Intersections
Hawkeye thought, What's the name of this place again? Mickey's? Michael's? Somethin' with an M, pretty sure…
His eyes darted around the bar, as if they might land on something that would tell him. No such luck, of course. What, did he think he was starring in some movie with subtitles? He chuckled to himself at his witticism, then turned to the guy on his left. "Hey, pal… what's the name of this place?"
The man slowly turned his head to look at him. He seemed to do everything very slowly, but maybe it was the booze. The guy blinked at Hawkeye… once, twice. Eventually he opened his mouth and said, simply, "Harry's."
Hawkeye chuckled out loud this time. "Coulda sworn it started with an M," he said nonsensically.
The man on his left did a slow shrug. "Does it matter? Place to drink, who the hell cares what it's called?"
Hawkeye thought that was perhaps the most profound thing he'd ever heard, but he didn't bother to say so. He didn't feel like shooting the breeze with the slow guy. He hadn't come here for conversation… though he wasn't entirely sure why he had come here. Probably just to lose himself in the anonymous company of other drinkers, in the pleasant sound of clinking glasses, in the low muttering of pointless chatter.
Regroup. Kill some time. Get some liquid courage.
Speaking of which… he turned his focus back to his glass and realized it was empty. He gestured to the bartender for a refill and watched as he was served another beer. When he'd first come in, it'd been whiskey. He couldn't remember how long ago that was.
Better be careful, he thought… don't go overboard. Gotta keep my wits about me.
It struck him then that "wits" was a funny word, and that it rhymed with "shits" and "spits," and that was even funnier, so he started to laugh. The guy on his left took about a year to turn in his direction, and that set Hawkeye off even more. All of a sudden he couldn't catch his breath, everything was too damn funny and he couldn't rein in the laughter. The man next to him said, "The hell is so funny?"
He was nearly doubled over by now, laughing and coughing at the same time, and that's when the bartender came over and said sternly, "You're cut off, buddy." He took away the glass of beer that was still half full. Or was that half empty?
The tragedy of being cut off started to bring Hawkeye around. The laughter was finally subsiding, and Hawkeye held up a hand to the bartender, as if to say, Yeah, all right, I hear ya. He wiped at his eyes and drew a couple of deep breaths, gradually gathering himself. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his wallet and settled the tab.
Mr. Slow, as Hawkeye had dubbed the guy on the next barstool, seemed to think he was losing his best friend in all the world, because as Hawkeye stood up to leave, he reached out and put a hand on Hawk's arm. "I see you in here again sometime?" he wondered.
Hawkeye shook his head. "Doubt it," he said. "I don't live around here."
"No?" The guy blinked again, taking this in. "Where you live?"
"Maine," Hawkeye said with a smile.
Mr. Slow barked a laugh. "Maine?" he asked, incredulous. "Came a hell of a long way to get drunk in a bar."
Hawkeye straightened. "I'm not drunk," he said, and then weaved his way to the exit.
"Hi there, Ken," B.J. said as he got out of his car and walked to the mailbox.
His neighbor had just finished mowing his front lawn. He stood there with one hand on the idle mower, wiping the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. "Hi B.J., save any lives today?"
It was his standard greeting. B.J. had grown tired of it a long time ago, but he pasted a smile on his face and gave his usual reply, "Sure hope so." He pulled the stack of mail out of his box and turned to head into the house. "Good idea to wait for evening to mow, Ken. Too hot earlier today."
"You said it. Still too hot now, truth be told, but at least it's done." He gestured to his newly mown yard and B.J. felt a momentary stab of guilt that his own lawn was overdue for a cut. Silly thing to worry about, but he did like to keep his property looking just as well-maintained as the next guy's. He probably wouldn't have time to mow it until the weekend… unless he managed to leave the hospital early tomorrow, which he supposed was possible if his caseload was exceptionally light…
He was pulled out of his thoughts when Ken suddenly said, "Say, does your wife have a secret admirer or something?"
The out-of-left-field question threw B.J. He shook his head as if to clear it and gave a brief laugh. "What?"
