- In Love And War -
Chapter Thirty-One: Interruptions

Someone—one of the many girlfriends, most likely—had once told me that sexual tension was the best part of a budding relationship, that the anticipation was what made the final consummation so wonderful. Whoever that person had been, I felt like strangling her.

As BJ's doctor, I was bound to keep him from doing anything that might further harm his leg, and tackling him to the ground was one of those things, as was allowing him to tackle me. No matter how much I wanted to. No matter how vigorously my libido was reminding me just how long it'd been since I'd last had sex (yes, Christmas had been lovely—but that had been mostly for him, leaving me with a faint feeling of neglect). No matter how willing he was to do a bit of damage to his hip if it meant having me.

That was the worst. He made a point of reminding me at least once every day how eager he was to consummate our relationship, how he wanted me, needed me. I'd never considered myself as having much willpower, so I was rather surprised to find that I at least had enough to keep from ravaging him every time he smiled that little smile at me and called me Ben in a certain voice that diverted all blood flow away from my brain and towards a certain other, more inconvenient part of my anatomy.

He'd stopped using the crutches, and his limp had nearly disappeared. Since I didn't trust myself to give him an unbiased examination—I was at the point where I would have told him he was doing just fine even if his leg had been broken in three places, because I didn't think me or Little Hawkeye could last much longer—I begged Trapper to give BJ his check-up. He smirked knowingly and devoted a few minutes to shamelessly teasing me before he finally gave in to my pleas.

BJ passed the exam with flying colors, and I suggested that, since he could now walk without any sort of support, we go for a nice, long walk. He was quick to agree, and we headed for the hills. Most of the snow had melted, but it was still cold enough out that piles of dirty whiteness speckled the hillsides, the random droppings of a giant bird.

Once we'd gotten a safe distance away from camp, I yanked him behind the cover of a thriving bush and pulled him down onto the hard ground. After a brief struggle, I ended up quite contentedly pinned beneath him, our lips locked together and his hands tugging at my jacket, my blood pounding in my ears—Wait…

He twisted around and we both stared up at the sky as two choppers zoomed towards the camp. Faintly, we heard the PA: "Attention, all personnel—incoming wounded. Pack your overnight bags, kids, it's gonna be a long one."

He looked back down at me, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing: how easy it would be to stay here, to let Trapper and Potter and Frank handle the first wave, to wander into OR late and explain we'd gone too far into the hills to hear the announcement and we were very sorry but we're here to help now…and I could see just as clearly that that wasn't really an option. We were doctors, surgeons, we had an obligation to save lives, and that had to be a higher priority than personal pleasure. It had to be—didn't it?

He muttered something and flung himself off me, and we dragged ourselves up, straightening clothes as we sprinted back to camp.

I was half-asleep over my tray of food, propping my head up by shoving my fist into my eye, lack of depth perception making it significantly harder to stab the food with my fork (and also making it seem like the food was moving, which it quite probably was).

A tray clattered down next to mine, the sudden sound nearly sending me tumbling over backwards with surprise; a hand on my shoulder steadied me, and Trapper lowered himself gingerly onto the bench. "What're you doin' here?" he asked idly, lifting up a piece of meat for inspection. It was either liver or intestines, and I'd had enough of both for today, thank you very much, and pushed my own tray away.

I rubbed at my face, yawned, started to talk and yawned again halfway through the sentence: "Trying to sl—" Face-swallowing yawn. "—eep, what's it look like?"

He rolled his eyes, lowered his voice a little. "I mean, why're you here? BJ went back to the Swamp, so you'd, you know, have it to yourself, if you wanted…"

I turned my head to look at him with raised eyebrows. "Playing matchmaker now, Trap?"

He shrugged a little uncomfortably. "It's just—I know you kinda got…interrupted, with the wounded and all, and I thought…"

"I appreciate the thought, but I can barely keep my eyelids up, much less my—"

"Hello, Father!" Trapper said quickly as Mulcahy sat down across from us.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," the Father said nervously.

