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Playing House
folder
M through R › M*A*S*H
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
6
Views:
2,973
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
M through R › M*A*S*H
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
6
Views:
2,973
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own M*A*S*H, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Looking
BJ/Hawkeye, a little BJ/Peg
Current Rating: maybe PG (and still rising)
Playing House
Chapter Two: Looking
“Peg?” he called as he shuffled the bags through the door, setting them down before turning to usher in Hawkeye and close the door behind him. “Peg?” he tried again.
“In here,” a voice answered from another room.
“Come on,” BJ instructed. He paused just long enough to take Hawkeye’s black bag, released a tad reluctantly, before leading the way into the kitchen.
Hawkeye recognized her instantly from the pictures, but Peg to him had always been connected with her handwriting, loose script swirling across sheet after sheet of thin paper that had been delivered to BJ on a weekly basis. Her blond hair was tied up in a colorful scarf that matched her powder blue dress, or at least what he could see of it. Mostly it was covered by a floral printed apron that was itself layered with wide swipes of flour. BJ went over to kiss her lightly on the cheek as Hawkeye watched awkwardly. A picture out of Good Housekeeping, he thought, except for the strange man in the stiff shirt watching from across the room.
He didn’t catch the tension in Peg’s back nor the way BJ pulled away quickly, actions born of two different causes, but not lost on each other. Both chalked it up to the presence of a guest.
“Peg, this is Hawkeye. Hawkeye, Peg.”
“Of course,” she smiled, bright and genuine. “I’d give you a hug, but I’m a bit dirty.”
Hawkeye repressed the instinct to make a comment about that, and BJ wasn’t sure if he was or wasn’t grateful that the man was editing himself for the family meeting.
“I’ll take you up on that later,” he smiled in return, shoving his hands in his pocket as they wouldn’t be needed for awkward handshake introductions.
“Why don’t you two go into the living room? I’ll come get you when dinner’s done.” She turned back to the stove, opening the oven a few inches to check the biscuits.
“Where’s Erin?” BJ questioned even as they started out of the room.
“Napping,” she said over her shoulder. Both men were a bit disappointed at that. BJ had hoped to immediately show off his daughter, and Hawkeye, slight anxiousness around small children aside, wanted to meet the little girl that so often lit BJ’s eyes which the war had tried to dull. She might also have offered a starting point for the almost awkward attempt at conducting conversation back in civilization.
Having exhausted shop talk in the car, they were left sitting in silence in the comfortable living room. BJ positioned himself on one end of the overstuffed gray sofa, discarding the throw pillow that got caught behind his back. Hawkeye took the other end, the middle-cushion distance between them more than had been measured between their two cots in the Swamp. Hawkeye closed his eyes momentarily, turning his head subtly away. He knew the distance had to be there; this was the Hunnicuts’ sitting room, with its clean, white walls, soft gray carpeting, and unlit fireplace. This was, he reminded himself for the hundredth time, not Korea.
“This shouldn’t be so hard,” he heard BJ say. He turned his attention back to the other man who was sitting with his right elbow propped on the couch arm, one leg crossed over the other so that Hawkeye could see the bottom of one of his brown shoes.
“What?”
“Making conversation. We used to talk all the time, non-stop, and mostly about nothing. I don’t understand why we don’t have anything to say,” he explained, looking directly at Hawkeye, being honest. “What’s changed?”
“Time and place.”
“And us.”
“Well, you might have, but don’t let the nice duds fool you, I’m still the same me.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Uncouth, uncivilized, and completely un-resistible,” he offered a cheeky grin that referenced a hundred other comments in BJ’s mind.
“Isn’t it irresistible?”
“Only if you’re a stickler for grammatical propriety.”
“I prefer impropriety.”
“Good, ’cause that’s all you’ll get from me. I‘m completely improper and im-predictable.”
They shared a laugh, and BJ was relieved that the real Hawkeye had chosen to make his appearance for the first time since his arrival. He reached one long arm across the sofa to give his companion a little shove on the arm.
“Drink?” he asked, getting up and going over to a small, marble-topped cabinet.
“Too often.”
“Scotch okay? I was going to get the stuff for martinis, but time got away from me.”
“Scotch is fine.”
They sat and talked and drank. Hawkeye, unusually, kept a close eye on how much he consumed. The last thing he wanted was to embarrass BJ by drinking himself into a loose-lipped stupor before dinner. It didn’t take the other long to notice that his friend was putting down the typical quantity of liquor.