Ken pointed out toward the street, though there was nothing there to see. "A guy was parked on the street earlier, just sitting in his car and staring at your house. For a long time. It was like he was watching for somebody to leave or come… it was kind of weird." Ken shrugged. "I thought maybe he was looking for Peg, maybe he has a crush."
B.J.'s brain couldn't quite grasp what it was being told. "Some guy watching my house?"
Ken smiled and tried to downplay the whole thing. "It was probably nothing."
"Did you ask him what he wanted?"
"No. I figured it was none of business… whatever was going on." Ken was a nice enough guy, but he didn't like to get involved in… well, anything, really. He was a quiet and passive man, almost timid. If he'd been drafted into the Korean War, B.J. had no doubt he would've crawled into a foxhole, covered his head with his arms, and refused to come out until the peace treaty was signed.
B.J. was still trying to get to the bottom of the mysterious loiterer. "It wasn't anyone you've seen before? Visiting the house?"
Ken shook his head. "Nope."
"What did he look like?" B.J.'s mind was in overdrive, thinking: James the butcher might have a crush on Peg… he always chats her up like they're dear old friends when we go in there… Or there's Nathan from church, I've always suspected he's got a thing for her, the way he holds her handshake a little too long…
"Well," Ken said, "I didn't get a great look at him, he never left his car. But he had dark hair—black hair, with some gray in it. That much I can tell you. He looked like a thin guy, definitely not big…"
"Hawkeye?" B.J. said involuntarily.
"Huh?"
B.J. was trying to process this news. "You're describing my best friend," he said absently, his eyes roving up and down the street, looking for an unfamiliar car or any sign of his visitor.
Now Ken smirked and, thinking himself funny, said, "Your best friend has a thing for your wife?"
B.J. was no longer in any mood for banter or chitchat. He asked, "How long ago was he here? You remember?"
"First noticed him before noon, but like I said, he lingered for a long time. I would say he spent at least an hour sitting there…"
B.J. muttered, "Thanks," and hastily retreated to the house. Hawkeye had come out to Mill Valley without calling first? What on earth for? Why would he just sit out at the curb and not ring the bell? Why wouldn't he call the hospital where B.J. worked? And where was he now?
Inside the house, he tossed the mail onto the kitchen table and called out to Peggy. "Hon? I'm home!"
There was no answer, and in the next second he saw the note on the table. Peg's precise handwriting explained: Sorry, B.J., you'll have to get your own supper tonight. I've gone to Mom's—she's got the flu and she needs help with laundry and whatnot. I'm taking Erin along, I couldn't find a sitter on short notice. Not sure when I'll be home. Love you!
B.J. sighed and looked around the kitchen, wondering what to do about supper. If Hawkeye really was in town, and if B.J. had some way of contacting him, they could go out to eat together. Have themselves an evening on the town, get caught up, have some drinks…
Where the hell was the guy? He came out from Maine and couldn't bother to phone and tell B.J.?
He paced the kitchen, concerned and restless. Was something wrong? Is that why Hawkeye had come across the country?
Dropping into a kitchen chair, he tried to remember his last contact with Hawkeye. Maybe three weeks before—a month at the most. They'd talked on the phone for an hour, laughing and exchanging news and gossip about their former campmates. It'd been a good chat… B.J. couldn't remember anything that would seem to indicate something was amiss. And Hawkeye certainly hadn't mentioned any trip out west.
Uncertain about what to do, B.J. stood and went into the bedroom, changing out of his work clothes and into comfy jeans and a T-shirt. He debated what to have for supper… head out to the diner the next block over? Good food there, but he hated eating alone… but then again, he could get take-out and eat back here…
By the time he was done washing up in the bathroom, he'd made up his mind that's what he was going to do. He locked up the house and walked to the diner, his eyes constantly on the move, looking for a car that might have Hawkeye behind the wheel…
When he arrived back home less than a half hour later, with a tuna-sub supper in a brown paper bag in his right hand, Hawkeye Pierce was sitting on his front step. B.J.'s first thought was that he looked awfully tired.
