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[hawk1701.livejournal.com]

Title: Nightmares

Author: hawk1701

Pairing: Beej/Hawk

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Hawk’s nightmares take their toll and Beej seeks out some way to help him, question is, when does offering comfort become something else . . .

Author’s Notes: Beej’s POV, set during the episode Hawk’s Nightmare (obviously). I should be working on other stories but in the process of writing another Beej POV story I started this to practice my “BJ voice” and it morphed into a story. Enjoy.

 

Nightmares. Again. Worse than last night.

Don’t get the whole camp involved, he’d said, sleepless written in the shadows under his eyes. But the screaming. That part I can’t handle. I just can’t.

Angry. I can’t help it. I get angry when things I can’t control happen. Hell, I get angry about a lot of things, but that doesn’t mean I act on it. In fact I rarely ever do. I didn’t know what to say to Hawk so I didn’t try. We just went about our work like we always did, whatever words of comfort or assurance someone else, a more sensitive person, could give him going unsaid. And pushing another martini glass in his hand wasn’t exactly the best solution either.

Back from post-op duty. Hawk’s in bed. Sleeping. Peacefully? I quietly pulled the blanket back over him. Tried to step as lightly as possible to my own bed, glanced across the tent at Frank sleeping soundly, his small curled-up form hardly recognizable from the painfully-patriot Major we all knew and hated. Set boots down lightly, took my pants off, eased into bed, head hit the pillow. Sigh.

Felt like I’d been asleep only a minute. Maybe less. Eyes snapped open as screams filled my tent. Threw the blankets back, bounded across the tent, hit my toe on something, cursed under my breath. He’d stifled his scream with a hand, sitting up in bed, hand clamped over his mouth.

When I got to him he looks up, tears wet on his cheeks, breathing hard. I sat down next to him. Frank’s sitting up too, rubbing sleep from his eyes, kicking at the blankets he’d tangled himself up in.

Hawk started to sob instead of scream. I put a hand on his shoulder. Said his name. But he’s not talking. Asked him what it was about. He’s not talking. Hand rubbed his back without even realizing it. Hate to see him like this. Hate it. It hurts and I don’t know why.

Frank asked if he’s alright. I told him to go back to sleep, looking across the dark tent to see him sitting forward on his cot. It’s dark but I could see concern etched into his face, and the tone of his voice had been dangerously close to concern. He seemed to only show human emotion if he knew no one could see it.

Though I guess we all had our guards down sometimes.

Frank lied back down after a moment. I wondered why Frank couldn’t give a damn any other time. He does care. I know he does. He’s afraid of something, just I don’t know what. But I don’t care about Frank right now. Maybe I’ll try talking to him tomorrow. Not that I’ll expect much.

Hawk’s still crying. Damn it, what can I do? How can I get him to stop? I started to rub his back again, told him it’s alright, that he should try going back to sleep. His back shook under my hand with each sob. He’s not even getting enough air.

It’s like a panic attack. He can’t breath. Great. He’s making it hard for me to breath. Frustrated, teeth gritted, I pulled him toward me and wrapped my arms around him. I’m still, I’m solid, I’m stable, hold onto me, I thought, just stop crying—breath damn it.

Never hugged him before. Arm around a shoulder, sure. Hand on the back, yeah. But not this.

 Breathed in his smell. Felt the muscle and bone under the thin fabric of his t-shirt. I ran a hand over his dark hair. Softer than I’d thought. Hawk had put his arms around me, clinging both strongly and weakly to me, fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt. Breathe hot against my neck.

After a minute his breathing had stabilized, he’s taking regular breaths, calmer now. Good. It’s a start.

Once he’d stopped crying it seemed strange to still be hugging him. I moved my arms, leaning back to look at him. His eyes and nose are red, he’s ashamed to look at me, running a hand through his messy hair.

Asked him if he’s okay now. He said yes. I asked if he’s sure. He doesn’t answer. I told him to lie back down. He’s tired. Almost a week’s worth of bad sleeping will do that. Tugging blankets back over himself he stretched long legs back out, moving to the other edge of the bed. Settling back onto his pillow he shut his eyes in exhaustion.

