A/N: Warning for rape scene flashback near the end of the chapter. Semi-graphic, to avoid don't read the italicized section. As always, apologies for taking so long to update. It's been a really rough few years for writing. I won't promise swift updates, but I'm trying to get my works updated. And thanks for the reviews, they really are life-giving 3
Chapter Four.
The Hawkeye who had returned from the war-torn wilderness was not the man that his friends and colleagues at the 4077 remembered. Gone was Hawkeye's easy smile and rapier wit and gone was his propensity for offering comfort such as a companionable hug or even a gentle hand on the shoulder. In place of the old Hawkeye was a grim faced stranger who did little other than work like he was possessed or drink himself to oblivion in the privacy of his new quarters in the corner of post op. Also, so subtle as to only be noticed by one keen pair of eyes, the new Hawkeye flinched away from even the most trivial of human contact and enforced an area of personal space around himself that was inviolate.
BJ stalked through the camp towards the mess tent, oblivious to the worried and curious looks that were being exchanged behind his back. A week had passed since Colonel Potter had made public the news of Hawkeye's ordeal and Major Burns' death, and even though Hawkeye had been cleared to return to surgery BJ had still been unable to exchange even a single word alone with his friend. Slumping onto a seat in an isolated corner of the mess BJ glared into his coffee, angry, hurt and extremely concerned.
Hawkeye's first session with Sidney had been almost a complete loss on all counts and had he not given Colonel Potter his word that he would attend them he would have never gone back. Even on a bad day Hawkeye usually liked the affable Sidney, but now he found that sitting in front of the psychiatrist acted like a dull scalpel scraping across his last nerve.
Although the first session had consisted mainly of general questions about how Hawkeye was getting used to be being back at camp, it had hit him hard. He had been so unsettled and shaken after the session that he had crawled into a bottle the second he made it back to his cot, drinking until he mercifully passed out of consciousness.
As Hawkeye had hoped however, getting back into surgery had been both an escape and a release for him, the intense focus needed for the painstaking work providing him with the ideal distraction from the hell in his head. Finishing off the dressing for his last patient of the day Hawkeye stripped off his gloves and surgical gown, his mind already straying to the enticing thought of a lukewarm shower followed by a mug of something potent. Keeping his eyes on the ground to avoid conversation Hawkeye darted out of the OR and walked quickly towards the showers, and he was so intent on washing the day's grime off that he didn't notice the figure that hesitantly crept after him in the twilight gloom.
Hawkeye pushed open the door to the shower block and couldn't help a relieved sigh when he saw that the whole tent was deserted. Since his partial reintegration in the place he had called home for so long, he had almost obsessively avoided any situation that might result in anyone seeing the mottled purple and black bruises and other injuries that still marred his skin and he would have hated to have to abandon his shower and come back at a later hour. As he pulled his shirt over his head with a stifled grunt Hawkeye's keen senses caught a quiet sound by the door that froze him to the spot and then his heart stopped in his chest as a hand from behind him gripped his shoulder.
BJ had been in the OR the shift before Hawkeye had been rostered on, but instead of being able to leave when the next lot of doctors started he had instead been in the middle of frantically trying to stem a sudden bleed that had developed in one of his patients. When he had eventually tied off the final suture in his patient BJ felt the exhaustion of the near double shift dragging at his bones, but then he caught sight of Hawkeye slipping out of the hospital tent and he hadn't been able to stop himself from following stealthily after his friend. With each step BJ questioned the wisdom of what he was doing but the suspicion that he was missing something really bad pushed him forward.
The sight that greeted BJ as he opened the door to the showers knocked the breath from his lungs, the extensive bruising that covered Hawkeye's lean frame hitting him just as hard as when he had seen it the first time. Before he could think it through BJ reached out to touch Hawkeye's shoulder, but the reaction to the touch of his fingers had him cursing himself as the worst kind of idiot. The instant his hand made contact with Hawkeye's skin BJ saw his friend freeze, his spine stiffening in terror and then in the blink of an eye Hawkeye spun around, knocking BJ's hand away and stumbling backwards until his back hit the wooden partition of the showers.
Beyond concerned BJ took a step forward but he stopped in his tracks at the viciousness in his friend's voice as Hawkeye snapped his head up and snarled, 'Leave me alone BJ, I don't want to talk to you. I d-don't… Fuck I just don't…'
BJ was reeling from Hawkeye's hostile manner but he still caught the hitch in his friend's voice as he trailed off into silence. Refusing to let himself be pushed away when his friend was in such obvious pain BJ swallowed hard and said quietly, 'I don't know what's wrong Hawk but I know you don't mean that. You think that keeping away from me means that I won't see… But I know what bruises you're hiding Hawk… And I know you're hiding something so bad that it's eating you up inside.'