His second thought was: No, that's not tired. That's drunk.
B.J. put the paper bag that held his supper in the fridge and almost immediately forgot about it. He hooked an arm around Hawkeye's waist and walked him in the direction of the guest room. "Did you drive in this condition, Hawk?"
Hawkeye leaned into him. "I can drive," he said defiantly.
B.J. took a glance out the window to the rental car that Hawkeye had parked haphazardly at the curb. It didn't look like there was any damage, but B.J. had to believe it was a sheer miracle that his friend had been able to operate it in his present condition. He'd seen Hawkeye drunk plenty of times, and this was about as bad as it got.
"Well," he said gently as they reached the guest room, "right now you're going to lie down and take a nap, how does that sound? Sleep this off."
He dropped Hawkeye onto the bed but Hawk reached up with both hands and gripped B.J.'s shirt. "You comin' with me?" he asked with a leer. A drunken leer.
B.J. took a step back, out of his grasp. "Hawkeye…"
"C'mon…" Hawkeye patted the bed next to him. "C'mon, handsome. You been missin' me?"
B.J. knelt and untied Hawkeye's sneakers. "Of course I've missed you, but your showing up out of the blue like this… it's a little weird, Hawk. What's going on? Why didn't you call me first? And why were you sitting outside this morning just staring at the house?"
"How'd you know that?" Hawkeye slurred as he watched B.J. slip his sneakers off his feet.
"My neighbor noticed you."
"Nosy neighbor, huh?" Hawkeye snickered. B.J. got him to lie down and still Hawkeye tried to reach up for him, drag him on down. B.J. shook off his hands. "Got into town early this morning," Hawkeye explained. "Found your house but… I dunno… scared? Confused. Wasn't sure what the hell I was… Well, just wasn't sure."
B.J. nodded but he wasn't really following. "Where did you go?"
Hawkeye laughed. "Isn't it obvious? Went to a bar, Beej. Went to a bar." He closed his eyes and smiled. "Met my friend Mr. Slow."
"Who?"
Hawkeye waved a hand as if it were unimportant. "Did some drinking."
"No kidding," B.J. said, smiling in spite of himself. "How come?"
For a long moment it didn't seem that Hawkeye was going to answer. His eyes were still closed, and B.J. supposed he might've fallen asleep. But then he said, softly, "Needed to think. Needed to drink and think."
Sitting down on the bed next to Hawkeye's stretched out body, B.J. put a hand on his cheek. "Think about what?" he whispered.
Hawkeye tilted his head into B.J.'s touch. "You know why I'm here," he repeated.
Although B.J. thought he was starting to get the idea, he said, "No, Hawk… I don't."
"You do." A long silence followed, and this time it seemed very likely that Hawk had fallen asleep. But then his eyes snapped open and they were as beautifully blue as B.J. had ever seen them. Hawkeye might be in a drunken stupor, but his eyes looked far clearer than they had any right to be. His mouth curved into a sweet smile. "Want to be with you," he said. "You know."
B.J. sighed, put Hawkeye's roaming hands down at his sides. "Hawk, this isn't Korea."
"It isn't?" In full sarcasm mode now. "Wow, I had no idea. Palm trees, green grass, brightly colored houses… not Korea, you say? Appreciate the news bulletin, Beej."
"What I mean is," B.J. explained patiently, "we can't behave the way we did back there."
Apparently not registering what B.J. was saying, or maybe just not caring, Hawkeye sat up and put his hand behind B.J.'s neck, pulling him in for a kiss.
Peg wasn't in the house… Erin wasn't in the house… Korea was not even six months behind them. Despite all his protests, B.J. wasn't over this yet either. If he ever would be. He let himself be kissed, and then he kissed right back.
With a soft moan, he opened up his mouth and let Hawkeye's warm tongue slip in. It was good. This was always good… what they had. His heart hammered in his chest and he realized he was dangerously close to giving in. It would be so easy to fall into this bed with Hawkeye, to give him what he wanted, what they both wanted. It would be so damn easy…
It would be madness.
