#ask awi

“Are you hiding out in here?” BJ said. 

Hawkeye was sprawled, arms and legs out like a starfish, on their bed. He was wearing a pair of borrowed (stolen) running shorts, a sweaty t-shirt, and his tennis shoes, which were hanging off of the mattress. 

He poked his head up to look at BJ, standing in the doorway. 

“I don’t know where she gets all that energy from,” Hawkeye said: hushed, as if Erin could hear downstairs. 

She had the radio on, full blast, and just before BJ wandered off in search of Hawk, she’d been reorganizing the piles of toys she was keeping and the toys she was labeling with a rainbow assortment of price stickers, for the garage sale.

“She’s 13,” BJ said. 

“She accused me of being a hoarder,” Hawkeye said. 

“She’s going through a minimalist phase. It’ll pass,” BJ said.

Peg had enlisted Erin’s help in her spring cleaning endeavors, which had culminated in Erin’s first Mill Valley garage sale. Erin was always eager to assist, particularly with projects that allowed her to organize things or order people around. She liked taking money and making change. She liked selling fresh squeezed, super sour, best in town (her words) lemonade and making bargains and trades with her old baby dolls and jump ropes and clothes she’d outgrown. 

When they’d picked her up at the airport, for her summer visit, she’d recounted her escapades as a young entrepreneur and organizational savant with such animation, that BJ had agreed to let her host another sale at their house in Maine. He hadn’t thought about how much stuff they had and how many boxes and trash bags and superfluous pieces of furniture Erin would want to drag out onto the lawn and pepper with price tags.

Hawk wiggled to the right and patted the space beside him.

“You don’t think I’m a hoarder, do you?” Hawkeye said, as BJ stretched out beside him.

Hawkeye rolled on his side and pressed up against him, slinging one arm over BJ’s chest. He was warm, and still a little breathless. They fit together the way they always did: Hawkeye’s stomach flush with BJ’s ribs, his ankle hooked around BJ’s, his chin tucked over BJ’s shoulder, his eyes closed, and his nose pressed to the side of BJ’s neck. 

“I think you—have an exceptional eye for knick knacks,” BJ said.

“Useless knick knacks, that I hoard,” Hawkeye said.

“Don’t blame yourself. Knick knacks aren’t known for their utility,” BJ said.

Hawkeye laughed. This, too, was familiar: the buzzing, exultant, vibration of the sound. BJ laughed too, at his own joke. It was a chain reaction. It always was, when they were lying like this.

“Those salt and pepper shakers shaped like teddy bears are useful, and charming,” Hawkeye said.

They’d found them antiquing. Hawk said they reminded him of Radar. He’d carried them around the shop for half an hour, while they’d browsed. 

“Don’t tell me she wants to get rid of those,” BJ said.

Hawkeye pressed closer and kissed the underside of BJ’s jaw.

“She’s still working on the living room. I steered her away from the kitchen while you were going through all the crap in the garage,” he said.

“Oh, so the kitchen’s got all the treasures and the garage is full of my crap?” BJ said.

“Our crap,” Hawkeye said.

“Our crap,” BJ said, grinning. 

He could hear Erin downstairs, singing along to a Buddy Holly song at the top of her lungs. She’d wear herself out soon, he knew, and ask if they could go out for ice cream.

“I can talk to her, get her to tone it down a little. She gets very passionate about her projects,” BJ said.

“I love that about her. She gets that from you,” Hawkeye muttered: drowsy, muffled against BJ’s collarbone.

“I’m just saying you shouldn’t let her talk you into parting with things you don’t want to part with. She’s a reasonable kid,” BJ said.

A long pause. 

“Hawk? You awake?”

Hawkeye hummed. BJ looked down at the top of his head. He studied the sweat-damp tangle of his dark hair, streaked with silver. 

“A little decluttering is probably a good thing. I don’t have to hang onto everything for dear life anymore,” Hawkeye said. He relaxed his grip around BJ’s middle.