"Nothing important," I said, drawing little circles in the air with my fork, and watching the interesting trails it made, what with my palm pressing my eye halfway into my skull. "Trapper's just trying set me up on a date."

"I am not!" Trap spluttered.

"My friends set me up on a date once," Father Mulcahy said thoughtfully. "Back before I became a priest, of course. She was a…large woman, with very big teeth."

I blinked slowly at Mulcahy, and then rose without a word and headed outside. "I am not!" Trapper called after me, and I heard Father mumble, "Was it something I said?"

In the exhaustion of a day's surgery and the melancholy of being soaked in children's blood, I'd completely forgotten—amazing as that seemed—about the attempted and failed rendezvous with BJ. And now, reminded of it and—despite my sleepiness—suddenly very eager to pick up where we'd left off, I hurried towards the Swamp to see if it was, in fact, as empty as Trapper had suggested.

It was—BJ the only living soul inside, unless you counted the rats and the bugs. He was dozing, but he woke up well enough when I "accidentally" kicked the stove. "Oh, good—you're awake," I said cheerfully, as he blinked blearily over at me. "Supply tent, five minutes. Don't keep me waiting." And then I swept back outside, to the supply tent, where I prowled around restlessly, glancing at my watch every five seconds or so until, after an eternity, the door opened and BJ slipped inside.

"Took you long enough," I growled, pressing him back against the door. Amazing how arousal could make tiredness disappear.

"It's exactly five—" The rest of the sentence, he said into my mouth, which I latched firmly over his.

He seemed to have a control issue or something—he flipped us around so that it was my back pressed to the wall, me sandwiched between a rock and a hard place, as it were. Not that I minded—far from it, actually. It was just…mildly amusing, his apparent obsessiveness about being in control. Then again, if things went as planned, this would be his first real sexual encounter with a person of the male persuasion, and I couldn't really blame him for wanting to be in control… Why am I thinking? This doesn't require thought. I shoved his jacket off his shoulders and pulled my mouth away long enough to strip his t-shirt off over his head; and then his mouth was back on mine, and I ran my hands up and down the deliciously bare skin of his sides, the ridges of his ribs and the softer flesh of his stomach and the jut of his hips before they were covered by his pants. Before I could make any move towards getting rid of that particular hindrance, he'd started tugging at my own shirt and jacket, clumsily trying to divest me of them as skillfully as I'd done to him. He was nervous, but determined, I had to give him that. It wasn't out of pity, but rather out of an intense desire to feel my own bare chest pressed against his, that I separated again in order to help him remove my upper layers. That done, I reached out to pull him tightly against me, pressing my hands against the backs of his shoulders, running my fingers along the sharp ridges of his shoulder blades, his arms braced against the wall to either side of my head as he dipped his mouth back down. I shifted my weight slightly, trying to kick off my boots—a skill I'd turned into an art over here—but they were either tied tighter than usual or my mastery of the skill had begun to fade due to disuse, because no amount of struggling could separate my foot from the boot. BJ pulled back in confusion when I started violently trying to pry the boot off with my other foot; I growled a few choice swear words and reached down to snatch at the laces, then yank one boot off and hurl it into a far corner, the other boot following after. BJ'd managed to keep his wits about him enough to follow my lead, and we were soon pressed back together, clad now in only pants and as many layers of socks as we'd needed for comfort. That particular state of dress (or undress) usually signified that it was time to begin moving towards the bed, and I pushed firmly on his shoulders to get him to stumble backwards a few steps, his mouth separating from mine with a surprised pop as he nearly fell over his feet. I hooked my fingers into the front of his waistband, smiling and holding his eyes with mine, and pulled him slowly towards the cot.

The door creaked softly, a shaft of light from outside spreading slowly across the floor as it was pushed open; I dropped down to the floor with catlike reflexes, scuttling quickly behind the dubious shelter of one of the supply shelves. BJ remained standing, dumbfounded, staring at the now-open door.

"BJ?" Radar's voice exclaimed. I could practically hear the boy averting his eyes from BJ's "nuditity" when he stammered, "I m-m-mean, Cap'n Hunnicutt, sir! Um, sir, are…are you alone?"

