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The rain came down in sheet after sheet. Through the few holes and openings in the Swamp’s ceiling, water dripped, tapping out irregular beats against fabric and metal and wood. Meandering, a rivulet of water made its way under the door. BJ stared at that rill as it moved, as it circled a leg of Hawkeye’s teetering cot, as it brushed past the toe of his boot and washed off a small amount of mud. He was an overworked resident right before the next Great Flood, he was sure.
“I want to sleep,” Hawkeye said.
BJ nodded. Too tired to reply.
A long pause. BJ wasn’t sure how long. Hawkeye laid back, as still as a corpse, his eyes open. “I can’t sleep.”
BJ nodded. Numb: that’s how he felt. There was the word for it. The rivulet had turned into a creek. A funeral would have to be held for the stacks of magazines piled loosely next to Hawkeye’s footlocker.
“I’m…” BJ mumbled. He couldn’t think of a good end to his sentence; he let it hang dead in the air between them.
“I used to get insomnia,” Hawkeye said. BJ glanced at him; his eyes were still open, but he didn’t even have the energy to fully animate his mouth as he spoke. His words slurred together. “Here, med school. Nothing…nothing worked.”
BJ hummed. He watched Hawkeye for a moment that seemed to stretch for hours. His body ached. Someone had filled his veins with lead when he wasn’t looking. Finally, he swallowed, throat clicking, and spoke. “Nothing?”
“Sedation,” Hawkeye said. He blinked, slow. “Don’t…maybe pressure.” He glanced to BJ and clarified. “My girlfriend used to lay on me.”
“That worked?”
“Sometimes.”
BJ nodded. He wanted to sleep, too. He thought about his own cot, so many feet away. He could sleep in the chair, maybe. He’d wake up aching worse.
Hawkeye’s cot shifted. Hawkeye laid down; BJ watched. But he just stared up at the ceiling, expression remote.
With little fanfare, BJ stood halfway and tipped himself onto Hawkeye’s chest. Hawkeye huffed, but there were no complaints. “Close your eyes, Hawk.”
“I can’t sleep,” Hawkeye said, despondent.
“Don’t try to,” BJ said. With difficulty, he shifted until his cheek was pressed to Hawk’s sternum, legs dangling over the end of the cot. Hawkeye’s pulse jumped against his ear. He swallowed again, concentrated, managed to keep speaking. “I’m gonna take you on R&R after. Tokyo.”
Hawkeye’s breath stirred in his lungs. BJ felt his voice as he spoke. “Sounds nice.”
“Put you in a hot spring or something,” BJ mumbled. “Stay for a week.”
“Let’s never come back,” Hawkeye said. His arms wrapped loosely across BJ’s shoulders.
BJ agreed. He was close to sleep and hoped Hawkeye was, too. “I’d run away with you,” he murmured.
Hawkeye sighed. “Yeah,” he said, voice so low BJ barely caught it as he fell lower, reality slipping away. “Sounds nice, BJ.”
The steady, never ending sound of rain; Hawkeye’s fingers running through the hair at his nape. He thought he might have really meant it, what he’d said. He dreamt of the sun.