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Hawkeye was lying in his cot, eyes cloudy and distant, unaware of the man standing over him. BJ pressed a hand to his shoulder, noting how the other man tensed at the sudden touch, pulling his hand off cautiously as if he were a scared animal.
“Come on, Hawk.”
The words barely pull Hawkeye out of his daze, eyes fluttering closed as he slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. BJ returned his hand to Hawk’s shoulder, prompting him to look up and into his eyes. His face was gaunt, his cheeks sunken, hollowed out. His eyebags were so deep it almost looked like he was wearing heavy eyeshadow, the dark circles almost black in contrast to his muted skin tone. He’d been looking worse for wear with each passing day.
When they had first met at Kimpo, Hawkeye had been scrawny, but not worryingly so like he is now. He had been able to faintly see his ribs, but only when he stretched his body in a specific way. Now when they showered, the bones jutted out without any of his usual odd bodily contortions. The sharp edges of his hips and collarbones almost nauseating to look at. The beginnings of emaciation were taking over. He tries not to think about how it’s a medical miracle that he hasn’t made himself hypoglycaemic yet.
“What time is it?” Hawkeye mumbled. He had seen Hawkeye tired before, his choice of profession and being forced into meatball surgery not helping his insomnia one bit, but the kind of weariness he had been sporting lately was worrisome. As 1953 wore on, he had become less animated, his speech matching the dullness behind his eyes.
“A bit after 10:00 at night”, he paused, waiting for his friend to respond. “Come on, you need to eat.” He reached forward to help Hawkeye up, trying not to react too harshly at how bony his wrists have become. Hawkeye, too stubborn for his own good, tried to shift away from his grasp, turning to lie back down, face pressed firmly against the flat pillow.
“Not hungry, I’m waiting for Igor to serve something that doesn’t move on its own.”
BJ gets it. The mess tent food was inedible on a good day, but no one had quite of an aversion to it as Hawkeye. His peculiar eating habits haven’t gone unnoticed. The way he sniffs everything before grimacing and putting it back on his tray — he even does it with the food Peg sends, despite his insistence that it’s infinitely more appealing than any army rations the chefs conjure up.
Hawk shifted away when he tried to pull him once again into a sitting position.
“Beej, I’m tired. I’ll eat something when I wake up.”
“You said that last night, and the night before. You need food Hawk, you’re not going to be able to operate if you’re starving.”
“And I’m not going to be able to operate if I’m exhausted,” Hawkeye said sharply, patience wearing thin, not used to being prodded like this. “It’s happened before and I’m really not feeling up for another psychoanalysis from Sidney.” He turned over in his cot to stare at BJ. He wondered, not for the first time, if maybe this three year stint in Korea was affecting Hawkeye more than the rest of them.
“In case you forgot, I’m a doctor too, Beej. I know what I can and can’t handle.”
BJ’s eyebrows creased as he looked down at his hands, his slender fingers grasping at the scratchy army issued blanket.
“You’re shaking like a leaf.”
Hawkeye looked down, muttering something incomprehensible, and before he could turn over in bed again, BJ had grabbed his shoulder and held him in place, even as he refused to make eye contact with him.
“Come on, I still have a few of the brownies Peggy sent the other day. It’ll be easier to sleep on a full stomach.”
The other man shifted his gaze back up, glassy eyed, expression unreadable. It wasn’t the first time he questioned if Hawkeye was looking through him instead of at him. He tried to ignore the dread that pooled in his stomach; the man who had a personality big enough to light up a whole room staring at him wide eyed and timid. It was no secret that Hawkeye lived in constant fear, but his expression looked almost childlike. Pushing down the wave of sadness that washed over him, he stepped over to his footlocker and reached for the tupperware he had stashed in there yesterday.
Hawk had shifted his legs so that they were tucked into his body, giving BJ some room to sit opposite of him. He took out a single brownie and held it in front of him. He was exhausted, clearly too tired to argue anymore, and took the brownie in his hand, gently sniffing it before deciding to take a bite. He smiled softly at BJ before deciding that eye contact was too much for him and ducked his head back down.
He pulled gently at the sharp edge of Hawkeye’s jaw so that he was meeting his face, pressing another brownie to his mouth, pleased at the soft noise of satisfaction that he made as he chewed. He’d have to write to Peg to ask if she could mail more baked goods. They seemed to be the only thing Hawkeye could stomach, and he hoped to at least get a touch of padding back onto his willowy frame. He’d been almost disappearing into his fatigues these past few months.
They continued this way for several minutes. BJ pressing a brownie to his lips, prompting Hawkeye to eat. He got about four brownies in before he tapped out, whining about the chocolate being too heavy for him to continue. He never knew him to have much of an appetite, it was a miracle he polished off as many as he did. Hawkeye glanced up towards him, the doe eyed, childlike appearance once again cast upon his face.
”Thank you,” Hawk said, barely above a whisper, and before BJ could ask him what for, he started again, “For taking care of me. Making sure I’m alright and all that.” He ran a hand through his hair before shifting his gaze elsewhere. The early onset of silver worries the hell out of BJ, but he figures it’s best to focus on one issue at a time.
It wasn’t lost on BJ how he had begun blinking rapidly; a futile attempt to stop the tears from flowing.He didn’t want Hawk to feel coddled, or worse, babied, but he couldn’t help but worry. He brushed his knuckles over the apple of his cheek, swiping at the tears staining his face. His eyes were wide, but not as vacant as they were just a few minutes ago. He’ll count that as a win.
