Hawkeye's POV for the beginning, but then we're going to go back to Sidney's POV for an extended period—you'll see why.

- In Love And War -
Chapter Twenty-Three: Into Darkness

Radar shook me awake, whispering that we had some L.I.P.s and I was scheduled to be on duty now, so I was the one who had to see to them. I dragged myself out of bed and saw to a sprained ankle, a few minor lacerations, and—worst—the frostbitten toes of a couple of kids. So I was in a bit of a melancholy mood when I dragged myself back to the Swamp and found it, surprisingly, empty of all but BJ. All of the beds—except my own, of course—had been full of body parts when I'd left, and now BJ's was the only one to still be in that particular state of fullness. "Where'd everyone else go?" I asked, looking around a little forlornly.

BJ folded up his medical journal, looking strangely tense and pale. "Frank said something about supervising the transport of garbage, and Trapper took Sidney for a scenic tour of the cesspool."

"It is lovely this time of year. I was thinking of taking you there for a nice candlelit dinner." I sat down on my bunk and started rummaging beneath it, searching for another pair of socks; dealing with those kids' feet had left me twitchy. "Beej, do you have an extra—are you all right?" He'd gotten even paler, his eyes wide with that Radar-esque bunny-in-headlights look. I went over to him, crouched down next to his bunk, rested my hands lightly on his thigh. "Is it your leg?"

"No," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Beej," I said desperately, confused and worried and a little afraid. "What's wrong?"

"I—" He choked on the word, raked his knuckles furiously across his eyes, leaving the faint streaks of tears. "We can't do this anymore, Hawkeye."

"Do what?" I asked blankly.

"This!" He grabbed my hands off his leg and threw them away fiercely, off-balancing me and incidentally shoving me down onto my rear. I stared up at him, shocked; he turned his face away, eyes and jaw clenched tightly.

Softly, utterly and completely confused, I said, "Beej…?"

"Don't call me that!" He turned onto his side, facing away from me, his arms wrapped tightly around his ribs; I couldn't see his face, but his shoulders were shaking slightly, and his voice was thick when he said in an emotionless monotone, "I don't want…what you have to offer. It was a mistake. I led you on, and I'm sorry." His voice broke, and he whispered, tears in his voice, "So sorry…"

I pushed myself up off the floor, head spinning, Auntie Em, oh, Auntie Em, and clutched at the still table, hanging on to it for dear life lest the twister grab me and throw me any deeper into Oz. "BJ, j-just tell me what—what's wrong, we…we can—"

"Please, just leave me alone. I can't…" His voice rose suddenly, not quite a shout but loud enough to make me stumble backwards: "I don't want you, I don't need you! I don't need anything from you! I don't need your help, or your pity, or your— Just leave, leave me the hell alone!"

I staggered out of the Swamp, turning in circles, trying to keep up with the circles my head was turning, reeling blindly away, my feet leading me; I felt sick, my stomach churning, and I managed to stumble behind the latrines before I lost control and lost what little food I'd had, dropping to my knees and holding on desperately to the side of the building as I heaved, pressing my forehead against the cold wood, the tears coming now, as unstoppable, uncontrollable, as the retching, and I curled into a little ball against the latrine, my face in my hands, my whole body shaking as I sobbed, my head cracking open, the sound of it deafened only by the slow, painful shattering of my heart; I couldn't breath, there was something crushing against my chest, but I couldn't stop sobbing long enough to take a breath, and the sobs turned into desperate, frantic wheezing and whooping that caught the attention of a corpsman who told me to just breathe, Captain, breathe, and I wanted to laugh at him but I didn't have the breath for it, clutching my chest with one hand and my head with other, trying to hold both together as they became irreparably broken, impossible to fix, too damaged, much too damaged, no hope left so why bother hoping, why not just let them break, sit back and listen to the crash of the world crumbling down around me—

Hands on my shoulders, brown eyes, gentle voice, hands pulling me up, drawing me away, I could hardly place one foot in front of the other, but the hands were there, supporting, carrying; and then the hands were replaced by a shoulder, a shoulder to cry on, a shoulder to carry the world for me because it was too heavy, too crushingly huge, for me to bear on my own, I couldn't carry it when I couldn't even carry my own little world, my broken little world, shattered—

"I'm here, Hawk," Trapper whispered, hand on my back, hand on my head, holding, comforting, but it was the wrong voice, the wrong eyes, the wrong hands, BJ, BJ, and I couldn't—

I felt the gentle prick, but didn't really notice it until the threads of reality started to blur, the line between here and there becoming less distinct, and the darkness already bleeding into my brain and my heart swallowed the rest of me.

Sidney

Hawkeye had been sedated, and now everyone was looking at me, as if I knew any more than they did what had happened. I didn't know, but I meant to find out, and the best place to start was with Trapper. I pulled him aside and asked softly, "Do you have any idea what might have caused that?"

He shook his head helplessly, staring at his prone friend. "Sidney, I don't even know what that was. That—that's not Hawkeye, he…Hawk's not like that."

"If I had to guess," I said tentatively, "I would say what we saw was the tail end of a panic attack."

"A panic attack?" he repeated, looking at me sharply.

"That's my best guess."

"Caused by what?"

I smiled humorlessly. "That's what I'd like to find out. He was gone when the rest of us woke up this morning—do you know where he was?"

Trapper ran a hand back through his hair, watching Hawkeye out of the corners of his eyes. "Radar said some locals came in, and Hawk was scheduled for duty last night—we never really pay any attention to the duty roster on Poker Night, but if someone comes in the case goes to the surgeon on duty, so Radar came to get Hawkeye. I—I dunno what kinds of wounds they had or anything…all I know is he was still with 'em when I got up."