“That’s true. We’re sticking together, you and I. So’s our stuff,” BJ said.

“Our stuff,” Hawkeye said. He tipped his head back and looked up at BJ. “I like that it’s our stuff,” he said, voice soft.

There had been a time when there were very few objects by which BJ could remember Hawkeye. There had been a time when they were across the country from each other, and everything that belonged to the both of them, together, was stuffed in BJ’s old army trunk, under his bed, collecting dust. There had been a time when Hawk had very little of him: a shoebox full of letters, a couple fading photos, mismatched socks that had never been traded back. 

“So do I,” BJ said.

“Maybe we can introduce Erin to the joys of patronizing other people’s garage sales,” Hawkeye said.

“Peg will have my head if we send her home with an extra bag of nonsense,” BJ said.

“She can keep it here,” Hawkeye said.

“What about decluttering?” BJ said.

Hawkeye exhaled, with extra drama. “Everyone’s a critic,” he said.

“We should get up. We’ve got things to do,” BJ said.

Hawkeye kissed him, long and lazy.

“I’m plenty busy,” he said.

The volume of the music downstairs lowered, fractionally.

“Dad?” Erin called.

“Yeah, bug?” BJ said.

“I’m out of orange stickers,” she said.

“She’s out of orange stickers, Beej,” Hawkeye repeated, gravely.

“Maybe it’s time for an ice cream break,” BJ said.

Hawkeye sat up. His hair was mussed and his face was pink. He stretched, languidly, and yawned. BJ missed the sensation of Hawk’s skin against his.

He pressed his palm to BJ’s knee and squeezed. Sometimes BJ thought Hawk could read his mind. Maybe the feeling went both ways.

BJ sighed, exaggeratedly, from the bedroom, just as Hawkeye was stepping out of the shower. 

“You’re back,” Hawkeye said, poking his head out. 

“I’m back,” BJ said.

He was pretzeled up in their easy chair: legs thrown over one of its arms, tie loose, face in his hands. 

“How was surgery?” Hawkeye said. He scrubbed his hair with a towel. 

“It went well. Perfect, really. Thank you for talking me through that last bit,” BJ said.

Hawkeye had been glad to help. It had been a stressful week for the both of them: complicated surgeries, long hours, hardly any time to themselves. They were coming out of it now, though. It was nearly the weekend. 

“Then what are you all doom and gloom for?” Hawkeye said. 

“Traffic, headache, haven’t seen you all day,” BJ said.

He looked up at him, then, head tilting to one side. His expression was weary. He looked like he was in need of some cheering. If Hawkeye was honest with himself, the sight of Beej in their room, in their chair, home, and safe after a long day was instantly cheering. It was hard to believe, sometimes, that this was his life. It was hard to believe that when BJ came home he was coming home to him. 

BJ groaned. 

“And I’ve got that dentist appointment in the morning,” he said. 

Hawkeye laughed. “It’s just a cleaning. You’ll be alright. Do you want me to tag along and hold your hand?” he said. 

“I don’t like that dentist,” BJ said. 

“What dentist? Our dentist? What’s wrong with our dentist?” 

“He’s always asking me questions when he’s got his hands in my mouth. I can’t talk with hands in my mouth,” BJ said. 

He tipped his head back and rubbed his eyes some more. Hawkeye watched him: the jutting of his chin, the gentle bobbing of his Adam’s apple, the hair on his arms, staticky, standing on end. He’d taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, but he was still far too clothed for the evening, in Hawk’s opinion. 

“Do you want to go to bed?” Hawkeye said. He crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder on the doorframe. 

“No,” BJ said, half a whine. “I just want to pause time for a little while.”

Paused time. Their world had been paused when they met. They’d been far away from their real lives and plans and responsibilities. Surgeries had been faster and time had been slower. They’d found each other in that pause. They’d found each other in the shaky inhalation that preceded a sob. They’d found each other in clasped hands and brushing dirt and blood off of olive green pants. They’d found each other in the moment before everything started up again, which was, of course, the wrong place to find someone you loved. There wasn’t supposed to be anything important in a pause.