I closed my own eyes, sitting on the edge of his cot. I wondered suddenly about my own dreams . . . I rarely had nightmares, I couldn’t imagine what this was like for Hawk. Of all things there were to be afraid of, I could think of many in just an instant, mainly about Mill Valley, about something happening to my wife and kid, not being there to protect them. Afraid of the war, of being killed . . . but not my own dreams—my own mind. I opened my eyes and looked down at him, considering getting up.

After a second he opened his eyes, making me stop, and told me he’s terrified to go back to sleep. His eyes are filled with tears again. He said he can’t get the dreams out of his head. That he felt like something was going to hurt him. I moved so I could put my legs up on the bed, telling him, weakly, that nothing’s going to hurt him.

 Hawkeye looked up at me. Eyes met mine. I don’t look away. I told him I’ll stay with him till he falls back asleep. Maybe I should have asked if it’d even help. But he said okay. Patients in post-op had trouble sleeping sometimes too, I’d done the same thing for them, just to make them comfortable. Sleep is healing.

Hawkeye made an effort to close his eyes, taking several deep breathes. I stretched a little, putting my feet up, settling one arm over my stomach, the other behind my head for a pillow.

We don’t say anything else. But I stayed awake. Stayed awake until I knew he was asleep. Yawning, I told myself to get up and go back to my cot. He’s even snoring a little, it’s okay . . . no, maybe that’s Frank . . . he’s okay . . . now I can go to bed . . .

 

Then there’s sun. Eyes fluttered open. Focused. Frowned.

My first thought is that the still is supposed to be on my right, why’s it on my left—tried to move and found an arm around my waist. On my side, looking over my shoulder I saw Hawk’s sleeping face. And his arm’s around me. I put my head back on the pillow, of which I seemed to have a portion of now, taking a deep breathe. The movement of my chest made Hawk stir. His arm wrapped a little tighter around me, hand flexing, fingers against my stomach, but he doesn’t wake up.

I don’t remember falling asleep. But I must have. For a moment I’m lost in thought, mind still groggy from sleep. Sleep. Hawk had actually slept. My heart started to beat a little faster, I noticed it pounding in my ears. Peg and I used to sleep like this.

My breath caught in my throat and I’m instantly awake all of a sudden, stomach doing somersaults. I tried to slide as quickly and as gently as I could from under Hawk’s arm, standing unsteady on the dirt floor of the Swamp.

Hawk doesn’t wake up. Frank was gone. But then—he must have seen—no, maybe he didn’t notice. He’d woken up from Hawk’s nightmare too. It wasn’t so unusual to help someone sleep after a trauma. It would have been irresponsible for me as a doctor, and a Captain assigned to this M*A*S*H unit, not to consider the wellbeing of one of our best doctors.

Back to my cot, I tugged a pair of pants on, remembering I had post-op duty again this morning. It was late. Didn’t even have time for coffee this morning.

It was good he finally got some sleep, that was the important part, that’s what I should be thinking about.  His work had been starting to suffer. Potter knew that if he didn’t improve than he wouldn’t be any good to us. As I laced my boots I tried to only think about the cases I’d been working on last night, of the stats I was looking for this morning. But my mind nagged me to pay attention to something else. At the corner of my mind where I was trying to keep it, the thought itched, making me miss an eyehole in my boot. I’d woken up in Hawk’s bed. I thought that thought over and over, my heart keeping time with each frantic line. We’d slept together. I pulled my over-shirt on, buttoning it carefully. Doesn’t matter, I sighed, it’s nothing.

 

            Lunch. Or a very belated breakfast. I sat down, the tray clattering to the table top as I reached for my coffee, considering just how I’d eat lunch today when I wasn’t even sure what it was.

            But damn the coffee tasted good . . . after the morning I had in post-op I’d chew on the beans if I could. And I’m not even a coffee drinker. Tea’s better for you, I heard Peg say,

            “I’ll trade you my morning for yours,”

            “Hey, Hawk,” I said, barely looking up as he sat down next to me, “Are you sure about that?”

