Still not mine, still don't own. Please heed the warnings in the summary.
Thanks for reading!
Dr. BJ Honeycutt, all 6 feet 3 of him, appeared in the kitchen doorway of the Pierce residence looking clean and freshly shaven, if a little pale. He bobbed his head at the two men seated at the kitchen table.
"Hawkeye. Dr. Pierce." BJ extended a hand in the older man's direction. "It's nice to finally meet you. Hawkeye spoke of you often."
Daniel rose to return the handshake. "All good things, right, son?" He winked at Ben as he sat back down.
Hawkeye returned an impish smile. "Yeah, I won't tell him about the bodies you buried out back." He gestured at the empty chair next to him. "Come on, Beej, take a seat. You want something to eat? I've got bacon and eggs. Real eggs from real live chickens! None of that powered stuff. Mrs. Jenkins traded them for a physical last week. Coffee or tea if you want some."
BJ's face fell and he turned a little green. "Ah, no thanks, Hawk. I just wanted to thank you both as for giving me a place to stay last night." He pulled at his T shirt with a smile for Hawkeye. "I owe you for doing my laundry. Appreciated the fresh towels too."
"I'll put it on your tab." Hawkeye tried to hold BJ's eye, but the man had already shifted his gaze to the floor. "C'mon, sit! Eat!"
BJ gestured toward the driveway with his thumb. "I . . . uh . . . need to get back." He looked forlornly out the window.
Hawkeye frowned in return. Not counting last night, his friend didn't usually stutter. And the way BJ looked anywhere but at him was unnerving.
His dad spoke up before Ben could. "Son, you look beat. Why don't you stay a few days? We've got the spare room."
Hawkeye smiled gratefully at his father, but BJ shook his head.
"I appreciate that, Dr. Pierce, I really do, but I couldn't impose on you." His voice wavered though, and Hawkeye watched as BJ took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "I should . . . get going."
BJ looked so lost that Hawkeye's heart constricted in sympathy. He jumped up and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.
"Beej, it's fine. You just got here, and your eye's practically swollen shut. Let us put you up for a few days." Take care of you, he didn't say. Figure out what's wrong and make you better.
"Hawk, that won't work." BJ pulled away and began to pace in the tiny kitchen.
Hawkeye noticed the fine tremors in BJ's hands and his worry ratcheted up another notch. "Why not?"
"I can't stay here, Hawkeye! I need to go." A mix of emotions crossed BJ's face as he gestured with his hands.
"At least have a cup of tea before you head out?" Hawkeye waved a mug at him.
BJ sighed deeply, shrugged at his old tentmate, and sat down. "I guess some tea wouldn't hurt. But I thought you were a dedicated coffee drinker."
"I was," Hawkeye agreed, pouring a mug of tea for his friend. "Lost my taste for it after the war." He brought cream and sugar to the table, and handed BJ a spoon before sitting down beside him. BJ ignored everything but the mug, which he promptly wrapped both hands around and clutched like a lifeline.
The elder Dr. Pierce stood abruptly. "Boys, I need to head out. It was nice meeting you, BJ."
"Likewise." As soon as the man was out of earshot, BJ took a sip of tea and commented, "Subtle, he isn't."
Hawkeye smiled. "He just wanted to give us time to talk." He shoved gently at his friend. "He knows how much I've missed you."
BJ sipped politely at his tea. The minute hand clicked its way around the face of the kitchen clock.
"So—" Hawkeye began.
BJ raised an eyebrow at him. "I've never known you to be at a loss for words."
Hawkeye looked him in the eye. "I've never been this worried about you before."
BJ rolled his eyes. And promptly winced, touching the injured one gently. He sighed. "I suppose I've been better." He set the mug of tea aside.
Hawkeye nodded, not daring to speak now that BJ was talking.
"I . . . had a bad day at work. It was just so . . ." BJ waved his hand in frustration, looking for words that wouldn't come. "I couldn't . . . couldn't stay there. So I went for a ride."
"How often does that happen?" Hawkeye asked gently.
"Too often," BJ admitted. He looked up, his healthy eye open wide, lips trembling. "Hawk, I'm . . . I'm a mess." He inhaled and stood. "And I can't do this. I know you mean well, Hawkeye, and I appreciate your concern, but I have to go."
