Chapter Text
The first thing B.J. saw through the sparse dawn lighting was Hawkeye. Sprawled across his cot in his obnoxious yellow button up, mouth wide open and snoring with dirt smudged on his face.
The sight had B.J. trying to imagine Hawkeye as a teenager. He guessed he might not have been so different in height or posture, with no grey hair, less wrinkles. He’d seen wrinkles appear and set into Hawkeye’s face even in the year he himself had been there. He tried to steer his mind clear of that, feeling anger well up in his groggy mind. Not the way he wanted to start his morning.
Moving his arm out from under the covers, B.J. tilted his wrist to catch a little ray of sunlight on his watch. 5:50, Hawkeye’s shift.
“Hawk.” B.J. whispered. “Wakey-wakey.” He sat up on an elbow and waited. He tried again. Nothing. Finally giving up staying in bed with a sigh, he slid his legs over the side of the cot and slowly moved over to Hawkeye’s.
B.J. sat with his elbows on his knees and now able to see how truly grimy he was, he chuckled. “Either you were in a bar fight or you tripped over one of your left feet.”
Hawkeye blinked his eyes open, lazily letting them roll back into his head just as quick. “I saw that.” B.J. muttered. With obvious struggle, Hawkeye opened them again and his bloodshot gaze betraying that of a relaxing R&R.
Hawkeye jerked next to him suddenly, startling like he’d just now woken up and B.J.’s brow creased as medical diagnoses started to pound their way into his brain. He began to worry that there was a hair-hidden head wound hiding just out of sight.
“You hit your head, Hawk?” He asked, reaching a hand out to feel for a bump.
“No.” Came a croaky response.
“No?” B.J. questioned.
“Yeah…” Hawkeye breathed.
“Yeah no or yeah you hit your head?” B.J. tried.
”No.” Hawkeye repeated in a dull tone.
Not finding anything, B.J. stopped probing and tilted his head to look at Hawkeye’s eyes again. His pupils were fine and although Hawkeye wasn’t looking directly at him, he had his eyes trained strong and unwavering on the far mesh wall. B.J. let his hands fall into his lap and sighed at the small relief.
“You look like shit.” B.J. admitted after a brief silence.
Hawkeye’s sight shifted to him for a moment, the look in his eyes making B.J. feel a strange type of uncomfortable, before he let them slide shut again. B.J. stilled, wanting to pour into him with a million different questions before ultimately settling on his default doctoring again.
“You feel like you’re coming down with something?”
“Stop.” Hawkeye ground out and then sighed. “Sorry.”
B.J. shook his head, dismissing any wrongdoing and settling back into silence.
Again, Hawkeye didn’t pick up the ball.
“You going to tell me why you look like you were digging trenches during allergy season?” B.J. was never a patient one.
Hawkeye took a deep and trembling breath from the cot, eyes still shut. “You’re not too far off.”
“Incoming wounded! Incoming wounded! Grab your partner folks, it’s a couples dance on this one!”
B.J. hung his head and lightly squeezed Hawkeye’s arm. His thoughts were bubbling with confusion and concern at Hawkeye’s answer but he knew better than to try cracking him open before a grueling O.R. session. They’d operate, he’d make sure Hawkeye ate and was hydrated, got some quality sleep, and then they’d talk. And he wouldn’t let him pussyfoot around the answer.
B.J. was grabbing for Hawkeye’s boots when he felt cold fingers on his wrist.
“I’ve got it.” Hawkeye breathed, no energy behind the words. “Just get yours.”
B.J. wanted to insist, wanted to take any unnecessary things off of his shoulders, but he knew that he didn’t dare risk derailing Hawkeye’s current one-track mind. Reluctantly, B.J. pulled his boots loosely over his ankles, wrapped his robe around himself, and stole worried glances at Hawkeye all the way to O.R.
And it was a doozy.
Chest case after chest case went to Hawkeye who was silent save for equipment requests. B.J. had placed himself opposite of him; at the next table so that he could see him in between sutures. And as time dragged on Hawkeye got paler and paler, skin glistening with sweat on a chilly day.
B.J. wondered if he was the only one who noticed the tremor in Hawkeye’s shoulders. It was around hour seven when B.J. heard a whistle from behind him.
“Got some required reading from H.Q.. Pierce, Hunnicutt, my office after this session. Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.” Potter directed them, via a telegram provided by Klinger. “You can pass it on to your bunkie I presume?”
“Of course colonel, Charles loves a good bedtime story. Isn’t that right Hawk?” B.J. jeered, hoping to get even the smallest of rises out of him.
“Right.” Came an empty reply. The unease in the O.R. was palpable.
B.J. made eye contact with Winchester behind Hawkeye’s shoulder, who returned a surprised and almost concerned look. He didn’t even need to see Potter to know what he thought, he could feel his eyes boring into him from behind.
“I don’t like it.” Margaret lowly added to the pile as she stood next to B.J.. “I don’t like it one bit.”
They’d just rounded hour eleven when Hawkeye called for another patient. He was leaning over his table, shoulders hunched up near his ears like it was all he could do without hugging himself.
“That’s it!” They heard Klinger say from the next room, clearly preoccupied but within earshot. The usual sighs and groans echoed through the group.
“Next!” Hawkeye shouted, making everyone freeze. “C’mon! Next dammit!”
This time B.J. looked to Potter.
“Pierce, we’re fresh out.” Potter told him, steeling the worry out of his tone.
“What?” Hawkeye countered. He looked mad, even angry at the colonel’s words.
“You’re done. No more patients.” Potter spelt out in plain English. If Hawkeye understood, he didn’t show any sign of it and just stood there with lines of frustration between his eyes. “Son, are you alright?”
Something clicked there. Hawkeye looked shiftily around the room as if someone flipped a switch and he’d just awoken from a trance. The cheeks that were visible from the top of his mask flushed pink with embarrassment as he noticed all eyes were on him.
“Hawk.” The name slipped out of B.J. and Hawkeye looked to him, his eyes screaming help me. “I’ll—I’ll meet you in Potter’s office.” He stuttered.
Hawkeye only nodded at the floor and left the room as fast as his shaking knees would take him.