“What’s up with you?”
“Hm?”
“You on the wagon or something?”
He chuckled, “Just trying to stay out from under it.”
“Permanently?”
“Nah. What would life be without a few tire tracks?”
Peg’s call to dinner took them into the dining room. They traded compliments and stories, centered mostly around BJ. Erin joined them halfway through, staring hard at Hawkeye as she ate with her diminutive plastic spoon. The meal dissipated, Peg cleared the dishes, and then she lifted Erin away to go giver her a bath, instructing BJ to show Hawkeye to his room and make sure he had everything he needed.
They climbed the carpeted stairs and entered the guest room with its two windows overlooking the back acre and full bed made up with a green duvet and, like the couch, accented by an small array of decorative pillows. BJ lifted one of these in his hands.
“Peg loves these things. We used to just have them on our bed, but they appeared all over the place while I was gone.” He shook his head at the seemingly useless bit of fluff and put it back down. “Anyway, guest room, fairly self-explanatory.”
“Yeah, I’ve operated one before.”
“Bathroom,” he pointed, “Towels are in the closet there, extra blankets too.”
“Sure, thanks.”
It was awkward again, stiff. Hawkeye was trying not to want what the world seemed to want to give them: a chance for a goodnight kiss. No, he told himself. That didn’t happen here; it wasn’t a part of here. But they were standing close, just a foot, foot and a half between them. He could feel his hands shaking. Suddenly he turned, he had to, stepping to the window and pressing his hands onto its sill to occupy them before they took hold of something that was not theirs anymore. He missed the way BJ swallowed hard, shoving his own hands into his pockets.
“We can go down town tomorrow. You can see the hospital.” He could make only simple sentences, and even these were suddenly a trial.
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
“Goodnight then.”
Hawkeye turned back from the window to watch him leave, “Night.”
He paused at the door, hand on the brass knob. “I’m glad you came.”
“Me too.”
The door closed softly behind him.
~tbc~
AN: I know, I know, I put them alone in a bedroom and then nothing happens…whoopsie! Just kidding. It’s coming, promise. I’m already at work on chapter three, and I have the plot fairly well laid out (but I‘m always willing to take suggestions!), so the progression should be quick.
Thanks for reading!
Current Rating: maybe PG (and still rising)
Playing House
Chapter Two: Looking
“Peg?” he called as he shuffled the bags through the door, setting them down before turning to usher in Hawkeye and close the door behind him. “Peg?” he tried again.
“In here,” a voice answered from another room.
“Come on,” BJ instructed. He paused just long enough to take Hawkeye’s black bag, released a tad reluctantly, before leading the way into the kitchen.
Hawkeye recognized her instantly from the pictures, but Peg to him had always been connected with her handwriting, loose script swirling across sheet after sheet of thin paper that had been delivered to BJ on a weekly basis. Her blond hair was tied up in a colorful scarf that matched her powder blue dress, or at least what he could see of it. Mostly it was covered by a floral printed apron that was itself layered with wide swipes of flour. BJ went over to kiss her lightly on the cheek as Hawkeye watched awkwardly. A picture out of Good Housekeeping, he thought, except for the strange man in the stiff shirt watching from across the room.
He didn’t catch the tension in Peg’s back nor the way BJ pulled away quickly, actions born of two different causes, but not lost on each other. Both chalked it up to the presence of a guest.
“Peg, this is Hawkeye. Hawkeye, Peg.”
“Of course,” she smiled, bright and genuine. “I’d give you a hug, but I’m a bit dirty.”
Hawkeye repressed the instinct to make a comment about that, and BJ wasn’t sure if he was or wasn’t grateful that the man was editing himself for the family meeting.
“I’ll take you up on that later,” he smiled in return, shoving his hands in his pocket as they wouldn’t be needed for awkward handshake introductions.
“Why don’t you two go into the living room? I’ll come get you when dinner’s done.” She turned back to the stove, opening the oven a few inches to check the biscuits.
“Where’s Erin?” BJ questioned even as they started out of the room.
“Napping,” she said over her shoulder. Both men were a bit disappointed at that. BJ had hoped to immediately show off his daughter, and Hawkeye, slight anxiousness around small children aside, wanted to meet the little girl that so often lit BJ’s eyes which the war had tried to dull. She might also have offered a starting point for the almost awkward attempt at conducting conversation back in civilization.
