Hawkeye's POV now, and probably for the rest of the fic.

- In Love And War -
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Pulse

"What are you doing?" I whispered, wanting to pull away, but my body had molded itself around his and decided never to move.

"Let's say I suffered from a brief separation of my brain and my mouth. I wasn't thinking, and I regret it all…" A thumb brushing away the faint wetness on my cheeks. "…regret that I hurt you…"

It would be so easy, so easy, to smile and say okay, that was good enough, you're here now and that's all that matters; but a big part of me—perhaps wisely—had stopped trusting him by the time we'd come to "just leave me the hell alone" in our last conversation. So I forced my reluctant body away, put a few feet between us, and found that I was able to meet his eyes. I didn't need to say anything; he seemed to know that he wasn't going to get out that easily.

He rubbed his hands over his face, sighing. "I realized that you were expecting…a lot from me. And I wasn't sure I could give it all to you. I…panicked." He seemed vaguely ashamed by this explanation, but he wasn't done yet. "But I've had plenty of time to think about it, and I was wrong." Tentatively, he reached out and wrapped his hands around one of mine; encouraged when I didn't pull away, he went on, "Hawkeye, I want to give you everything. It…it sounds stupid, I know, but…everything I have, every piece of me is yours. I—I don't think I could live if I didn't have you—I don't know how I lived before I met you. I need you, and…I love you. More than anything else in this world."

Oh, that was good. It made my stomach turn over happily, which sent the butterflies to fluttering around, which in no way helped my conviction that I shouldn't just throw myself at him right now. I reminded myself that I'd given him everything, and he'd broken it all. He would have to do a little better than that if he wanted my trust back.

I tried to pull my hand away, but he held onto it tightly with his right hand, lifting the left one up run the backs of his fingers down the side of my face. That nearly undid me; I fought the urge to collapse against him again, held onto Sidney's words: You're stronger than you think you are. Okay. Now I just had to prove it.

I had to swallow hard a few times before I could talk, and even then I had to avoid meeting his eyes. "I…I can't trust you anymore, BJ. I want to…but I can't. You…you ruined that."

"I know," he said softly, and it was probably only my desperate hopefulness, but I convinced myself I heard something in his voice that matched something inside me, something that started a faint echoing in the emptiness inside my chest, a slow th…u…mp…………th…u…mp… And I had to close my eyes against the stupid tears that threatened to spill over, because—apparently—each minute that passed turned me more and more into a melodramatic, overemotional teenage girl.

There's no medicine to fix a broken heart, I'd said to Sidney. I was almost getting used to being wrong, because here was the cure, sitting in front of me and holding my hand, stroking my cheek; here was the only sort of medicine I'd ever need, the cure-all fix, the elixir of life; and how easy it would be to lean forward, to bring our mouths together and drink deep, let him heal the gaping wound in my chest, patch up the pieces of my broken heart, to curl against his chest and wrap my hands in his shirt and never let go. It would be so easy, and I wanted it so badly it physically hurt not to…

"I love you," he whispered, a sort of fierceness in his voice, as if he could pound acceptance into me, make me believe him, but his hand on my face was still gentle, rubbing away the tears I was powerless to stop.

I forced my eyes open, saw that his cheeks, too, were wet with tears, and I wanted to reach out to brush them away, with hands and mouth, to erase the pain in his eyes because then maybe my own pain would go away. "I know. But that's not enough."

There was a certain desperation to his voice when he said, "Whatever you want, Hawkeye, it's yours. I'll do anything for you." He gave a choked laugh. " 'You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down.' " That was enough to startle a laugh out of me, and I saw hope light up his eyes. "I—I'll leave Peg when this whole stupid war is over, come stay with you, it's—I've been thinking about that for a while, I was going to tell you before—before all this. You matter more to me than she does, more than anything else. You're all that matters."

Commitment. I hadn't been expecting that. …a little house in Crabapple Cove, near the ocean so we could watch the sun rise…a big yard, with a little stream or a pond…a dog for him and a cat for me… My secret fantasy, now given the hope of turning into reality. It was unexpected.

And it was enough.

I pulled my hand out of his and reached out, slowly, tentatively resting my hand against his chest; he lifted his hand to cover it, his Adam's apple bobbing as his other hand slid around to the back of my neck—not pulling, not demanding, but encouraging and waiting patiently until I leaned in. Every centimeter that vanished between us pulled a little piece of me from the emptiness in my chest, made something whole out of nothingness, a strong, firm thump-thump that vibrated through my whole body, sang through my veins and sent shocks down my nerves, made the butterflies do a little happy-dance; and then my lips brushed against his and my chest exploded, my restored heart beating hard enough that I began to be afraid it would pound its way out of my chest.

It was a short kiss, but we clung to each other afterwards, my head on his shoulder and my hands knotted in his shirt, his arms wrapped tightly around me and his face pressed against my head. Everything wasn't completely fixed yet—there was still a lot we needed to talk about—but we'd made the first step.

We'd moved onto the bed to convenience his leg, which left him stretched out on his back and me curled up against his side, our arms around each other and our heads leaning together. I heard the door open and panicked briefly, this is it, it's over, here come the blue discharge papers, but it was only Sidney. He blinked in faint surprise, and then smiled. "Now that's more like it," he said mildly. "Things all better?"