            “You can have it,” Hawk said tiredly, “Corgan’s not looking to good,”

            “Yeah, I know,” I said as Hawk picked up his fork, “At the end of my shift I gave him another pint of blood—made it his fourth for me,”

            “I think we’ve played this broken record before,” he said bitterly, pushing some of his food—looked like potatoes—around on his tray before bringing some to his nose to sniff, satisfied enough to take a bite.

            “We’ll just have to wait,” I said, “It takes a long time to heal sometimes,”

            I took a few bites of food, chewing reluctantly, then cleared my throat, “Did you sleep alright last night?” I took a gulp of coffee, glancing once at him.

            He half-smiled, “After the terrifying nightmare, yes,” he put his elbows on the table, still playing with his food. He shrugged. His arm was against mine. Warm against me. The coffee mug was burning my fingers. I put it down quickly, some of it splashing over the side.

            “Good,” I said.

            “Thanks for—”

            “You don’t have to thank me, it was—”

            “Nice of you,” he finished.

            “Nice,” I repeated with a nod, lifting my fork halfway to my mouth, then quickly said, “Of me,”

            “Right,” Hawk said, taking a drink of coffee, taking a deep breathe.

            “You know, Hawk,” I started, “You could take sleep aids, or, uh, you could talk to Sidney . . .” my voice trailed off even though I’d meant it to be a confident suggestion.

            “Don’t you think I’ve thought of that?” he responded somewhat hotly, then stabbed a piece of food with his fork, “I’m not drugging myself,”

            “Then maybe you should talk to Sidney, it’s not like he doesn’t know you, he’d want to help,”

            Hawk cleared his throat, “Look, Beej, I know you’re just worried, but I wanna try to figure this out myself, and—” he eyed his food in a distracted way, “And then, if it doesn’t get any better, I’ll talk to Sidney. I just don’t want to make a big deal about this,”

            “Hawk, you’ve woken up screaming for the last three nights in a row,”

            “And?” he asked questioningly, turning icy blue eyes toward me.

            “And I happen to sleep not three feet away from you,” I said, irritated, “And you’ve woken me up, every night, and it’s extremely hard to get back to sleep after hearing your friend scream bloody murder,”

            He frowned, shaking his head, “That isn’t what this is about. You’re not upset over losing a little sleep,”

            “I don’t like sleeping only an hour a night, no, and I am upset, but I’m still a doctor and your friend and you know this is a big deal,” he stared at me over my nondescript food. I looked away, the lack of sleep catching up with me suddenly in the form of a pounding headache. Adding to it was the fact that I was doing everything I could not to think about waking up with him. I know it’s not a big deal. I know that. It’s not. I slept near him for comfort. That’s it. But I was not going to bring it up with him, “I can’t help you with this,”

            “You wanna kick me again while I’m down?” he responded.

            “What?!” I almost slammed my fork back on my tray, “Just call Sidney, Hawk,” I got up, pushing the table away accidentally, “For both our sakes,”

 

            Corgan died. He died an hour after breakfast/lunch. He was in post-op, just lying there, and with no sign at all, just stopped breathing.

I did CPR. I knew his insides were still messed up from mortar fragments and my own scalpel, but I didn’t care. I pounded his chest, damning everything else so long as he took a breath. Five in a row. Stop. Five more, harder this time, hoping, begging his heart to snap out of it, to start beating again. I almost broke his ribs I pushed so hard, but his damn heart just sat in his chest, lifeless, giving up, and every passing minute was another minute the kid was dead, another minute into the grave.

            By the time my post-op duty was done I’d practically gnashed my teeth down to the gums, my shoulders were so tight I had trouble moving my arms. Thankfully, Radar said there weren’t going to be any casualties for a few days.

I half-stumbled to the officer’s club, not wanting to deal with Hawk as much as I wanted to be with him. I sat at the bar, mumbled what I wanted to Klinger, who was talking to Nurse Kelly across the pretzel strewn bar-top. I drank it in one gulp, hunched over the bar, resisting the reflex to cough.