And yet, here they were, still together in the moment after.

“I can help with that,” Hawkeye said. “Let me get dressed.”

“Do you have to?” 

“Help or get dressed?”

BJ’s chin tipped forward. He looked at Hawk with hungry eyes. 

“Get dressed,” he said. 

“So demanding,” Hawkeye said, teasing. 

He watched BJ watch him. He watched the way BJ’s gaze slid from Hawk’s face to the bare patch of chest that wasn’t covered by Hawk’s robe, and then lower. Hawkeye posed, grinning goofily, and perhaps ruining the effect.

BJ’s expression lifted, fractionally. He huffed out a laugh: amused, but still dedicated to his moping.

“C’mere,” BJ said. He slipped his legs off the chair’s arm, spread his knees wide, and opened his arms.

They’d tried several times to fit in this chair together, comfortably. Each time they’d failed. BJ’s legs fell asleep or Hawk managed to elbow him in the nose or they misjudged the chair’s stability and tipped it over. 

“I don’t know why you insist on making this work,” Hawkeye said, gesturing to the chair. “You’re a man of science. You know that physics isn't on our side here.”

“I want to kiss you on all the furniture we own. You can’t blame me for that,” BJ said.

Hawkeye tucked himself into Beej’s lap. He leaned back against him and kissed the side of his face. BJ wrapped his arms around Hawkeye’s middle, burying his palms in the fabric of his robe and pressing his face into Hawk’s wet hair.

BJ exhaled, deeply. Hawkeye could feel the expansion and contraction of his lungs. He could feel Beej’s collar bones pressed against his shoulder blades. He squeezed him and Hawkeye squeaked. 

BJ laughed. It was a low sound that buzzed through his chest. Hawkeye shivered. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure who was doing the cheering.

“What was that?” BJ said, curling in closer, against him. 

“Waggle never had any squeaky toys?” Hawkeye said. 

BJ squeezed him again and Hawk made a slightly different squeak (higher pitched, with character, evocative of a dog toy, he hoped).

BJ laughed again. Hawkeye turned to look at him, to confirm the bit was working. He was always doing that, during the war. He was always meeting Beej’s eyes and raising his eyebrows and coaxing him forward. There was something thrilling in their joking, back then. They were always straddling the line between innocent ribbing and outright flirtation. 

BJ leaned in and kissed him.

Hawkeye thought he’d had enough pauses. There were new things to look forward to, like Beej’s fingers against his jaw and tongue in his mouth. There were pieces of furniture they hadn’t yet kissed on. And Hawk could always buy more furniture (a new loveseat, a chaise lounge, folding chairs for the porch, when it got sunny, a particularly long and sturdy shoe rack or coffee table, though that might be pushing it).

BJ pulled away. 

“Are you ready for bed?” he said. 

“Are you?” Hawkeye said.

BJ sighed again, smiling this time, and rolling his eyes to the ceiling. He wrapped his arms tighter around Hawk and squeezed once more. He muffled Hawk’s squeak with another kiss.

“I’ll set an alarm. We can have breakfast together, before the dentist,” Hawkeye said. 

They could brush their teeth side by side, like the old days, elbow to elbow in the bathroom, looking at each other’s reflections in the narrow mirror. Sometimes Beej got toothpaste in his mustache. He’d pretend not to notice until Hawk pointed it out. It was another game they played: after coffee and toast, before pulling on shoes and buttoning coats. 

Mornings were full of pauses.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a sensational dancer?” Hawkeye said. 

Peg was leaning on him a little, the side of her face pressed just below the collar of his crew neck. She was already dressed for going out, apart from her feet, which were without their customary heels. He’d adjusted his posture to account for the height disparity: shoulders hunched, knees slightly bent, palms at her shoulder and waist. 

