A/N: I've been spoiling you all with a new chapter almost every day and, while I would love to continue doing that, I fear it may not be so. I'm about to embark on a two-week-long vacation, which means my writing will slow down considerably. I'll still throw new chapters at you whenever I can (which should still be pretty regularly, since the story is practically writing itself; maybe two or three chapters a week, hopefully -crosses fingers-).

A warning for slightly naughty language and a reminder that I still own nothing.

- In Love And War -
Chapter Nine: Turning Point

Unsurprisingly, the morning started out cold, and I bundled myself in my jacket and scarf before daring to trek outside. The damned rats had gotten to my mittens and wool hat and were now using them for unspeakable purposes, and since I didn't have the heart to break up their very happy family, my ears and fingers were freezing by the time I got to the mess tent. But—clichéd as it may sound—I felt a just a little warmer as soon as I saw BJ.

Vaguely resembling an Eskimo, he was already seated at his cozy little breakfast nook, and I took my tray of mystery and went to join him. He glanced over as I sat down next to him, but quickly looked back down at his tray and said nothing. Strange…

He looked tired, his shoulders hunched and head hanging down, not to mention the unusual silence. I'd heard him moving around early this morning, which probably explained the bags beneath his eyes—another sleepless night in paradise. I nudged him with my elbow and said with as much false cheer as I could muster, "Happy Korean winter, Beej."

He said nothing, didn't respond in any way…just poked listlessly at his food. Curiouser and curiouser…

"You don't have to kill it, you know—it's been dead at least two decades." Still nothing. He must really be tired… "For a guy who did a whole lotta surgery yesterday, you were up awfully early this morning."

Finally—he speaks! "I woke up and I couldn't get back to sleep." He turned to give me a very pointed look. "There were a lot of things I had to think about." He grabbed his tray and left, and I stared after him in confusion. If there'd been a point to that pointed look, I'd missed it. I abandoned my tray and chased after him.

"Beej, was it something I said?" I demanded, burrowing my hands into my pockets and thinking longingly of my hat. "Something I didn't say? Do I offend?" I lifted my arms to get a whiff of myself. My layers of clothing blocked any lingering smell, if there even was any. "I just showered this morning—"

"Oh, I'll bet you did," he sneered with a bitter little chuckle. There was uncharacteristic anger in his voice, as well as biting sarcasm with a touch of cynicism, not to mention the sneer—all so very un-BJ. Those things were all more suited to…well, me. Not sweet, loveable BJ.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I grabbed his arm, stopping him and dragging him around to face me. His jaw was set, his eyes dark with anger, and he looked as if he were about to burst into flame at any moment.

"I know, Hawkeye, all right?" he snapped, yanking his arm out of my hand. "I heard you last night."

Last night…dear God. I stared at him with wide eyes and hanging jaw; he glared back, and then turned to walk away again. I pulled myself together enough to grab him and pull him back behind the generator shed, near Radar's menagerie, where we were out of sight and earshot of everyone except the guinea pigs.

I'd never seen him look so…unfriendly. I'd never even imagined he—kind, always-smiling BJ—could wear the sort of expression he was wearing now. I took a risk and rested my hands on his arms; he didn't pull away, but the glare remained firmly in place. "Listen, Beej, I don't know what you—"

"What I think I heard, is that what you were going to say?" he interrupted—and yes, it was. "I know what I heard, Pierce."

Panic setting in…heart thundering…palms sweaty…face breaking out… What do I do, what do I do? "Okay…okay, fine—you heard what you heard. So what? You gonna turn us in to the MPs?"

"No." He pulled away, kicked viciously at a clump of dirt. It exploded into a million tiny pieces that pattered softly against the generator shed. He was probably imagining my head in its place.

My mind was wailing at me to do something, you stupid ass, and I wailed back at it that I couldn't think of anything to do because I was stupid ass, so if it could just pull itself together for a moment and help me out, that would be lovely. My mind told me it hated me and that I deserved whatever I got, and went on a coffee break.

I shoved my hands back through my hair and held on to clumps of it. If the wall had been closer, I would have pounded my forehead against it. A useless little noise worked its way out of my throat, and BJ glanced over at me, his eyebrows rising slightly. I forced my cold fingers to loosen and my hands to drop to my side, ordered my lungs to breathe in the frigid air; and then I made the mistake of opening my mouth. "I don't—it's not—we're—it's just—we're just screwing around." A bark of laughter from BJ—Nice choice of words, dumbass, I berated myself. Yet I insisted on digging myself into an even deeper hole: "We're…we're thousands of miles from home. We get lonely sometimes. It's nothing." I needed to make him understand, but what could I say? I was feeling the overwhelming urge to curl into the fetal position and cry.

His eyes were blazing again when he turned back to face me, and his voice was almost terrifyingly calm and cool. "I don't care who you fuck, Hawkeye. I honestly don't. You can fuck every person in this camp for all I care. It doesn't matter to me."

Whoa, whoa, whoa, back it up a bit—where the hell did that come from? And it almost sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than me… Softly, probably gaping like an idiot, I asked, "Then why are you so angry?"

I saw his hand curl into a fist and, coward that I am, I dropped to the ground before he even got the fist up; but I didn't need to worry, since he was aiming for the shed. He hit it dead-on, too—it'd go crying home to its mommy, if it had any brains. He started swearing as soon as his fist connected, puling it back against his chest and groaning and growling with pain. Wincing in sympathy, I jumped up and grabbed his hand from him, tearing off his glove and checking for breaks; mercifully, all his bones seemed to be intact. I glanced up at his face, saw that he was staring at me—not glaring anymore, just looking very confused.

My voice shook a little when I said, "C'mon, let's go get some ice for this."

He didn't move, just kept on staring at me. "I don't want to be angry." His voice was soft but fierce, full of emotion—anger, of course, and confusion, but also sadness and fear and a dozen others I couldn't name. "It's you. You make me feel like this." I was still holding onto his injured hand, but he pulled it away now, gently, and started to pace back and forth, hand opening and closing almost convulsively at his side. I stood and watched helplessly, feeling as confused as he looked. "Why, damnit?" he demanded suddenly, swinging to glare at me. His breath made a cloud of steam in the air, adding to his overall appearance of anger and reminding me of a bull about to charge.

I was too stupid to back down or even flinch—my brain hadn't come back from coffee yet. "Why what, Beej?" I sounded amazingly calm, considering I didn't feel it at all.

"Why can't I hate you?"

And then, thank God, the coffee break was over, and my mind kicked itself into gear. Based on past experience, it decided that for me to talk would be unwise, and chose instead for me to walk forward, put my hands on the sides of BJ's face, and kiss him.

And then I remembered that my mind was as stupid as I was.

I backpedaled fast, my face burning. If he didn't punch me, I'd punch me—one of us had to.

But he just stood there, eyes wide, mouth open slightly. His fish impression was almost as good as mine.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! I shoved my hands into my pockets—they didn't deserve to see daylight, not after what they'd just done—and tried to make a dignified exit. A part of me—a big part of me—hoped he'd chase after me, even if it was only to beat me up; but I reached the doors to post-op without hearing my name called, without a touch on my arm. I paused outside the doors, looking back over my shoulder, and saw him hurrying in the opposite direction. Nice job, Hawkeye, I thought sadly, closing my eyes for a moment. I wasn't above a little self-pity. But there were other things to do—more important things, supposedly, though I couldn't think of anything more important than my life crumbling down around my ears. Maybe if I threw myself into my work, the crash wouldn't be so loud.

TBC