            “—an actual officer,” Klinger was saying, “He must have taken the title literally cuz when he asked what all the enlisted people were doing here I said, enjoying war-time pleasure, what da’ya think,” I heard Kelly laugh behind her hand as Klinger pet the fur around his shoulders and continued talking in the way that made his voice carry from wall to wall, refilling my glass without even looking, “And he asked me what my rank I was, and I showed him the sequins on my sleeve, and when he said ‘that ain’t funny, solider, I—”

            I stopped listening when I heard the door open. Hawk. I looked back down at the bar-top, brushing away bits of peanuts and pretzel, clearing my throat which felt rough. I took a drink but put the glass down, gold liquid swirling over the bottom. I know I shouldn’t be drinking so much—I could hardly find a reason not to, but I decided to slow down.

            “Is that new?” I heard Hawk ask Klinger, meaning his dress, which I couldn’t remember seeing him wear before, myself.

            “Depends on your definition of new,”

            “Looks great,” Hawk approved, taking a seat next to me. A drink was placed in front of him. He drank it, wiping a hand over his mouth then looking over at me said, “I don’t usually go on blind dates,”

            I nodded expressionlessly, finding it hard to look right at him, before looking back down into my glass.

            “Beej, I heard about Corgan,”

            “Yeah,” I said, taking a drink.

            “I’m sorry,”

            “Sure,”

My mind wandered, I drag it back again, away from what had happened over the last few days, of exposed innards, of tangled intestine, of Hawk’s nightmares he still said nothing about, of falling asleep and not remembering it. Of his arm around me. It’d been so warm, and comfortable, and even with the booze I couldn’t get the feeling out of my head.

You find more and more reasons to miss home everyday around here. My head fell in my hands. Damnit, I thought, Peg’s thousands of miles away, last time you woke up in bed with her was . . . lord, I can’t even remember now. I’m forgetting so much. I should be thinking about home all the time. Just so I can remember. Just so I don’t go crazy. But I’m not. Sure, it was easy at first, it was all so clear in my head. I could think about Peg, and Erin, and all the small, insignificant things about home, and it meant everything to be able to do that. Now I’m thinking about kids like Corgan whose insides looked like raw hamburger. I’m thinking about the front that’s three miles away. Of what drink I can drown in next or how much worse the next batch of wounded could be when the last was so bad. I’m thinking about Hawk, about gin and the Swamp and it’s getting harder and harder get my head back in Mill Valley.

Then there’s a hand on my shoulder. Hawk’s. I closed my eyes, swallowing against my tight throat.

“Don’t beat yourself up on this, Beej,” he said softly, “You did everything you could,” his thumb moved back and forth slowly on my shoulder.

I opened my eyes. Took a deep breath. Nodded. He took his hand away. Took another drink. “I’m calling it a night,” I said, getting up.

“Want me to come along?” Hawk asked, turning halfway around on the bar stool.

“No,” I said, but saw the bar sway to the side where I stood, knowing it was me and not Korea that was tilting. God, must be more tired than I thought.

“I think you mean yes,” Hawk said, getting up. I saw him wink once at Klinger who waves goodbye with a satin gloved hand, returning to an enamored Nurse Kelly without delay. But I’m finding it hard to care. I had wanted to stop thinking, but decided against drinking so the only other option was sleeping. I thought about my cot, about falling asleep fast, so I didn’t have to lay awake with my mind going around and around and getting no where.

I pushed out the officer’s club’s door, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck, licking dry lips. Hawk didn’t say anything the whole way back. Not that it was far. When we got to the Swamp I clasped on my cot with a sigh.

Hawk switched on his lamp, lying done on his bed and striking an easy casual pose, all long legs, dark hair and bright eyes.

