes, though I don't think I should be... but, you know, religion is funny."
B.J. raised his eyebrows. Hawkeye continued.
"I mean, what a threat: 'you're going to spend all of eternity in a terrible, terrible place...' Spending all eternity seems bad enough."
"Spoken like a true nonbeliever."
"Amen, brother. But I do believe... In this lousy excuse of a life that we're living right now, I think I can say that I've found something that I believe in: Karma. Because it's that much easier when there is a concrete something to blame, and even easier when that something is yourself, you know? Who needs Jesus to absolve you of your sins? Take care of them yourself, you lousy excuse for a human being. Although, come to think of it, being human is almost an excuse in itself. It's a pity there's no excuse for... God, what did I say last night?"
"Trapper."
"Christ."
"Gin?"
"Make it a double."
B.J. pulled back the covers and swung his legs out of the cot, conscious of Hawkeye's eyes on him.
"Hawk, I'm a little... do you... that is to say-"
"It's incredible, the Babble Brothers stuttering together. Any other time and I'd be laughing. Now what is it?"
"Have you ever...?"
"Depends on what. Why, have you?"
"NO! I mean, no. I'm not like that. I'm not a homosexual."
"I envy you for being able to say it. It's that much easier when it isn't you that you're labeling." He turned his head away from B.J.
"Do you find yourself attracted to men even now?"
"I don't know, wait, yes. Yes, I do. Now ask it... the million dollar question. I know you've got it kicking around in that head of yours, somewhere." He turned back, eyes boring into a B.J.'s.
B.J. set down the two martinis and rubbed tiredly at his face.
"Do you find yourself... attracted to me, Hawkeye? No, wait, I don't want to know. I do... but I don't."
"Why would you? Or why wouldn't you?"
"I would because I'm me and I'm curious. I'm reeling a little, here. And I'm still curious. I wouldn't want to know because I don't know how I'd take it."
"What can you imagine being so hard to take?"
"Anything that's true."
Hawkeye downed his martini in a gulp.
"You gonna be alright, Beej?"
"I guess. I mean, neither of us have changed, have we?"
"No, we haven't. Beej, um... could you come here for a second?"
And before B.J. could move, Hawkeye had stepped over to him, and engulfed him in a hug. It was warm, and B.J. could feel the moist, hot breath of the shorter man against his neck, the spastic fluttering of his heart against his chest. They swayed back and forth, standing, until B.J.'s arms jerkily wound around Hawkeye and held him tightly, returning the embrace, fisting in his clothing, and for some reason, B.J. felt his eyes stinging with tears. No, they hadn't changed, neither of them. But something was changing... and perhaps it would bring something beautiful to them both.
He can't believe that he did it again. The anger from the war, the temper that would sink its teeth into him, grab hold of him, it hadn't left. Poor Peg had married a monster. A lying, sinning, violent, raging, lost and confused, in love with another man, demon of a husband.
Erin, home from kindergarten, is taking a nap upstairs. The house is completely still, filled only with the wet echo of distant sprinklers and sounds of summer. He hears a child's laugh from a few houses down, and contemplates the empty hours ahead of him, until he has to face Peg. The air is pleasantly cool, and a breeze wafts though the room, rustling the drapes. And then...
And then... a knock.
A knock on the front door.
Another knock and, seemingly from another world, the child laughs again. B.J. wonders, fleetingly, who might be at the door, and whether the far-away child might be laughing at him.
He moves to grab the handle and throw open the door.
For a moment, the sunlight is blinding.
To be continued...
Pairings: If you haven't figured it out by now, tough cookies.
Desparate Plea: I am a review whore. It's awful. Do you think my story is rubbish? If that's the case, send me rotten reviews! Do you think it is pure brilliance? Say so! Or lie! Anything! I don't care! I would just like to know if the story is being read, is all. Sigh. Please review... please ... pretty please with all the toppings.
Note: I nicked one quote (oh the shame) in this chapter, the 'tumor of rotten principles' bit, from Jack London.
Note #2: I'm not sure if I'm entirely satisfied with the way this chapter came out. Perhaps this is because it's been so long since I've written a chapter, or because it is of inferior quality. Not having a beta, I am not sure how tofix it. I know it's choppy in places, but I don't feel as though it is emotionally intense or... or I don't know. At any rate, this story is nearing completion, so if you have anything to say about it, do not hesitate to review/email me. And anything you can say à propos de this chapter would be appreciated beyond belief. Anyway, read on.
UPDATE NOTE: Sorry for posting and reposting this bloody chapter so many times, it's just that there are some formatting and posting problems that are driving me mad. Oh, and while I'm at it, please please review... I worked dreadfully hard on this chapter... I just want to know if it's being read, and whether or not I should finish it... oh, to be insecure...