"No. I mean, yes—yes!"

A nervous, squeaky chuckle, the shuffling of booted feet. "Okay, sir, whatever you say. I, uh, I don't suppose you've seen Hawkeye around anywhere, have ya?"

"No! Not—not since in OR, and that was…that was hours ago, and I haven't seen him since then…since OR…"

"Are you feeling okay, sir? You, uh, you look a little pale."

"Fine—I'm fine. Never better."

"Yeah, okay. Well, uh, if you do see Hawkeye, could ya tell him I'm lookin' for him? It's kinda important…" Another shuffling of feet, and the door was pulled quickly and firmly shut.

"Real smooth, Romeo," I muttered, crawling out from the shelf I'd wedged myself into.

"Just shut up," BJ growled, his face going from pale white to bright red, eyes now fixed on the floor when he'd only had eyes for me a moment ago.

I reached out to touch his shoulder, pulled him around to face me, leaned in to capture his mouth again; but he wasn't nearly as responsive as he'd been before. I bent slightly to catch his eyes, say, "Hey, c'mon, nothing to stop us from continuing…"

"Radar said he needed you," BJ mumbled.

"Yeah, well I need you, and right now, I have every intention of satisfying those needs." I rested my hand against his stomach, felt him go slightly tense—all the nervousness he hadn't been showing before was more than apparent now. The rhythm had been broken, and it looked like he'd come to his senses, realized just what we were doing and how nervous he was about doing it… I sighed, pulled my hand back and held it and the other up in surrender. "Fine, okay, I'll go see what Radar wants. You…" I waited until he met my eyes. "You can either go back to the Swamp and sleep, or…you can wait here for me. It's up to you. I…don't want to press you into doing something you don't want to do, all right? Hey—" I reached out to grab his arm when he started to look back down at floor, bringing his attention back up to my face, to my eyes, so he could see I was telling the truth—or at least as close to the truth as I could ever get when it came to sex. "Take as much time as you need, Beej. You're worth waiting for." I held his eyes for a few moments more, and then went in search of my discarded clothes. Dressed again, I cracked the door open and peered outside; the coast was clear, so I hurried out into the still-chilly air and went in search of Radar.

Turned out the little fink only had to ask me some stupid questions about paperwork, so that he could better disorganize the filing system (honestly, the kid filed requisition papers under 'S' for 'stuff we need'). Needless to say, I wasn't in the best of moods when I stalked from his office back to the supply tent; and my mood sunk even lower when I found the place empty.

I was a little disappointed, though I told myself not to be. It was a big step, sleeping with another guy—a step I'd made early in life, but I couldn't hold other people up against the same standards to which I held myself. BJ wasn't nearly as morally deviant as I was, and he'd already killed and buried most of the morals he'd come over here with—I couldn't really blame him for a bit of hesitation.

But that didn't mean I wasn't disappointed.

I trudged back to the Swamp, found BJ and Frank both asleep in their bunks, Trapper still awake and drinking; he raised his eyebrows and flickered his eyes towards BJ, which I responded to with a lackluster shrug and a gulp of gin. Trapper knew me well enough not to say anything, to let me sprawl on my own cot with enough to gin to soothe my savage breast, pointedly avoiding looking towards BJ's cot because I knew that if I did, I'd get angry, and being angry would significantly reduce my chances of getting laid.

BJ and I didn't say much when we three Swamprats plodded to the mess tent the next morning; he seemed a little ashamed, maybe, and still nervous, and I wanted to give him space. That's what I told myself, at least. The truth was probably that I was still holding on to some residual disappointment.

Potter came over to our table to announce that we shouldn't be getting any more wounded in for a couple of days. After a general cry of joy, BJ pulled Potter aside, and then the two of them snuck out of the tent; Trapper tried to pry from me the more sultry details of the second failed rendezvous, which I refused to give him—but a little refusal couldn't deter Trapper John, and he went so far as to follow me into the latrines, still demanding answers. I had to threaten to piss on his leg to get him to leave me alone, and I expected to find him waiting outside the latrines to continue his prodding; but instead, I found BJ there. "C'mon," he said, and turned and walked away. Really, I had no choice but to follow him.