I wasn’t aware of how long I sat there. When I looked up Hawk was pouring a drink from the still, his red robe cinched around his waist. He carefully leaned back on the table the still was on, staring into the glass in his hand, running a finger around the edge idly, “I’m sorry for waking you up lately,” His eyes lifted long enough to meet mine, then went back down to the gin swirling in his glass, “And you’re right,” he nodded, pausing to take a drink, “I should talk to Sidney,”

He sounded almost defeated. Doctors never make good patients. And I don’t think Hawk liked the idea of talking to a psychologist. Or more like he didn’t like the idea of needing to talk to a psychologist. Truth was, I’m sure what would be the best thing to do. I don’t know much about psychology. When the nightmares had first started, once I realized they weren’t just typical bad dreams, the ones everyone has, I started to worry. I didn’t want to think about, I didn’t want to admit it, but it was the first time I thought that maybe there’s something wrong with Hawkeye. Something serious. And he’s not stupid. I’m sure he’s thought the same thing.

“Hawkeye,” I cleared my throat, looking up at him as he took another drink, “You can always talk to me,” I continued with a clumsy shrug, “I’m not an expert but if you’d rather it was me than Sidney, I wouldn’t mind—you know that,”

Hawk lowered his glass, face almost unreadable, “I know, Beej,”

“So,” I took a breath, “Lay it on me,”

He drained what’s left of his drink and put the glass back on the table, pausing before bringing unfocused eyes to mine, “I’ve got this thing where I absolutely hate talking about myself,” he explained carefully, holding a hand to his forehead, “I don’t like to hear my own thoughts so to repeat them out loud is not only redundant, it’s unfair to you,”

He seemed to hover over me for a second then sat down next to me on my cot, close enough on the small mattress for his leg to touch mine, blue eyes distant and evasive, “So let’s not,”

Silence filled the tent. It was clear he didn’t want to talk about his nightmares, I was fine with that, but what was he doing still sitting here? I stayed quiet, sitting with my elbows on my knees, not quite ready to clear my throat suggestively.

Hawk finally looked at me, raising both eyes in surprise, “Was I supposed to say something?”

I roll my eyes, giving him an almost patient smile, “You’re supposed to go to your own cot. That is, unless you want to talk some more,”

“No, I don’t want to talk,” he glared at me, the light from his lamp shinning over his dark hair, “I thought I said that already,”

“One cot, for one person is not a lot to ask, considering this is mine, and that,” I gestured toward the unmade, torn apart cot, “ . . . its yours,”

            I was seriously tired. I wanted to sleep. When he didn’t move I shook my head with a sigh, bending to untie my boots as he sat idly on the edge of my bed. Idly. Sure. He didn’t want to talk about it but he’d sit right on my cot while I’m trying to sleep instead of risk falling asleep.

            One boot hit the floor. Another. Hawk’s still there.

            I sat up and unbuttoned my shirt then hung it on edge of my nightstand. Glancing down at Hawkeye I looked for some king reaction, some indication that he was going to move back to his cot. More out of exhaustion than anything else I ignored he was there, concentrating only on getting to bed. I pulled my shirt from my pants.

            He looked up at the sound of my belt buckle coming undone.

            “I’m sorry,” I said in a falsely sweet tone, “Am I bothering you?”

            “Bothering? You’re undressing in front of me,” he looked up at my eyes. If I hadn’t been watching I would have missed his gaze briefly moving up from my chest. He looked away, annoyed, “I’m starting to feel unwelcome,”

            “Hawk, just go to bed,” I said tiredly, “You’ll probably just fall asleep and wake up tomorrow totally fine,”

            He nodded, not believing me.

            “You slept last night,” I said, pulling my belt from my belt loops.

            “You were there,”

            I looked down at him, “I’m right here. Right across from you, four feet from your cot,”

            Uncertain eyes glanced up at me as he shrugged, wrapping his arms around himself, “I . . . felt safe,”

            “I can’t sleep in your cot with you again,” I said, unable to hide the unsteadiness in my voice.

            “Well,” Hawk said with emphasis, holding out his arms, “That’s why I’m here,”

            Suddenly I wasn’t angry anymore. So suddenly I felt bad. Hawk had a way of doing that.