He pulled out of the kiss and got off the bed in one quick motion. "No, Hawkeye," he said, his voice strained.
He caught the look of hurt that crossed Hawkeye's face just before Hawk fell back onto the pillow and ran a hand over his forehead.
"You need to sleep," B.J. said, seizing the opportunity to change the subject. "How about it?"
Hawkeye mumbled something that he couldn't hear, but his eyes were closed and it looked like he might be taking that advice. B.J. sighed, relieved. He stood there by the side of the bed, looking down at his best friend… and he thought back to Korea, to the person he turned into over there… the person who let his best friend become his lover.
Hawkeye smiled at him from his cot a few feet away. "You have beautiful eyes, Beej."
B.J. gave a small, embarrassed laugh and a dismissive wave. He'd gotten used to the flirting by now. At first it had been a little disconcerting to be on the receiving end of that kind of attention from a guy, but hell… it was Hawkeye. The man was flirtation personified. B.J. had not only grown accustomed to it, he even enjoyed it more than he would admit.
But for some reason, this time it seemed different. The vibe in the room was… intense. The air felt heavy. They were alone in the Swamp and it was late, and instead of turning off the light and going to sleep, they were just sitting there sipping gin, looking at one another.
"You do," Hawkeye insisted. Then he casually moved off his cot and joined B.J. on his. "Gorgeous eyes. Kind eyes."
Not knowing what else to say, B.J. muttered, "Thanks." His face felt warm. He was suddenly very self-conscious under Hawkeye's gaze. He couldn't help it, he looked down at his feet like some bashful virgin unable to maintain eye contact.
Hawkeye inched closer until their shoulders touched. First he placed his own glass on the table beside the cot, then he took B.J.'s drink and did the same. "Hell of an OR session today, huh?"
B.J., his mouth gone dry, managed to nod. Small talk? Were they really engaging in small talk about work while Hawkeye leaned into him, all warmth and confidence and not-so-subtle desire?
Hawkeye nodded back slowly, leaning in a little more. Talk about beautiful eyes… Hawkeye's were so close they practically filled B.J.'s entire field of vision, and they were shining. Hawkeye's left hand found the nape of B.J.'s neck and lightly rubbed. "Yeah. Long day… long, hard day. Just relax now…"
It felt good, the neck rub, and Hawkeye's voice was lulling him. B.J.'s eyes fell to half-mast and he did as he was told: he relaxed. He wondered absently, Why now? Why tonight?
His eyes were only open a slit but he saw Hawkeye moving into him, coming in for a kiss… their first kiss. It was soft and moist and unbelievably sweet. It took B.J.'s breath away.
Why tonight? Why the hell not tonight.
But it didn't go beyond that one kiss, not then anyway. When Hawkeye pulled back, his hand still behind B.J.'s neck, he just smiled tenderly and then wordlessly moved to his own cot.
Having no idea what to say, B.J. turned out the light and stretched out on his cot, looking up at the ceiling and replaying the kiss in his mind. It'd been the most perfect moment he'd had since setting foot in Korea. But what the hell did it mean?
He couldn't force himself to ask. And after a few minutes, he heard steady, deep breathing from the next cot, indicating that Hawkeye had fallen asleep.
B.J. tried not to overthink it. Maybe it was just a whim… nothing to obsess about. Just an impulse, and it was all over with now. Probably would never happen again.
That was a comforting thought… until he realized that he actually hoped it would happen again.
As if there were any doubt.
When it came to Hawkeye Pierce, there was no such thing as stopping at one kiss. Over the next couple weeks, when the two of them were alone somewhere, Hawkeye would steal a kiss and then flash a cat-who-ate-the-canary smile at him.
B.J. found himself a very willing participant in those stolen moments. He kept telling himself that it was no big deal. It wasn't really infidelity… he wasn't cheating on Peg… no harm, no foul. Just a few innocent kisses, that's all.
Then the war hit a lull, and they went to Tokyo for three days of R&R, and everything changed.