The motor pool was about the last place I'd expected him to lead me. He climbed into one of the jeeps and sat expectantly behind the wheel, staring at me with a faint challenge in his eyes—again, leaving me no choice in the matter. I climbed into the passenger seat, and we zipped away.

And then it was me doing the questioning and the prodding, asking him where we were going, and why, and any other question I could think up. But he just smiled, and said nothing. I could understand Trapper's frustration with me. I slouched down in the seat, crossing my arms sulkily over my chest, and refused to speak to him. Not that he was in a particularly talkative mood—but if he did say anything to me, oh ho, then he'd get the coldest shoulder of his life. Except that I'd probably melt the moment he turned that contented little smile towards me, and start gushing if he so much as said "Hello."

He swung the jeep over to the side of the road and turned it off, rummaging around in the back and retrieving a big blanket. Two fishing poles and a tackle box were lying in the back, too, but he left those there. "We'll have to walk the rest of the way," he told me apologetically, climbing out onto the road and starting off into the underbrush.

I scrambled after him and demanded not for the first time, "Where? Where're we going?" His only reply was a grin and a wink

We were following a faint trail—little more than a game track, a goat path—and I had to either walk behind him or stumble through the weeds and long grass. I stepped purposefully on his heels every so often, but the only reaction that got from him was an over-the-shoulder glare. Damn his even temper.

We rounded a small hill and were confronted by a little lake, all clear blue water with a fair-sized island at what looked like its exact center. It was…picturesque. Peaceful. Perfect.

I turned to BJ, who was grinning at me now, and tentatively returned the grin. "Did I surprise you?" he asked.

"Yeah, that's a good word for it. How long've you been planning…this?"

"I thought of it last night, but I didn't think the opportunity would present itself so quickly. Proves that this is meant to be, right?"

"Sounds about right to me. I assume that little spit of land's our destination?"

"That was the plan."

"You know the water's going to be freezing-cold?"

"It's only knee-high at the deepest part. Unless you go around to the other side of the island. There, it's about, oh…a good ten feet. Sudden drop-off. A bit scary, actually." He bent down and started rolling up his pants legs and pulling his boots off; a little uncertainly, I followed suit, and then followed him into the water—and nearly jumped back out.

"Christ! It's freezing! It's…below freezing!"

"Stop being a baby," BJ called mildly, already halfway to the island. I grumbled, convinced myself a little cold was worth what awaited me after the cold, and minced my way through the water as quickly as possible.

Almost as soon as my feet touched solid land, BJ grabbed me and pulled me into a tight hug, coupled with a wonderfully powerful kiss that left me a little weak-in-the-knees when he stepped away to spread the blanket out on the ground. He draped himself down on top of it and patted the space next to him; I lay down and he pulled me in for another kiss, slow and sweet—a phrase that rather accurately described the rest of the day. We moved slow, BJ still a little uncertain about the "right" way to go about doing this, and me not wanting to pressure him or force him into this, to make sure this was really what he wanted—which he confirmed in awkward but unequivocal terms. It was more than the simple joining of two bodies—romantic that I am, it felt more like the joining of two souls, that final gap bridged, irrevocably joining the two of us together.

Soul mates.

I'd never put much stock in that sort of thing before, but that was probably because I'd never had any reason to believe it was true. But now… The best way to describe it would be to say something like I'd found a part of me I hadn't even known was missing, my missing half—he completed me, filled me in more ways than I'd thought possible, made me feel like a good person, a person worth the air I took up; he gave me a purpose, a reason to live, a reason to breathe, a reason to get up in the morning; I'd been a half-man before him, and only now could I see how incomplete I'd been—how impossible it seemed that I'd even been able to exist, so half-empty, so unfinished… And the joining of the flesh was only a crude (though intensely satisfying) way to reflect this thing, this bond, this…soul-matedness. Slow and sweet and perfect, the epitome of all things good in the world, the highest high I'd ever felt. The tangle of limbs, the dance of tongues, the gratifying fullness; moans and groans of surprise at how good, how right, this felt; the longing for it to never end, to just go on forever and ever and ever…and when that failed, the frantic scramble for that ultimate, toe-curling pleasure and the sweet release, the satisfaction of a job very well-done, and the following lassitude, gasping breaths and drying sweat, closed eyes and small smiles and wanting this to last forever, this perfect peace.