“You’re my friend, I like looking after you.” This got a slight smile out of Hawkeye, tears still rolling down his cheeks. “And I should be thanking you. You do so much for this camp but you never let anyone take care of you in return.” It was true, the amount of times Hawkeye had concocted some silly stunt to boost morale, or when he had arranged for Peg to send an anniversary video for BJ.
“Beej,” Hawkeye let out a slight laugh, although it was humourless. “I’m a grown man. I should be able to take care of myself, or at least argue with you long enough that you decide it’s too difficult and fuck off.”
The words almost tore BJ apart by the seams, leaving a million minuscule threads in place of his body. He wanted to grab him by the arms, make him understand that he wants to look after him, that the way he’s been steadily growing smaller, both in physique and personality, has left him worried sick.
“It could never be difficult to care about you.”
Hawkeye scoffed, which would annoy him if he wasn’t so innately concerned.
“BJ, come on. I fight you on everything, I just argued with you ten minutes ago! Everyday for me it’s l-like it’s my mission to be as much of a nuisance as possible. I’m a menace, a pain in the ass, I’m surprised half the camp doesn’t have chronic migraines from the past three years of forced co-habitation with me.” He was babbling now, wetness spilling from his eyes.
”Hey, Hawk wait—“ BJ gently grabbed his shoulders. “Don’t tell me how I feel about you. You’re my best friend, I’m a doctor, caretaking is practically a prerequisite.”
”So is reassuring the patient even though nothing you’re saying is true,” Hawkeye bit back. “I’m not Peg, you don’t need to dote on me. I can take care of myself.”
With that, he turned away, resting his head on the thin army pillow. BJ tried not to get frustrated, he didn’t want Hawk to view that as his point being proven, but he wouldn’t be Hawkeye if he weren’t so damn stubborn.
”Well clearly you can’t, considering it’s been days since you’ve eaten. And not for the first time either. You can pretend I don’t notice, but I do. I know you hate it here, we all do, we all want to go home, but you’re going to kill yourself if you keep this up.”
Hawkeye’s head shot up so fast BJ was surprised he didn’t make himself dizzy. He looked at him with a pained expression, and he immediately regretted his choice of words.
“You know Beej, last time we had a conversation about home I ended up with a black eye.”
”Hawk—“
He was immediately cut off, “No, you don’t get to argue with me about this. I held my tongue last time because you were clearly upset and I didn’t want the other eye to match, but God, I don’t need you coddling me like this.”
His shoulders slumped forward as he leaned against BJ’s shoulder, clearly having no fight left in him. His face was buried into his arm, silent tears rolling down his cheeks, allowing BJ to cradle his head. They’ve been in this position before, their roles opposite, but Hawkeye’s bouts of melancholy didn’t typically result in tears being shed, instead manifesting themselves in manic pursuits.
“I’ve been here for three fucking years, Beej. I can’t see myself making it out of here alive.”
“Don’t say that. You’re going to make it home.”
When he first arrived, he had to make peace with the fact that Hawkeye would inevitably go home before him. Hell, if Hawkeye weren’t such a damn good surgeon and MacArthur wasn’t so damn dedicated to working both the drafted and enlisted to the bone, he’d probably be back in Crabapple Cove right now. He wasn’t sure what he’d do without Hawk here, but God, looking at the thin man in his arms and imagining him healthy, plumper, safe, and at home, felt like a stake was being driven through his heart.
He shifted his hand further up into his hair, gently carding through the slightly tangled strands, sifting through them to the short locks adorning the nape of his neck. His fringe cascaded down and over his eyes; it was getting long again, something else he was beginning to neglect. He’d have to trim it soon.
“I just wanted to be a doctor when I grew up,” he said meekly, voice cracking on the last word. “I was always told I’d be some big city surgeon, and that I would make the world a better place. If I give any more of myself to this place it’ll kill me.”
”Hawk, h-hey,” BJ didn’t even realize that he had begun crying too, the quivering of his voice bringing awareness to the wetness of his cheeks. Hawkeye hadn’t stopped putting on his best court jester impression as his mental health declined, BJ only noticed that his heart wasn’t in it the way it had been for years because he knew him better than Hawkeye knew himself, or so he likes to think. “Hey, okay. You’re going to get out of here alive. You’ll be in one piece when you make it back to Maine.”
Hawkeye’s breathing was slightly laboured.
“I know you think you have to put on a performance, but you’re allowed to admit you’re not doing well, okay?” Fuck, even thinking back on all the times Sidney had visited, how more times than not he was here because Hawk was struggling. It wasn’t a secret that his time here had catapulted him into a troubled state. For fucks sake, he had spent the past few years telling everyone he was losing his mind here, yet was met with no reprieve, racking up rotation points when the army kept increasing proving to be a Sisyphean task.
Hawkeye looked up at him again, cheeks blotchy underneath red rimmed eyes, strands of hair falling in front of his eyes.
“Okay,” he breathed out, barely above a whisper, eyes squeezing shut in an effort to stop his tears before straightening his posture and pressing a palm into his left eye. “I mean fuck, it can’t go on forever, right? We just need to keep dancing.”
BJ turned to look at him.
”Yeah. We’ll keep dancing.”