"I didn't mean it that way," Hawkeye would protest, "It's just --"
"I'm not Trapper." BJ would smoothly cut in.
Hawkeye would sigh, turning away from where the other man stood staring, his gaze never faltering. After a moment, Hawkeye would open his mouth to apologize with sincerity that lacked a something. A something that was at that moment eating dinner back in Boston.
"I understand," BJ would interrupt again, "He was your best friend." An accusing glance would follow.
Hawkeye would nod and whisper, so softly BJ would hardly ever hear it, "Yeah."
And they'd leave it at that.