 I set my belt down, sitting down next to him with a sigh, “I’m sorry, Hawk,” I said at length, “I’ve been a little tired myself I guess,”

When I looked to the side his eyes met mine. He was scared. Might be all he needed was some security. I was going over a lot of things in my head at that moment. Can’t say any of them made sense. I’m not thinking very rationally. I know that. Boy, do I know that. One night wouldn’t hurt, I heard myself think, if it’d help, I should do it.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep last night,” I explained hesitantly, “When I woke up . . . I was still with you,”

“I know,” he said.

“You do?”

“I woke up a couple hours after the nightmare, found you were still there and I . . .” he paused in search of words, but when his eyes met mine he stopped. After sharing a bed with a guy it didn’t seem like such a big deal to meet his eyes. Not with Hawk. His eyes faltered after a few seconds but he kept them with mine, “Maybe I didn’t even know I did it, I was half asleep, but I just got closer, wrapped my arms around you, and fell back asleep,” a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, the smile showing in his eyes too. His voice had lowered to a whisper, making me lean closer to hear, “It was nice,”

We faced each other, sitting motionless on my small cot. So he did know. My eyes flickered down to Hawk’s lips, then back up to his eyes. A cool wind blew against the side of the tent, the sound of canvas caught in breeze played in the background.

 It seemed almost automatic, instinctual, when I found myself leaning toward Hawkeye. He did the same. I could feel the warmth of Hawk’s breathe over my lips as my eyes slowly fell shut. The smallest brush of his lips against mine sent shivers racing down my spine.

I felt a hand against my face, pulling me closer. Our lips met and I didn’t pull away. Warm, gentle lips parted mine. Felt a hot tongue in my mouth. I ran my hands through his hair, opening my mouth wider, the cot starting to squeak under us. Hawk’s hand tightened on my arm, his tongue pushing further in my mouth, a moan rising from the back of his throat. God, stop. Felt so good, jesus, Hawk, I didn’t know you tasted like this, didn’t know you could—I sucked in a sudden breathe, both of us jerking away in almost the same moment.

            “Uh,” I said.

            “Right,” he said, clearing his throat, “Could I, uh, take that back, I—” he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, a nervous laugh escaping his lips, “I just—”

            “—yeah,” I nodded in agreement, “We’re both tired,” I swallowed back a nervous lump in my throat, “You’re . . . a great kisser,”

            He almost laughed, “Thank you,”

            “Well,” I said, “I’m, uh . . . going to go to bed now,”

            “Good,” Hawk said, “Sleep is . . . good,”

            I paused, realizing I hadn’t moved an inch, “I think I’ve totally lost my mind,”

“Why do you say that?” he asked, voice somewhat bitter, “Just because I just kissed you,” he brought a hand to his forehead, eyes closed, “Damn it, I kissed you . . .”

“I mean I think I’m crazy because I was going to ask if you still needed me . . .  with you tonight,” I looked over at him.

Pale blue eyes stared into mine, “I want to,”

            I could feel my heart beat pounding in my chest, “Hawk, what are we doing?”

            “Being stupid,” he said, bending to take his own boots off, “I’m tired of having these nightmares, Beej, dead tired,” one boot came off, “And I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours thinking about you,” both boots are off, “I think that makes us both crazy,”

            “That’s not a comforting thought,”

            “Tell me about it,”

            I found myself staring at his stocking feet, trying to gather one clear thought from my head, wresting with anger, confusion, and an excitement that was damn near choking me, “Just get under the covers,” I said finally, “We’ll see what it’s like in the morning,”

            I felt like I’d let go of something. Like I’d let something snap, given up something, but I didn’t know what else to do. Hawk crawled into bed, right next to me. I put an arm around him and closed my eyes and for the first time in the months since I’ve been to Korea I felt like something was right. This was right.

Things would be different in the morning. It was so easy to keep telling myself I was doing this for Hawk. Too easy.  I drifted off to sleep, Hawkeye comfortable and warm next to me, knowing he’d probably be there in my dreams.