BJ walked out of the kitchen, leaving a stunned Hawkeye gaping. After a minute, he jumped up and ran after his friend. BJ was putting on his leather jacket, which Daniel had hung on the row of coat pegs by the front door.
Hawkeye grabbed his old war buddy by the arm. "So that's it, huh?" he demanded, blue eyes blazing. "You rode all the way out here not to talk to me."
"Looks like it. Let go of me," BJ snapped, trying and failing to cinch the belt of his leather jacket one-handed.
"What if I won't?" Hawkeye replied, grabbing BJ's other arm.
BJ looked down at Hawkeye. "You're ridiculous, you know that?" He yanked both arms away, shoving his friend hard enough that Hawkeye landed in a heap on the floor.
The Californian turned to go. "Goodbye, Hawkeye." He spoke the words over his shoulder.
"Oh no, you don't!" Hawkeye leapt up and shoved BJ from behind.
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion after that: BJ tripping on the rag rug by the door, long arms flailing; his trembling fingers sweeping the shelf of collectibles; the delicate ceramic angel figurine slamming into the tile and shattering with a resounding crash.
BJ turned abruptly to face Hawkeye.
"Beej, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"
"Hawk, are you all right? That was close." The blond man's pupils had blown wide.
"Yeah, I'm fine." Hawkeye took a step forward and placed a hand on BJ's wrist. The younger man gave a violent shudder. Hawkeye instantly let go. "Are you okay?"
"Sure." BJ's voice sounded distant. "We should . . . we should check on the wounded."
Hawkeye gave him a bewildered look. "The wounded?" he echoed.
"If a sniper got one grenade in here, there's bound to be more." BJ began to pace around the cozy living room in Maine, looking behind Daniel's recliner, under the record player, inside the potted plant. A cut on his hand started to bleed where a shard of ceramic angel had nicked him. Hawkeye nearly chuckled at the irony before watching the scene unfold with a growing sense of panic.
"Oh, God, BJ."
Even the man's posture had changed as he now stepped stealthily though the Pierce's living room in his biker jacket, hunting imaginary grenades. Witnessing BJ caught in a flashback made Hawkeye's insides twist and squirm. It reminded him too much of his time in the psychiatric ward after the untimely death of a Korean baby.
Fortunately, BJ didn't react to a creak on the staircase. Hawkeye looked up to find his father surveying the living room with sad eyes. Hawkeye held up a hand - don't come any closer! - and Daniel nodded, understanding that BJ was reliving the war.
"You've got this," he mouthed to his son.
Ben took a deep breath. He walked over to his friend, careful to stay in BJ's line of sight.
"It's all clear, Beej," he reassured the other man. "Colonel Potter told me. Charles and Margaret are tending to the wounded."
"I should help them out, Hawk. I need to go."
"Beej, you're hurt." Hawkeye pointed to his hand. "You need to stay here with me. I'll keep watch, okay?"
BJ looked at his hand. "I'm bleeding," he said, sounding surprised.
Hawkeye moved closer, taking BJ's hand in his own. He squinted at the little cut in the fading light. "Just a scratch." He forced a smile on his face. "You'll be fine."
BJ didn't pull away. He locked eyes with Hawkeye. For a minute, Ben was privileged to see all of the pain and anguish his friend was trying so desperately to hide.
The blond blinked a few times and swallowed hard. "I need a drink, Hawk," he admitted, pulling his hand away. The trembling intensified.
"I know you do, Beej, but I don't have anything here. I stopped drinking after I got back. Dad threw out all of my liquor."
"Lucky you," BJ quirked, and Hawkeye couldn't tell if he was serious or not. "We could go out," BJ suggested.
Hawkeye watched the other man quake and ventured closer. "I think you need to stop running."
"I don't know if I can, Hawkeye! I can't . . ."
Hawkeye grabbed BJ by the forearms again. The taller man went completely rigid. They stood like that for several minutes, unmoving, before BJ collapsed into the embrace.
"I can't do this anymore," he admitted, resting his head on Hawkeye's shoulder. The words he choked out next, harsh and painful, were muffled by Hawkeye's soft sweater. "I need help."