(no subject)
Title: Remnants.
Fandom: MASH
Characters: BJ/Hawkeye, BJ/Peg
Prompt: 016. Purple
Word Count: 800
Rating: R
Big Damn Table:Here
i
They made love with the light on, with the crisp clean sheets around their knees, Peg in her brand new slip, BJ naked, for all to see. They lay twisted together when they were spent, Peg’s uncertain fingers brushing against his skin. They tickled down from his neck to waist, along and ascending once more. She watched them ghost across him, as if reading all the stories there, learning of the man he had become. She stopped at a sliver of purple on his collarbone, leant forward and kissed it chastely.
“It will go away, with time,” she whispered, voice broken, the shards sticking into BJ’s heart, “All the bruises will.”
He held her close, held her tight, tight so that they stuck together, could not be pried apart. He listened to her breathing wane, watched her sleep for quite a while, as if sinking her in would draw him back out.
She was wrong. Some things would never leave him.
ii
“We don’t have time; they’re expecting us at dinner.”
“Don’t you get it? The war’s over. We have all the time in the world.”
Hawkeye threw BJ down onto a cot, peeled off his jacket and crawled right up, their noses touching. They hurriedly worked at each others buckles, kissing with all the life that peace brought them, kissing like they were in love.
“We’ll still see each other, we’ll still meet up,” BJ said, now peeling off Hawkeye’s shirt, paying no mind to what he was doing, trying not to stumble over his words. Hawkeye scoffed, roughly tugging BJ’s shirt off and carelessly throwing it away.
“Keep hiding, Beej, keep running from goodbye,” Hawkeye trailed hands through BJ’s hair, moved down to kiss at skin. He bit down hard, BJ crying out in shock, before Hawkeye silenced him with a kiss. He whispered, “Don’t worry. You’ll always take me with you.”
iii
BJ returned from an emergency call, bruised, beaten and caked in mud. He took the jug from by the still, didn’t bother with a glass, didn’t bother to apologise when Hawkeye came waltzing in.
”Well, well, well the prodigal doctor returns. And in such a state, too.”
BJ just leant back in his cot, closed his eyes, let some harmony soak through and settle inside. It was the worst kind, but it was the best he had. And he’d long learnt to accept it.
“Excuse me, kind sir, think you could spare a dash for your old chum?”
BJ took another mouthful and lifted it half heartedly for Hawkeye to take. He clomped over, sat on BJ’s cot, and BJ felt their fingers brush when he took it away. Hawkeye didn’t move.
“Pretty tough out there, huh?” Hawkeye had moved his voice back to serious, perhaps even concern, and BJ felt a hand curl around his thigh. BJ opened his eyes. He breathed deep.
“Pretty tough.” Hawkeye gave him back the jug, BJ drank again, one long gulp that hit the spot.
“You’re home. You’re safe. We’ve got you,” Hawkeye pat his leg, “I’ve got you.”
ii
Two hours and thirty two minutes after landing in Korea, BJ fell over his own two feet and bruised his left elbow. As he showered in the 4077th that night, scrubbing away blood that wasn’t his, dead skin he’d rather not be in, he traced it with a quivering finger, around the endless circle. Hawkeye Pierce paraded in, still buzzing on cheap booze, grabbed BJ’s arm and twisted it round to take a look.
“Oh, it’s just a baby,” he said affectionately, poking for effect, and BJ pulled away with a plastic grin.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” he agreed, still touching at it unconsciously, frozen until Hawkeye let him be. He cried silently in the shower: for his wife and his baby, for the dead boy and his family, for the bruise and how its presence taunted him.
He cried and each tear stained him, burned deep into his skin.
i
The air was thick with dread, humid, sticky and stinging at their necks. They danced around each other in silence; BJ readying his things and Peg clinging desperately to their baby. Vision skewed with unfallen tears, BJ slammed his fingers in the sock drawer, howling out in pain. Peg soon came running, Erin woken by the uproar, her screams cutting knives right through the tension.
“What! What … what is it?”
“Nothing, nothing.” He reassured her, showing her his finger, “Just … just a bruise.”
Peg tried desperately to cradle her baby as well as inspect her husband’s afflictions, ruffled and strung out, hair falling down on her face, “Oh. Ok. Are you, are you going to be ok?”
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
“Oh.” Peg didn’t say what she had hoped for. She didn’t say that she hoped it had been much worse.
