B.J. came back to Maine less than a month later, to help Hawkeye pack up his dad's house. It was above and beyond the call, but B.J. had insisted. And truthfully, Hawkeye wasn't inclined to reject the offer anyway. Packing up all of his dad's belongings and putting most of it into storage was a huge job, and he welcomed the help.

The first night they worked on what Daniel had called his study, putting a mountain of outdated medical journals into boxes (Hawkeye refused to throw out any kind of medical literature, even if the headline on the cover read "How to Bleed With Leeches"), throwing out patient histories when said patient had since passed away, and saving the more recent patient charts in case Hawkeye was going to need them.

Just after 12:30, they finally called it a night. Hawkeye labeled the last box "Current Patients," set it onto the floor, and then plopped down next to it, beat. B.J. followed suit, lying down a few feet away, settling onto this side so he was facing his friend.

They blinked at each other. Hawkeye stretched out, mirroring B.J. "Have I thanked you for coming out here and helping me with this?"

"Only about a thousand times."

"Well let me make it a thousand and one, then."

B.J. smiled, which lit up his eyes in spite of the exhaustion written on his face. "Happy to do it, Hawk. You feel better now that he's in the home?"

"I do. He's got nursing care whenever he needs it, which is a relief. People to watch over him. He's ornery at times, and that's to be expected, but he's adjusting. We both are." There was only a small desk lamp providing light in this room, casting shadows everywhere, reminding Hawkeye of lying awake nights in the Swamp, in the near-dark, talking with B.J. just like they were doing now. He yawned. "But enough about me," he quipped. "What's going on back in Mill Valley? How's the family?"

There was a pause, and Hawkeye felt ashamed that he hadn't thought to ask until now. B.J.'s hesitation was telling; Hawkeye could sense something was up. Way to go, Pierce… too self-centered to realize your best friend may be having problems of his own. "What is it, Beej?"

"Things are not great right now… with Peg. She's pissed at me a lot of the time. We've had some nasty fights. I think even Erin can tell that we're having…" He trailed off, apparently not wanting to say the word "problems." Because saying it would mean it must be real.

"Fights about what?"

"Oh… Peg really wants another baby, and I told you before—I think it would make matters worse. She keeps saying how all of her friends have two, three children. What the hell does that have to do with anything? When did having kids become a contest? It's true, when we first got married, we talked about having two kids… I absolutely wanted that, too, at the time. But now it doesn't seem like a good idea to me. She's already upset about the hours I put in at the hospital. She can't understand why I'm not home more. She married a surgeon, for God's sake. And dammit, I'm a good one!"

"You are. You're an excellent surgeon."

"I love my job, Hawk. I love it. That doesn't mean I don't love my family, because of course I do. But Peg seems to think I ought to love my job a little less so I can be more of a husband and father." He shook his head, finding it hard to explain his wife's point of view because he clearly didn't agree with it. "Anyway, lately things have been tense. I'm less stressed at work than at home."

"I'm sorry, Beej."

B.J. nodded, "Thanks, Hawk. I would say 'don't worry, I'm sure things will work themselves out,' but that would be a lie, because I'm not sure of anything."

"Life doesn't always go according to plan, does it?" It was just something to say, but it felt significant as it lingered between them.

Their eyes locked, and Hawkeye was acutely aware of the hour and the silence and emptiness of the house, and the closeness of his best friend. What he wanted to do was scoot over a few feet and pull B.J. into his arms and hold him. Something they'd done so many times before. They were touchers… they were huggers… always had been. But Hawkeye couldn't move.

B.J. broke off the eye contact, turning onto his back to look at the ceiling, and Hawkeye felt his face grow warm, worried that B.J. had found his staring uncomfortable. The silence was spinning out, and Hawkeye was desperate to fill it. Hoping it wasn't rude to change the subject, he said, "I spoke to Sherman last week. He's doing all right."

B.J., his eyes shut now, said, "God, the way that poor man looked at Mildred's funeral. So distraught and…"

"Frail."

"Yes, frail. It's as if her death took half of him along."

"I think that's probably close to the truth."

"What they had… That kind of love is rare."

"Yeah." Hawkeye used to think that B.J.'s marriage was "that kind of love," but now he held his tongue, knowing better. Since his internal edit button was preventing him from going down that conversational road, he blurted out something else entirely. "Beej, what do you suppose is wrong with me?"

Now B.J. rolled onto his side again to face his friend, his brow furrowing. "What makes you think there's something wrong with you?"

Hawkeye gestured, "Look at me. I'm 37, unmarried, no kids, no family. When I was in my 20s, it was fine to be the carefree playboy, bed-hopping and self-involved. But now I'm close to 40 and it's… kind of ridiculous."

"Hawkeye, there is no blueprint for human beings that says everyone needs to be married by a certain age. When you find the right person, you'll hear the 'click' as the universe falls into place. And until that happens, you don't have to live your life according to what anyone else expects."

God, the man was wisdom in size 14 shoes. Hawkeye appreciated the philosophy as well as the fact that B.J. didn't judge him but accepted him as is. He loved the idea of the universe "clicking" into place when the right person came along, and he thought back to when he met his ex-wife, Kate, and how the only thing he remembered hearing was the sound of his libido telling him: yes, this woman is gorgeous, can we skip dinner and go right to the bedroom?

"Hopefully I won't be running off at the mouth so much that I'll miss hearing that telltale 'click,'" he said now with a wry smile. "Thanks, Beej. You always know exactly how to put my neuroses in perspective."

B.J. laughed. "Years of practice, Hawk. Years of practice."

Hawkeye, lulled by the reassuring talk they'd just had and tired from the physical work of the day, felt his eyes drifting shut and didn't bother to stop them. He and B.J. fell asleep there on the floor of Daniel's study, and at some point during the night, they subconsciously sought each other out, drawing together for warmth and touch, wrapping their arms around one another as they slumbered on.