CLOSURE, chapter 6: Confrontations (pt. 1/2)
"Sir?" he cautiously prodded the swollen mound of bedclothes lumped in the center of the cot.
The mound shifted and moaned.
"Cap'n Hawkeye, sir..."
A hand emerged to wave him off.
"Radar, go bug B.J.-sir."
"But I've got-"
"And for God's sakes, do it quietly. I'm battling the hangover that ate the bronx, here."
"-mail."
The cot exploded as Hawkeye all but flew off the bed. Ducking a wayward martini glass, Radar dropped the mail and bolted.
Hangover forgotten, Hawkeye sprang over to wake his friend.
"Mmph."
"Mail!"
"Whuh?"
"Me Hawkeye, you B.J., this Korea, mail!" Hawkeye leapt off B.J.'s cot onwards to new territory.
B.J. pushed himself up onto his elbows and blearily rubbed at his eyes.
"PIERCE! YOU ANIMAL!"
"Well, Frank, it's how my dog used to wake me."
"That's barbaric!"
"Speaking of which, here's this week's last month's copy of Stars and Stripes, Frank."
"Gimme that!" Frank struggled into his pants, wiping his face with his shirt with brisk, military efficiency.
"Well, Frank, since you asked so nicely..."
A jeep honked in the distance.
"So, Frank," asked Hawkeye offhandedly, "anything interesting today last month?"
"Lot YOU care, unpatriotic simp, but while our boys were tearing down a village that was suspected to be a commie STRONGHOL-"
Hawkeye waved him off with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Really, Frank, I said interesting."
"It IS front page."
"Well," he let out a yawn.
"Well?!" Jacket on and buttoned.
"Oh, yes, well, strip-searching and destroying in the name of freedom is all well and good, but if you aren't murdering in cold blood and pillaging, you aren't really living, Frank!"
"You may have a point there, Pierce..."
Hawkeye rolled his eyes towards B.J., who still propped upright, grinding his palms into his eyes.
"See, Beej, and you can take this doctor's word on it, where others have hearts, Frank carries a tumor of rotten principles."
Right boot, lips disappearing, jowls quivering.
"I should know. I did his autopsy, after all... still don't know how he escaped the morgue."
Dressed and brushed and livid, Frank stomped out of the tent to the mess for his morning cup of coffee and cowardice.
"Like clockwork," said Hawkeye lightly, flopping down on his cot, tossing his new medical journal to the floor with a groan.
"Speaking of pillaging and manslaughter, what on earth did we do last night? It feels like my brain's been shredded and used to reupholster the inside of my mouth, like the sandman's been using me for batting practice, like a machine gun manufacturer has taken up shop in my skull, like someone's been using my marbles as maracas, like... Beej?"
Hawkeye stepped over to sit by his friend.
"I know you didn't get a letter, but rubbing your eyes into oblivion isn't going to make anything but dots appear, you know."
B.J. slowed his movements, head in hands, body quaking with every halting breath.
"Christ, Beej, you're making even me look good. What's going on here?"
A warm, gentle hand began to massage soothing patterns onto B.J.'s back, and he shot to his feet as though bitten, eyes puffy and red and frightened.
"Who died and named you as successor for King of the living dead?"
"Hawk, go have breakfast. You drank a lot last night and..."
Hawkeye cocked his head in confusion.
"Beej, wh-"
"... and so you're probably dehydrated and... and I need to get dressed."
"What the hell is-"
"I'll see you then, later, alright? Ok, Hawk? I'll..." He floundered, trailing off into tense silence. Hawkeye blinked.
"Sure Beej, sure... I'll see you..."
..........................................
"... so after that, at about noon, I'm going out for coffee and cards with the girls, and there's a stew that you need just heat up-"
"Peg..."
"- for supper, which I should be home for at five-thirty, but I won't be home for three, so if you could pick up Erin from kindergarten for me, that would be fantastic. Remember, darling, don't you fret if-"
"Peg, honey, I-"
"Oh no, don't yo worry about me, after all, if I could take care of the family while you were in Korea, well-"
"PEGGY."
She froze, wide-eyed. Her husband never raised his voice.
"Oh, honey, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to yell, I just..."
With Hawkeye, there was simply spontaneity and red and green and brown, mud and muck... and here before me is a light blue summer dress and thinking, planning... and why can't I be satisfied with the perfection of... of perfection... of Peg?
"B.J., were you ever... you know..."
"Was I what?"
"Did you sin while in Korea, away from me?"
"Sin how... which sin?"
Caught in the cross hairs of her eyes, he continued, nervously, "What is a sin, anyway, really?"
"Don't joke, darling, it's a serious question."