BJ and I looked at each other, and I said softly, "No. But we're getting there."

"Good. We'll work on that later. Now, however, there is someone who's been waiting to see you, Hawkeye. BJ, if you could come with me…"

I tightened my arms around him—now that I'd gotten him back, I had no intention of letting him go, ever again; his own arms tightened briefly, and he pressed his mouth against my ear to whisper, "I'll be back, Ben. I won't leave you."

Ben, I thought giddily as Sidney helped him up off the bed. Since when does he call me Ben? I liked it.

I'd just started to look forlornly at the closed door when it opened again and in stepped Trapper. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and he looked a little uncomfortable, but he managed a smile and a soft, "Hey."

"Hey," I said back, and waited just as uncomfortably.

He glanced at the smashed chair and smiled faintly, then looked back up at me. "I, uh…don't suppose you got room in there for me?"

I shuffled over to the far side of the bed and patted the other side invitingly; and we stretched out next to each other, staring up at the ceiling, our shoulders pressing comfortably together. Inexplicably, I felt tears pricking my eyes. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

"You scared me, Hawk. You scared everyone."

"I know. It…seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Doesn't it always? Listen, how many times've I told you—you got a problem, come talk to me about it. I got an honest face, and anything you've done, I've done it twice or worse."

That startled a laugh out of me, and I reached out to wrap my hand around his; he squeezed back. We'd never been much for public affection (unless it was the kind aimed just to make Frank twitchy), but since this was about as far removed from public as you could get around this camp… "Are you still jealous?" I asked tentatively.

"A little. But Sid explained some stuff to me—you know how he's good with words and feelings and that shit. It makes sense now, but I'll probably wake up tomorrow thinking 'What the fuck was he talking about?'"

"You never really liked BJ, did you?" I didn't feel angry about it, I just wanted to know. "You were both just pretending."

"Yeah—but it was to make you happy, if that makes it any better."

"I know. Could you…try to like him, just a little?"

"That's what I'm planning on doin'—Sidney says 'we'll work on it'. That like his catchphrase or somethin'?"

"Who knows with psychologists?"

And then we lay in peaceful silence for a little longer, until he asked softly, almost frightenedly, "You're, uh…you're not plannin' on doin'…this again, are you?"

This most likely meaning that which had put me in this bed. "No, I wasn't planning on it. It wasn't very fun."

"Good. But if you ever do, just come talk to me, okay? I'll set you right."

"With words or with fists?" I teased lightly.

"Whichever one works better."

"Thanks, Trap," I said, squeezing his hand again.

He smiled at me, an open and carefree smile, loving but in a different way than the sort of smiles BJ and I shared. "What're best friends for if not to sock their buddy when he does something stupid?"

"I knew there was a reason I kept you around! Who could resist the threat of such big, meaty paws?"

We lay in silence again, an unstrained, undemanding peacefulness, until he asked softly, "Would you mind if…can I ask why? Why you tried to…why you did—what you did."

I sighed, staring up at the ceiling, the chilling memory of darkness creeping across my flesh, the terror, the utter and complete hopelessness… "I felt like…like my head'd split open and my brain was spilling out. I was going crazy, I guess, but at the same time, I was sane enough to know exactly what was going on, exactly how bad it was, and that…wasn't something I wanted to live with. I thought it'd be easier if I just bought out on my own terms, before…before I lost it all completely."

"I guess I get that," he murmured after a bit of silent thinking.

I turned to look at him, my eyebrows raised. "Really?"

"Yeah, it kinda makes sense. Then again, you can make anything stupid sound like a good idea." A calculating expression crossed his face. "How 'bout we make a deal? If you ever feel like your brain's spilling out again, you'll come talk to me and let me help you; and I'll try my hardest to like BJ."

I smiled over at him and held out my hand. "Deal," I said, and we shook on it.

He jumped up to his feet suddenly. "Hey, why don't we go for a walk or somethin'? I mean, you been cooped up in here all day, you gotta be wantin' to get out…"

Affecting my best British accent (which was, incidentally, also my worst), I rose and said, "Marvelous idea, good chap."

"Tallyho and all that, then?" he agreed in his own abominable accent, and we strolled out of the tent side-by-side, ignoring all the stares until Margaret planted herself firmly in front of me. I bumped lightly against her and then bounced back, tilting my head slightly in what I hoped was an inquisitive kitten expression.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Walking, love," I drawled.

She blinked rapidly. "Are you…sure you should be up? I mean, you just…" She trailed off into awkwardness.

In consideration of our newfound friendship, I dropped the accent and lightly gripped her arms, summoning up a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, Margaret. Really. I got some help, had a few people knock some sense back into me. I just need some air."

Swallowing hard, she nodded. "I'm glad you're okay, Hawkeye." And then surprisingly, she threw her arms around me in a fierce hug, making my ribs creak, before backing quickly away and wiping at her eyes. "Just make sure you stay that way!" she ordered, and bustled quickly past.

"Intriguing," Trapper murmured, pretending to adjust a monocle.

"And how. Shall we away?"

"We shall." We hooked elbows and wandered towards the chopper pad, and I felt truly at peace for the first time in a very, very long time.