Dancing with Beej required different adjustments. Hawk had to be more cautious with his feet. BJ was prone to getting distracted and treading on them. It was easier to maintain eye contact, though, since they were nearly the same height. And when Beej was feeling confident, sometimes he led. 

“I think you told me, the other day. Though maybe you said terrific, not sensational,” Peg said.

He’d begged her for a dance. Peg and Beej were going to one of the hospital’s frequent fundraising galas. It was an excuse to dress up, get a little tipsy, and talk to people—all things Hawkeye enjoyed, when he was in the right mood. 

Unfortunately he’d just gotten off a double shift, after an extraordinarily hectic week, and was more or less dead on his feet. He was exhausted in that slap happy, clingy, sore to be missing out way. Peg took pity on him.

Hawkeye could smell her perfume: light, floral, her special occasion scent, in the little blue bottle on her dresser. He and Beej had picked it out together. 

Visits to the perfume counter always gave Beej headaches. He’d persevere—eyes closed, bridge of his nose pinched, hint of a smile on his lips—while Hawk held up testers. 

“You know, we’re all going to smell like this,” Hawkeye had said, fingers grazing the inside of BJ’s wrist. 

Their shoulders brushed. It was raining outside. Inside, it smelled like damp hair, like Peg’s lavender shampoo, in the big bottle, to share. 

BJ opened his eyes. “Then we ought to pick something that complements your aftershave,” he said.

“You move like a dream,” Hawkeye said, shifting his weight, leaning into her as much as she was leaning into him.

Peg was stronger than she looked. She’d held him upright a time or two. 

She laughed. Hawkeye loved her laugh. When she really got going, she got the hiccups. The first time it had happened, Hawk had been bowled over with affection. They’d been out, all three of them, finishing their drinks outside a café. He and Beej had a spectacular comedy routine going. He couldn’t remember the jokes now. He’d been a little drunk, maybe, and in good company, which made everything funny.

When she laughed, some of her white wine came out her nose. Hawk passed her his handkerchief. Beej rubbed her back, at the space between her shoulder blades. He met Hawkeye’s eyes, across the cluttered table. He leaned back in his seat and crossed his long legs. 

“Don’t get big heads,” Peg said, after drinking deeply from her water glass, and then Hawk’s (leaving lipstick on the rim). 

The record they had on lapsed into staticky silence and Peg drew back.

“A good dream, I hope,” she said, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress.

BJ came into the room, holding up two ties. “I can’t decide,” he said. He frowned at Hawk. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“The purple one,” Hawkeye said, as Peg ushered him toward the mattress. 

“Erin’s sleeping over at Angie’s. I gave her the number at the club just in case, so no need to listen for the phone. Just get some sleep,” Peg said.

She pulled back the covers and kissed his forehead. 

“Don’t step on her feet, Beej,” Hawkeye said.

BJ was flipping up his collar and tying his purple tie. He looked nice in his well tailored suit, with the cufflinks Hawk had bought him for his birthday. 

He raised his eyebrows. “I’ll try my absolute hardest,” he said. 

Peg brushed some lint off his lapel.

“I know you will. We should call the cab. I hate showing up late to these things,” she said.

Hawkeye watched the two of them, lingering by the door. They’d wanted to skip the gala and stay in, with him, but he’d talked them into going. It seemed an awful shame to keep the Hunnicutts from a party.

“We’ll duck out early, Hawk,” BJ said.

Hawkeye opened his arms wide. 

“Kiss me goodbye, at least,” he said.

They didn’t need to be asked twice. They lay down on either side of him and Hawk was briefly distracted by the mingling of their warmth and scents and limbs. BJ kissed him and then Peg kissed him (gentler, to avoid smudging her lipstick).

“On second thought, I can get dressed and come with you,” Hawkeye said, eyes half-lidded. “I’m not as tired as I seem. I promise.”

BJ pressed a kiss to his hair. “Nice try,” he said.