B.J. would later wonder why they'd bothered to get two hotel rooms. They certainly didn't end up using both. That first night, after being out on the town, drinking in the sights followed by drinking too much wine, they crawled into B.J.'s bed together, and the kissing turned into more. They sank deep into the sheets and laughed and moaned, clawed and writhed. B.J. didn't hesitate, didn't register any guilt. It was simply the next step, and he supposed it was inevitable.
From that moment to the end of the war, Hawkeye was both his best friend and lover.
And now… well, now Hawkeye was here—here in the house that he shared with his wife and daughter—thinking that was still the case. B.J. couldn't say for sure that he was wrong.
"B.J.?" said a voice from behind him, and he jumped a little, whirled around. He'd been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn't even heard the front door, but there was Peg, home and standing in the doorway of the guest room. "What's going on?" she asked.
On the bed, Hawkeye stirred, roused by her voice. He opened one eye a slit and smiled faintly. "Izzat the missus?" he mumbled and struggled to prop himself up on his elbows.
B.J. gently pushed him back down. "Don't get up, Hawk," he said.
"Wanna meet her, Beej."
"Later," B.J. insisted. "You'll meet her later."
Hawkeye didn't object further, and his eyes once again fell shut. He was pretty out of it, and B.J. cringed to think of the impression he would make on Peg if he let the two of them have a conversation. That's assuming Hawkeye was even capable of a conversation, which was debatable.
B.J. turned and went to Peg, who was still standing in the doorway looking confused. "That's Hawkeye," he said, his voice low so as not to disturb their guest.
Her eyes widened. "Hawkeye? Your friend from Korea?"
"Just exactly how many Hawkeyes do you suppose I know?" he snapped, then took a deep breath. He was feeling anxious, unsure how this was going to play out. He glanced back at Hawkeye, who was hopefully asleep again. In his present state, Hawkeye could spill the beans about their relationship without even realizing it. The alcohol had probably temporarily relieved him of the edit button in his head.
Peg looked past her husband to the man on the bed. "What's he… Is he drunk?"
B.J. nodded slowly.
"Did you get him drunk?"
"He sort of showed up this way."
Her expression shifted from confusion to something that looked like disgust. "What's he doing coming here drunk, B.J.?"
There was no explaining that, and B.J. didn't even feel like trying. "He'll sleep it off, Peg. Don't make a big deal out of it."
She took a moment to process everything, and then she folded her arms, the look of a woman completely pissed off. B.J. thought, You have no idea, do you? Of course you don't… you couldn't imagine in a hundred years what your husband was up to in Korea. It's hard to believe that two people who live together can keep such enormous secrets from each other.
Finally she said, "I understand he's your friend, B.J. But I have a 2-year-old to worry about, and I can't have that drunk interacting with our daughter."
B.J. flinched as if she'd slapped him. "Peg—"
"I want him out of here," she said firmly as she turned to leave. "I'm going to put Erin to bed now, but I mean it. I want him out."
She stalked off down the hall and he ran a hand through his hair. Gee, that went well. He went back into the room and to the bed, looking down at Hawkeye, who was curled up on his side, mouth open slightly, one hand dangling over the side of the bed. He looked so sweet that B.J.'s heart took a tumble. Oh, he thought with a kind of odd detachment, so this is what it feels like to be ripped in two.
He could hear his little girl in her room down the hall telling Peg that she didn't want to go to bed, she wanted to play with her dolls for a little while. Peg said something in reply, too soft to hear. B.J. reached down and pushed back Hawkeye's long bangs, smoothing them into place. His touch woke Hawkeye, who jolted and blinked a couple times, smiling as he gazed up. His hand lightly brushed the front of B.J.'s shirt and he slurred, "Love you, B.J. Hunnicutt. Love you so damn much. You know?"
Down the hall, Erin erupted into a fit of giggles. Peg said something in an exasperated tone. B.J. kept on stroking Hawkeye's hair.
"I know you do," he whispered. "I just don't know why."