Having exhausted shop talk in the car, they were left sitting in silence in the comfortable living room. BJ positioned himself on one end of the overstuffed gray sofa, discarding the throw pillow that got caught behind his back. Hawkeye took the other end, the middle-cushion distance between them more than had been measured between their two cots in the Swamp. Hawkeye closed his eyes momentarily, turning his head subtly away. He knew the distance had to be there; this was the Hunnicuts’ sitting room, with its clean, white walls, soft gray carpeting, and unlit fireplace. This was, he reminded himself for the hundredth time, not Korea.
“This shouldn’t be so hard,” he heard BJ say. He turned his attention back to the other man who was sitting with his right elbow propped on the couch arm, one leg crossed over the other so that Hawkeye could see the bottom of one of his brown shoes.
“What?”
“Making conversation. We used to talk all the time, non-stop, and mostly about nothing. I don’t understand why we don’t have anything to say,” he explained, looking directly at Hawkeye, being honest. “What’s changed?”
“Time and place.”
“And us.”
“Well, you might have, but don’t let the nice duds fool you, I’m still the same me.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Uncouth, uncivilized, and completely un-resistible,” he offered a cheeky grin that referenced a hundred other comments in BJ’s mind.
“Isn’t it irresistible?”
“Only if you’re a stickler for grammatical propriety.”
“I prefer impropriety.”
“Good, ’cause that’s all you’ll get from me. I‘m completely improper and im-predictable.”
They shared a laugh, and BJ was relieved that the real Hawkeye had chosen to make his appearance for the first time since his arrival. He reached one long arm across the sofa to give his companion a little shove on the arm.
“Drink?” he asked, getting up and going over to a small, marble-topped cabinet.
“Too often.”
“Scotch okay? I was going to get the stuff for martinis, but time got away from me.”
“Scotch is fine.”
They sat and talked and drank. Hawkeye, unusually, kept a close eye on how much he consumed. The last thing he wanted was to embarrass BJ by drinking himself into a loose-lipped stupor before dinner. It didn’t take the other long to notice that his friend was putting down the typical quantity of liquor.
“What’s up with you?”
“Hm?”
“You on the wagon or something?”
He chuckled, “Just trying to stay out from under it.”
“Permanently?”
“Nah. What would life be without a few tire tracks?”
Peg’s call to dinner took them into the dining room. They traded compliments and stories, centered mostly around BJ. Erin joined them halfway through, staring hard at Hawkeye as she ate with her diminutive plastic spoon. The meal dissipated, Peg cleared the dishes, and then she lifted Erin away to go giver her a bath, instructing BJ to show Hawkeye to his room and make sure he had everything he needed.
They climbed the carpeted stairs and entered the guest room with its two windows overlooking the back acre and full bed made up with a green duvet and, like the couch, accented by an small array of decorative pillows. BJ lifted one of these in his hands.
“Peg loves these things. We used to just have them on our bed, but they appeared all over the place while I was gone.” He shook his head at the seemingly useless bit of fluff and put it back down. “Anyway, guest room, fairly self-explanatory.”
“Yeah, I’ve operated one before.”
“Bathroom,” he pointed, “Towels are in the closet there, extra blankets too.”
“Sure, thanks.”
It was awkward again, stiff. Hawkeye was trying not to want what the world seemed to want to give them: a chance for a goodnight kiss. No, he told himself. That didn’t happen here; it wasn’t a part of here. But they were standing close, just a foot, foot and a half between them. He could feel his hands shaking. Suddenly he turned, he had to, stepping to the window and pressing his hands onto its sill to occupy them before they took hold of something that was not theirs anymore. He missed the way BJ swallowed hard, shoving his own hands into his pockets.
“We can go down town tomorrow. You can see the hospital.” He could make only simple sentences, and even these were suddenly a trial.
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
“Goodnight then.”
Hawkeye turned back from the window to watch him leave, “Night.”
He paused at the door, hand on the brass knob. “I’m glad you came.”
“Me too.”
The door closed softly behind him.
~tbc~
AN: I know, I know, I put them alone in a bedroom and then nothing happens…whoopsie! Just kidding. It’s coming, promise. I’m already at work on chapter three, and I have the plot fairly well laid out (but I‘m always willing to take suggestions!), so the progression should be quick.
Thanks for reading!