The sound of someone behind him coupled with the touch of BJ's fingers on his skin had combined to send a sickening torrent of memories through Hawkeye's mind. Instinctively slapping away the hand on his back and spinning round Hawkeye staggered backward, but instead of BJ and the shower tent, his eyes were seeing the past. Crashing into something solid had served to bring his thoughts at least partway back to the present but still his skin crawled and his stomach lurched at the remembered horror.
Fear, frustration and anger all boiled over at once when BJ stepped forward and Hawkeye found himself unable to step back and maintain his distance. Even as the words came out of his mouth Hawkeye regretted his tone of cruel savagery, and the look on BJ's face made him stutter to a halt, shame and anguish burning a hole in his gut. Had he been even a fraction more worn down things might have played out differently, but as it stood Hawkeye had just enough strength to resist BJ's gentle, caring words.
Pulling himself upright and clinging to the tattered remnants of his composure Hawkeye stepped forward and shoved BJ back as hard has he could. In the space that he gained himself he dragged his shirt back over his head, ignoring the shriek of agony from his shoulders, and with the last of his strength he slapped an expression of stony blankness across his face. Staring straight into BJ's wide eyes Hawkeye said flatly, 'Stay away from me Hunnicutt. I've asked you once and I won't ask again. Keep away from me.'
With his harsh words still heavy in the air Hawkeye stalked out of the showers, knocking the speechless BJ aside as he went. Hawkeye managed to maintain his self-possession until he was well out of sight of his friend and in fact he made it almost all the way to the supply shed before his knees gave way and he had to all but crawl into the small outbuilding. Slamming the door shut behind himself Hawkeye leaned back against the rough wood behind him so that no one could burst in and finally let out a shuddering sob.
BJ had thought he was getting through to Hawkeye with his heartfelt words, but then when Hawkeye violently shoved him backwards he could only stare at his friend with wide, shocked eyes. The un-Hawkeye-like cruelty in Hawk's words hit BJ harder than the physical attack ever could and as his friend knocked him out of the way and crashed out of the shower tent he could only sway on the spot and struggle for breath. Far from being persuaded to desist in his attempts to reach his best friend however, BJ instead felt a certainty form like a lead weight in his stomach that whatever had happened to Hawkeye was far worse than he had ever suspected.
Moving sluggishly BJ sluiced off in the shower and managed to slip away before the doctors from Hawkeye's shift invaded the tent. As he trudged across the camp towards the Swamp BJ's mind was going a mile a minute trying to sort through his emotions and come up with some sort of plan but he was suddenly yanked out of his reverie when he caught a glimpse of unexpected movement in the dim twilight over by the supply hut. For no reason he could have articulated BJ immediately backpedalled into the cover of the tent next to the showers and as he watched he saw Hawkeye unsteadily emerge from the small shed and lean tiredly against the door.
Unwilling to seek out Hawkeye again straightaway and risk another violent outburst BJ observed his friend as he remained hunched against the door of the supply shed for a few minutes, his body bowed as if burdened by an invisible weight. BJ had to actually bite the inside of his lip at the look of pained desolation he could just discern on Hawkeye's face and it was all he could do to stay where he was as Hawk pulled himself upright and straightened his shoulders grimly before heading for post op. Following his friend with his tormented eyes if not his feet BJ watched until Hawkeye disappeared into the building before he sighed and slowly trudged back to the Swamp.
The Swamp seemed stark and empty with just BJ in it and he despondently sloped around getting ready for bed before collapsing half undressed on his messy cot. Although he was exhausted from the gruelling day in the OR and the horribly intense confrontation with Hawkeye, BJ lay with his face half smothered by his pillow, staring at nothing and feeling like his world was crashing down around him. Wishing desperately for sleep to just knock him out BJ was unable to banish the images that flickered through his mind of Hawkeye's battered body and the expressionless mask that had fallen over his friend's face as Hawk had pushed past him to escape.
The night wore on slowly but BJ's head was buzzing a million miles an hour, and he even considering writing to Peg for advice before seeing a mental image of Hawkeye's face if he ever found out and dismissing the idea bleakly. After a few hours of worrying round in pointless circles BJ's analytical mind eventually clicked into gear and he abruptly propped himself up on his elbows, glaring at but not seeing the canvas wall as he made a connection he had so far failed to see. Resigning himself to not getting any sleep at all BJ mentally contrasted what he knew about Hawkeye's experiences versus how his friend was acting and the feeling of unease in his stomach increased with each passing moment.