A serious question. He had played that card before.
He looked into her open eyes and kissed her.
"B.J.?"
"I'm sorry, I just... have the most awful headache."
"My poor darling..."
He kissed her, but found himself counting the flowers on the wallpaper, and found her eyes to be closed.
..........................................
It was midnight when he felt the cot sag, felt the warmth of another body by his feet.
"I know you're not sleeping."
"Why, should I be?"
"B.J., just turn over and look at me, will you? You've been avoiding me all day, as though I were the bubonic plague or syphilis or Frank or something..."
"Hawkeye, it's nothing, really, I've just," he sat up to face the other man, "had a long day. We both have. By back is sore and my feet are pleading for surrender.
"Well, my body's been trying to organize a peace treaty for the past twelve months, but what does that mean anymore?" his hand moved to squeeze B.J's shoulder. Hawkeye had always punctuated much of what he said with touches.
And my body goes rigid. This needs to be resolved. This needs to be closed and done away with.
A deep breath, as though it was to be his last.
"Hawkeye, who are you, I mean, what are you?" They locked eyes, confusion warring with fear and determination.
"Who am I? You need ask? Why, I am invincible, a crackerjack doctor, the miracle with ten fingers, a licensed skirt-lifter and bed-warmer, heartthrob extraordinaire, a dedicated pacifist..."
"I'm serious." There it was.
I'm serious. You're being cute. You're being evasive. You're being Hawkeye. I know what you're doing. Now you know I know. Does this frighten you?
Hawkeye's eyes grew steady and focused. To B.J., it almost seemed as though the man opposite him on the cot began to shrink in on himself, smokescreen. His back became that much more hunched, the shadows and creases and gray hairs became that much more prominent, the eyes became that much darker and expressive and ready to fight.
"I don't know, Beej. What am I?" Almost taunting.
"What, besides a living breathing mass of psychological double-talk that I sometimes wish I'd never met but ultimately can't imagine ever having been without?"
"I'm gonna need to be a bit less sober if we're going to go psycho-double-talk-profound and all that..."
"Trying to wash yourself away in liquor again?"
"No, I just figured that since I spent both of my psychology classes smashed, perhaps reliving the experience will aid in my recounting anything I might have picked up during those times, amen" He stood and reached over to blow into a martini glass, fringe flipping upwards as his breath came back at him. "Speaking about sleeping through school, any idea what Ferret Face is up to? Hunting for truffles somewhere?"
"That would be a pig, not a ferret."
"Still works, though... actually, I met a pig once that-"
How dare he try and talk circles around me, changing the subject, as though I were just another pawn in his little game?
"Nice try, Hawk."
Insistant, "I'm not trying."
"I can tell."
His head snapped round, eyes wide and shiny and childlike, jaw dangerously tense. All the warmth fled from the room, the air suddenly both thin and heavy, burning hot like molten lead at the bottom of his lungs.
"No, no wait, I didn't mean that. Hawk, I'm sorry, it-"
"What," he snarled, "it just 'CAME OUT'?"
"It amongst OTHER THINGS!"
Anger boiling in the pit of his stomach, B.J. had snapped. The effect of his words was like a punch in the stomach. The color drained from Hawkeye's face.
At the terror on his friend's face, B.J. softened, calmed, a deep breathe, 1... 2... 3... 4...
"It amongst other people," he finished.
The silence stretched on until, his hands flying every which way, Hawkeye burst.
"OH, oh! No, way, Beej... there is no way... sure he may SEEM like a closet case, but honestly, if you've ever seen the way he carries on with Hot Lips, which you can, by the way, every other night through the hole-and-mirror rigged by her tent, you'd never doubt Frank's tendencies or eat your lunch ever again, both of which are well worth the effort, let me tell you..."
"Hawkeye..." and B.J. couldn't help but feel sadness, disappointment that Hawkeye even felt that he had to delude himself.
"What?" Hawkeye questioned, his voice bright but his eyes frantic.
And a strange thing happened. Hawkeye ducked his head, his boyish flop of hair hanging into his eyes, and the light shifted. He was once again human. And hurting. And fearful; afraid of exactly what B.J. was afraid of, fearing exactly what B.J. was about to lay upon him, and B.J. knew he wouldn't be able to interrogate him. But he had to know... had to understand.
"Hawkeye," and B.J. knew. He knew that Hawkeye knew that he knew. The hollow vacuum of the moment rushing past swallowed them both.
"Hawk, are you a... " he swallowed, nearly choking on the dryness, "are you a homosexual?"
Hawkeye sat down weakly, trembling slightly, the impact of the moment gone, color leaking from the room. His shallow breathing, like a death rattle, scratched the silence with its ragged edges.