I opened my eyes slowly, smiled up at the clouds scudding across the blue sky; turned my head to look at BJ, who seemed to be hovering somewhere between awake and asleep. I rolled onto my side and propped myself up on one elbow, gazing down at him; he looked surprisingly like the bright-eyed kid who'd arrived with a nut-job and an MP escort, his face somehow a little less drawn, a little less pale, a little less gaunt than it usually was. But he'd certainly changed since that day of his arrival, both in body and in personality. It was harder to call up the image of that person—BJ before he'd come Beej. He was like me—maybe he didn't have two different names to distinguish his war-self from his pre-war-self, but he was two different people just as surely as I was. The man he'd been, and the man he'd become—the man he'd been forced to become. It was impossible to draw a line at the exact moment when he'd stopped being Dr. BJ Hunnicutt, that green kid from California who pukes after every OR session and who can't hold down his lighter-fluid gin—but he wasn't that person anymore, just like I was no longer Dr. Benjamin Franklin Pierce. Yeah, I'd always been 'Hawkeye', but I'd never only been 'Hawkeye'—here, I had to lock Ben Pierce up in a box, because he couldn't handle the sort of things going on over here. He couldn't handle the blood, the death, the dying kids; he couldn't make jokes no matter what the situation; he couldn't look at a man, stare into his eyes, and think, I love him. I want to spend the rest of my life with him.

Benjamin Franklin Pierce couldn't.

Hawkeye could.

And so I was Hawkeye—who knew if Ben would ever come back out of that cozy little box of his? Who knew if I wanted him to—if he wanted to? For now, all I knew was that Ben was gone, and Hawkeye was here to ride the ride, to stay for as long as he could.

Would that change once the war ended? It would have to end sometime. Would I go back to Maine and strip off the Hawkeye persona like a snake sheds its skin? Would Ben climb out of his box and take over? Go back to his interrupted life, forget all the terrible things he couldn't handle, and only look at the things he could?

And if that happened to me, would it happen to BJ? Would he go back to being Dr. Hunnicutt—the married man with a baby he hardly knew, a life completely separate from any of the shit over here? Would Beej disappear like Hawkeye, cast aside, a black stain in our memories not to be looked at, not to be spoken of or even thought about?

Would we come to our senses? And if we did, would this disappear? This connection of two souls, this awareness between us at every level of being—heart, mind, and soul; physical and metaphysical; tangible and intangible. If Hawkeye and Beej disappeared, that would leave Ben and BJ—two separate, disparate souls, the only connection that of what-had-been, the things you didn't talk about, those things you were most deeply ashamed of in the darkest hours of the night when sleep refused to suck you down. If we changed, this would end.

But did I want to be Hawkeye for the rest of my life? I'd become him to handle the war, to handle this terrible assault of all things humane—once that was over, what use was there for him? In the natural order of things, he would fade back, let Ben step up to the plate and take the reins, if you could excuse the mixed metaphors. Hawkeye the Shield, protecting poor Ben from the harmful things he couldn't deal with—and you didn't need a shield in peacetimes.

"You've gotten quiet," Beej murmured, eyes flickering open, the same shade as the sky above, running his hand up my arm, to my shoulder, to my neck, to the side of my face, fingers running back through my hair. I closed my eyes and leaned into his hand, smiling when he scratched lightly at my scalp. An intensely comforting sensation.

"I'm just thinking."

"'Bout what?" He pulled my head down onto his chest, one hand twining through my hair, the other stroking up and down my arm. His heart pounded firmly, strongly, reassuringly, beneath my ear, matching the rhythm of my own blood pounding through my veins. A perfect fit. A matched set. Two for the price of one.

"Nothing."