"I'll get to the bottom of this, Trapper," I said confidently, comfortingly. He nodded absently and went back to Hawkeye, and I went in search of Radar.

Unsurprisingly, I found him in his office, fiddling with the switchboard. "Oh, hi, Major Freedman," he said brightly. "Say, uh…what was that big ruckus over in post-op?"

"It was nothing—just a patient who got a little worked up. If you have the time, Radar, there are a few questions I'd like to ask you…"

"Oh, sure, sir!" He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I'm not really doin' anything at all, it's just that the colonel don't like it if I don't look like I'm not doin' what I'm not supposed to be doin'. But, uh, don't tell him that. Sir."

"Your secret's safe with me, Radar." Largely because I didn't want to take the time to decipher it. "Now, you woke Hawkeye up early this morning?"

"Yeah, a few locals come in, needed to see a doctor, and Cap'n Pierce was on the roster."

"Do you know what any of the wounds were?"

"No, sir, I didn't hang around long. Blood makes me kinda oogy, ya know? But Lieutenant Callahan was the nurse on duty, she woulda helped Cap'n Pierce. But, uh, if you don't me askin', sir, why couldn't you just ask Cap'n Pierce about the wounded? Did he go missin' again?"

"Again?" I repeated.

"Yeah, well, uh…last week he kinda snuck off to Rosie's without no one knowin' and got real drunk—you know, from drinkin' too much—and no one knew where he was all day. Is that what happened again?"

"No, he…made his location well-known. Where can I find Lieutenant Callahan?"

"Probably in her tent right now, sir, she just come off her shift in post-op."

"Thank you, Radar," I said with a reassuring smile as I headed towards the door.

"Uh, sir—why're you askin' so many questions about Hawkeye? Is there…is there somethin' the matter with him?" There was worry in his voice—young, naïve Radar, who idolized Dr. Surgeon Captain Pierce, sir.

I sighed. "That's what I'm trying to find out."

"Sir?"

"Hawkeye was the ruckus in post-op—it would seem he's had a slight panic attack. He's fine now, sedated. There's nothing to worry about—he's going to be just fine. All I'm trying to do is find out what caused it."

He swallowed hard, going a few shades paler. "Is there anything I can do to help, sir?"

"If there's anything else you can do for me, Radar, I'll tell you, but you've already done me a great deal of help. The only thing we can do now is wait for him to wake up."

I went to see Nurse Callahan, who explained to me the cases she and Hawkeye had dealt with—nothing serious, the worst of it a few kids who'd had to have frostbitten toes removed. I knew from past experience that Hawkeye had a soft spot when it came to children, but removing toes didn't seem like the sort of thing that could cause such a breakdown. Hawkeye was tougher than that. Callahan said that Hawkeye hadn't seemed any different than usual when he'd left OR that morning, just tired—he'd said he was going to go back to the Swamp to sleep. That, then, was my next stop—if he'd gotten as far as the Swamp, BJ would know.

He was turned away from the door, sleeping, maybe. "BJ?" I called softly, to be sure he wasn't awake.

He jumped a little, twisted around to look at me. I blinked in surprise: his eyes were red and puffy, his cheeks raw. He'd been crying. He wiped furiously at his cheeks now, and asked gravelly, "What?"

"Are—is everything all right?"

"Fine, just peachy."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

"Frankly, I'd rather have each of my teeth pulled. Without an anesthetic." He turned back onto his side, away from me.

This was not the same man I'd played poker with last night. Or perhaps it was—just a more intense version of him, the side he'd shown when he'd been playing only against Trapper. I didn't know him well enough to judge. "I just came in to ask you if Hawkeye came back here this morning."

At the mention of the man's name, I saw BJ's whole body stiffen, and my eyebrows rose of their own accord. I suddenly got the sense I was getting closer to the cause of Hawkeye panic attack. BJ's voice was carefully controlled, neutral, when he said, "Yeah, he came in to get a pair of socks. Then he left."

"Did he…say anything to you? Anything at all?"

BJ turned onto his back, glaring at me. "Why the hell does it matter?"

I looked at him steadily. "He's had a panic attack. I'm trying to find out the reason for it."

His eyes widened, and his red and raw cheeks went pale. "He…he what?"

"Had a panic attack, or at least that's what we're assuming. Nausea, sweating, hyperventilation, what appeared to be extreme disorientation…"

BJ rubbed his hands over his face, looking shocked. He held a fist against his mouth, staring into the distance. "Is he all right?" he finally asked, softly.

"A nurse sedated him before he could do any damage to himself."

He squeezed his eyes shut, and even from this distance, I could see the tears gathering in the corners of them. "God…"

"Would you like to talk about it now?"

He shook his head helplessly. "I…I can't…"

"I need to know what caused his attack before I can help him, BJ."

"Ask Trapper," he said with a humorless laugh.

I could press him, but I didn't think he was going to tell me anything. There was certainly something to tell, but…he was holding it back. With luck, he would offer it willingly, at some other time. Until then, all I could do was murmur my thanks and offer, "I'm here, BJ, if you ever want to talk. About anything."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, his eyes closed again, pain—not of the physical variety—etched clearly on his face. The psychiatrist in me longed to reach out to him, to offer more help than that one hollow offer, but that same part of me knew that he wouldn't appreciate that. I sighed softly, and went to join Trapper in his vigil by Hawkeye's bedside, waiting for the man to wake up.