"Jesus, Beej, I... I don't... maybe... look, I'm sorry. Maybe I should have told you, or..."
B.J. exhaled explosively through his teeth.
"You don't hate me." More of a statement than a question.
"No. But I don't understand you either. I mean, the nurses, Hawk, and the girls in Tokyo..."
"The thing about the vagina, Beej, is that, despite it being attached to beings of the sleek and streamlined variety, it is in fact built perfectly for members of the XY club to dock their steamboats in..."
"Hawkeye."
"I'm sorry. No, it's just that, I'm not sure. I mean, why not? And maybe I'd find the right woman. I thought I might have. I keep telling myself that if it feels so... good... why can't I settle down with one? I'm not sure what I am, anymore. I don't what to be a... I want it to be easy, I guess. But I don't know, because that doesn't sound like me, does it? I can fight for others, but when it comes to fighting for myself..."
"And what about the bible, Hawkeye? What about sin and immorality and perversion and burning forever and all of that?"
"You know I don't really go in for that stuff, right?"
"Yes but... but what if? Where would you be then? Aren't you... afraid?"
"Not of Hell, no. Afraid of others, perhaps. Ashamed, yes, though I don't think I should be... but, you know, religion is funny."
B.J. raised his eyebrows. Hawkeye continued.
"I mean, what a threat: 'you're going to spend all of eternity in a terrible, terrible place...' Spending all eternity seems bad enough."
"Spoken like a true nonbeliever."
"Amen, brother. But I do believe... In this lousy excuse of a life that we're living right now, I think I can say that I've found something that I believe in: Karma. Because it's that much easier when there is a concrete something to blame, and even easier when that something is yourself, you know? Who needs Jesus to absolve you of your sins? Take care of them yourself, you lousy excuse for a human being. Although, come to think of it, being human is almost an excuse in itself. It's a pity there's no excuse for... God, what did I say last night?"
"Trapper."
"Christ."
"Gin?"
"Make it a double."
B.J. pulled back the covers and swung his legs out of the cot, conscious of Hawkeye's eyes on him.
"Hawk, I'm a little... do you... that is to say-"
"It's incredible, the Babble Brothers stuttering together. Any other time and I'd be laughing. Now what is it?"
"Have you ever...?"
"Depends on what. Why, have you?"
"NO! I mean, no. I'm not like that. I'm not a homosexual."
"I envy you for being able to say it. It's that much easier when it isn't you that you're labeling." He turned his head away from B.J.
"Do you find yourself attracted to men even now?"
"I don't know, wait, yes. Yes, I do. Now ask it... the million dollar question. I know you've got it kicking around in that head of yours, somewhere." He turned back, eyes boring into a B.J.'s.
B.J. set down the two martinis and rubbed tiredly at his face.
"Do you find yourself... attracted to me, Hawkeye? No, wait, I don't want to know. I do... but I don't."
"Why would you? Or why wouldn't you?"
"I would because I'm me and I'm curious. I'm reeling a little, here. And I'm still curious. I wouldn't want to know because I don't know how I'd take it."
"What can you imagine being so hard to take?"
"Anything that's true."
Hawkeye downed his martini in a gulp.
"You gonna be alright, Beej?"
"I guess. I mean, neither of us have changed, have we?"
"No, we haven't. Beej, um... could you come here for a second?"
And before B.J. could move, Hawkeye had stepped over to him, and engulfed him in a hug. It was warm, and B.J. could feel the moist, hot breath of the shorter man against his neck, the spastic fluttering of his heart against his chest. They swayed back and forth, standing, until B.J.'s arms jerkily wound around Hawkeye and held him tightly, returning the embrace, fisting in his clothing, and for some reason, B.J. felt his eyes stinging with tears. No, they hadn't changed, neither of them. But something was changing... and perhaps it would bring something beautiful to them both.
..........................................
He can't believe that he did it again. The anger from the war, the temper that would sink its teeth into him, grab hold of him, it hadn't left. Poor Peg had married a monster. A lying, sinning, violent, raging, lost and confused, in love with another man, demon of a husband.
Erin, home from kindergarten, is taking a nap upstairs. The house is completely still, filled only with the wet echo of distant sprinklers and sounds of summer. He hears a child's laugh from a few houses down, and contemplates the empty hours ahead of him, until he has to face Peg. The air is pleasantly cool, and a breeze wafts though the room, rustling the drapes. And then...
And then... a knock.
A knock on the front door.
Another knock and, seemingly from another world, the child laughs again. B.J. wonders, fleetingly, who might be at the door, and whether the far-away child might be laughing at him.
He moves to grab the handle and throw open the door.
For a moment, the sunlight is blinding.
To be continued...