-fin-
Fandom: MASH
Characters: BJ/Hawkeye, BJ/Peg
Prompt: 016. Purple
Word Count: 800
Rating: R
Big Damn Table:Here
i
They made love with the light on, with the crisp clean sheets around their knees, Peg in her brand new slip, BJ naked, for all to see. They lay twisted together when they were spent, Peg’s uncertain fingers brushing against his skin. They tickled down from his neck to waist, along and ascending once more. She watched them ghost across him, as if reading all the stories there, learning of the man he had become. She stopped at a sliver of purple on his collarbone, leant forward and kissed it chastely.
“It will go away, with time,” she whispered, voice broken, the shards sticking into BJ’s heart, “All the bruises will.”
He held her close, held her tight, tight so that they stuck together, could not be pried apart. He listened to her breathing wane, watched her sleep for quite a while, as if sinking her in would draw him back out.
She was wrong. Some things would never leave him.
ii
“We don’t have time; they’re expecting us at dinner.”
“Don’t you get it? The war’s over. We have all the time in the world.”
Hawkeye threw BJ down onto a cot, peeled off his jacket and crawled right up, their noses touching. They hurriedly worked at each others buckles, kissing with all the life that peace brought them, kissing like they were in love.
“We’ll still see each other, we’ll still meet up,” BJ said, now peeling off Hawkeye’s shirt, paying no mind to what he was doing, trying not to stumble over his words. Hawkeye scoffed, roughly tugging BJ’s shirt off and carelessly throwing it away.
“Keep hiding, Beej, keep running from goodbye,” Hawkeye trailed hands through BJ’s hair, moved down to kiss at skin. He bit down hard, BJ crying out in shock, before Hawkeye silenced him with a kiss. He whispered, “Don’t worry. You’ll always take me with you.”
iii
BJ returned from an emergency call, bruised, beaten and caked in mud. He took the jug from by the still, didn’t bother with a glass, didn’t bother to apologise when Hawkeye came waltzing in.
”Well, well, well the prodigal doctor returns. And in such a state, too.”
BJ just leant back in his cot, closed his eyes, let some harmony soak through and settle inside. It was the worst kind, but it was the best he had. And he’d long learnt to accept it.
“Excuse me, kind sir, think you could spare a dash for your old chum?”
BJ took another mouthful and lifted it half heartedly for Hawkeye to take. He clomped over, sat on BJ’s cot, and BJ felt their fingers brush when he took it away. Hawkeye didn’t move.
“Pretty tough out there, huh?” Hawkeye had moved his voice back to serious, perhaps even concern, and BJ felt a hand curl around his thigh. BJ opened his eyes. He breathed deep.
“Pretty tough.” Hawkeye gave him back the jug, BJ drank again, one long gulp that hit the spot.
“You’re home. You’re safe. We’ve got you,” Hawkeye pat his leg, “I’ve got you.”
ii
Two hours and thirty two minutes after landing in Korea, BJ fell over his own two feet and bruised his left elbow. As he showered in the 4077th that night, scrubbing away blood that wasn’t his, dead skin he’d rather not be in, he traced it with a quivering finger, around the endless circle. Hawkeye Pierce paraded in, still buzzing on cheap booze, grabbed BJ’s arm and twisted it round to take a look.
“Oh, it’s just a baby,” he said affectionately, poking for effect, and BJ pulled away with a plastic grin.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” he agreed, still touching at it unconsciously, frozen until Hawkeye let him be. He cried silently in the shower: for his wife and his baby, for the dead boy and his family, for the bruise and how its presence taunted him.
He cried and each tear stained him, burned deep into his skin.
i
The air was thick with dread, humid, sticky and stinging at their necks. They danced around each other in silence; BJ readying his things and Peg clinging desperately to their baby. Vision skewed with unfallen tears, BJ slammed his fingers in the sock drawer, howling out in pain. Peg soon came running, Erin woken by the uproar, her screams cutting knives right through the tension.
“What! What … what is it?”
“Nothing, nothing.” He reassured her, showing her his finger, “Just … just a bruise.”
Peg tried desperately to cradle her baby as well as inspect her husband’s afflictions, ruffled and strung out, hair falling down on her face, “Oh. Ok. Are you, are you going to be ok?”
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
“Oh.” Peg didn’t say what she had hoped for. She didn’t say that she hoped it had been much worse.
-fin-