While BJ tossed and turned and worried in the Swamp, Hawkeye lay motionless in his temporary bed in post op, every muscle rigid as he tried to hold back the flashbacks that were battering at his mind. The struggle to appear as normal as possible to his friends and colleagues during the day was a constant and extreme drain on his already depleted emotional resources, but now that he was all alone he found that the fight against his own mind was even worse. Because he was so worn down and heartsick Hawkeye only made it to just past midnight before fatigue got the better of him and in that moment the waiting flashback burst through the last of his defenses, roaring into his mind with devastating force.
Frank had been dead in the ground for most of a day when the guard that Hawkeye privately called Scarface walked in and stood in front him, grinning twistedly around the scar that curled the corner of his lip. Through the tears of pain that blurred his vision Hawkeye tried to glare at the malevolently smirking soldier but any hint of cockiness faded into stony impassiveness as the Korean soldier growled a demand in broken English for Hawkeye to tell him of the American troop movements in the area. Each derisive, entirely truthful denial of any knowledge by Hawkeye was met the same way, with a mirthless, knowing grin and a brutal blow to either his bare chest or his bound and bruised shoulders.
For hours Hawkeye hung from the ceiling, his hands bound behind his back so that his contorted shoulders took the full weight of his body, but after a while he developed a tenuous sense of fatalistic acceptance in the face of the relentless questioning. Then things changed in the most horrifying way and Hawkeye had no way of stopping what happened next. Possibly because his prisoner had stopped reacting to the vicious abuse, or possibly because he had finally grown sick of Hawkeye's insolent backchat, Scarface abruptly pulled out a knife and cut the rope holding his prisoner up, leaving Hawkeye to collapse to the floor in a heap.
Momentarily unable to move due to the excruciating pain of the blood rushing back into his twisted limbs Hawkeye writhed weakly on the ground at Scarface's feet, whatever brief moment he might have had to resist passing by as he groaned in helpless agony. Almost forgetting where he was Hawkeye let out a hoarse expletive and tried to wriggle upright but then a muscled arm wrapped around his windpipe and he couldn't breathe around the chokehold and the knee that bowed his back cruelly. The harsh voice that growled in his ear froze Hawkeye to the spot and made his blood run cold.
Hot breath against his neck sent a shiver down Hawkeye's spine and he jerked away in revulsion before the man pinning him down pressed the razor edge of his knife to his throat and snarled gutturally, 'You stay still!'
Immobilized by fear and incomprehension of what was happening Hawkeye lay on the cold floor and tried to think, but any capacity he had left for rational thought fled at his captor's next move. A rough hand forced its way under Hawkeye's body and his breath froze in his chest as the soldier fumbled with the buckle of his belt before sliding his hand over the bare flesh of Hawk's stomach in a grotesque parody of tenderness. Blindsided, sickened, and at a complete loss for what to do Hawkeye simply stared blankly at nothing until the Korean soldier growled something unintelligible in his ear and almost playfully flicked the waistband of his boxers.
Before he realized what he was doing Hawkeye let out a raspy cry and whip-sawed his body, almost managing to buck his attacker off even with his arms still bound behind his back. Almost. When Hawkeye thought for an instant that the other man was about to be thrown off, he felt a split-second of hope, but in the next instant a heavy fist cannoned into the back of his head and slammed his face into the floor. Barely clinging to consciousness Hawkeye was in no position to fight back as his pants were yanked down to his ankles and a heavy body stretched out on top of him.
Although he had been teetering right on the brink of consciousness every horrific second of the brutal rape was burned into Hawkeye's memory, from the agony of being violated to the repulsive smell of the other man's sweat and bodily fluids. Every thrust, every grunt and every scrape of his body against the concrete tore away a little part of Hawkeye's soul and by the time the soldier finished inside him with an obscene groan of pleasure he felt like he was hardly even there anymore. In Hawkeye's mind he watched himself pass out on the floor, but with no pause and no reprieve the flashback fuzzed out only to start again from the beginning.
The cot in Hawkeye's curtained off quarters creaked as he shuddered under his blanket, divorced from reality and trapped back in the hell he had so recently escaped from. Not a sound escaped Hawk even though agony was clearly written in the expression on his face and tears seeped from behind his closed eyelids to wash down his cheeks. The moon moved over the 4077 and most of the inhabitants of the camp slept soundly in their beds, but for Hawkeye it was as if he had never escaped the concrete bunker in the jungle and eventually he fell into the blackness of exhausted unconsciousness.