"What," BJ sighs, falling onto the nearest bar stool, "A day."
"If a day is thirty-seven hours." Hawkeye wearily rubs an eye. "I could sleep for a week, wake up, and sleep for another."
"I don't think I'll ever wash the blood from my boots." BJ glances at his feet as images of Peg waving goodbye, Erin clutched in her arms, flood him. "This how it always is?"
Behind them, the jukebox blares to life. "Some days are easier. Some are harder. You get by."
BJ nods. "How 'bout a drink?"
Lifting a hand, Hawkeye halts him. "I don't drink."