Hawkeye rolled onto his side and tucked his face to Beej’s chest, breathing deeply. He was right. Beej smelled like Peg’s perfume.

 Her hands were at Hawk’s waist. She tucked her chin over his shoulder. 

“Well, I’ve trapped you here now,” Hawkeye said.

“Or we’ve trapped you, darling,” Peg said, in that dreamy, soothing tone she used when she read Erin bedtime stories. 

Things in sons and bowlers that make me crazy (in no particular order)

1)The idea that daniel pierce shields hawkeye from things that he thinks will hurt him psychologically and actively tries to distract him with kindness/good things i.e. making him elaborate breakfasts while his mom was dying in the hospital and downplaying the extent of her illness. I think this is so interesting bc we’ve often seen hawkeye deflect with jokes/go out of his way to help people inside and outside of OR and make sacrifices to do so/ downplay the extent of his own pain/trauma in order to avoid inconveniencing people and the idea that this is a behavior he learned as a child, way before the war is a major clue to the events in GFA

He doesn’t deal with his trauma, he minimizes it to the point of repression and convinces himself things are alright! He’s become his father! That blows my mind idk

2) hawkeye just has his dad and his dad just has him! We saw in where there’s a will that he leaves everything to his father but this really drives home how much hawkeye loves his dad. Like i think part of why this makes me crazy is that i have daddy/mommy issues but i feel like for hawkeye this is a big character beat that people overlook. He’s not like the others at the unit in that they all have families/career aspirations/grounded support systems to return to and for hawkeye all he’s got is his dad and he really finds his support system in the MASH…and yeah he’s a workaholic and a brilliant surgeon but he’s also the kind of person who thrives on human connection and cannot live without his connections to those around him. Like hawkeye is all heart AGH what happens when someone like that is removed from a place where they formed deep connections?

Also the fact that he’s like iv’e said ily but what if he doesnt know i mean it like man u really don’t expect people to listen to what u say

3) back on daniel, sorry but i love food/mealtime/cooking themes with hawkeye too and the fact that shared, homemade breakfasts were his father’s symbol of love and protection just makes the absence of good food at the MASH even more devastating. I also see hawkeye as someone who can disassociate from his body easily (the drinking, the sleeping around, the constant sniffing of food/not eating if it isn’t appetizing/ going long periods without sleep and insomnia, the manic episodes/psych problems) so the reconnection of family to food is important here too! Like i’m going to get to charles but the fact that he tells the story about feeling tested at dinner and his related food associations, i think it’s really telling that in contrast we get hawkeye and daniel talking about the good times they had eating dinner together

4) brief margaret tangent i like that this is a reversal of the early seasons trope of her sleeping with someone for some plot/ulterior motive and now when potter asks her if she’ll do that she’s like fuck off and then uses the guy for bowling tips and not sex lol i just think it’s a succient way to show her development over time and i also love when she gets to do sporty/more traditionally masculine things and not be dunked on for it

5) bj and charles scheming idk i love this in any episode i like that they bring out the evil asshole in each other i find it funny and charming they’re my faves for a reason i think dos and mike are both soooo talented

6) the contrast between charles’ home life and hawkeye’s and how thats shaped them. i ‘m really interested in the similarities between charles and hawk i think they have similar backgrounds and similar drive/talent/pressure to be surgeons and be the best at what they do/similarly desperate desire for connection with people/to art and music and theater etc. and they can be similarly overconfident/stubborn it just manifests so differently in their behaviors. I feel like this is one of the few times we see them acknowledge each other as people and put aside their differences in order to support each other idk u know i love a charles plotline im human

7) speaking of supporting people! Also crazy about bj’s progressive loss of the ability to provide hawkeye with emotional support and here he doesn’t even know hawkeye was struggling bc hawkeye’s like don’t tell anyone ! he doesn’t want to tell his best friend his problems bc bj doesn’t help him with things like that. And in fact telling bj might be something that sets bj off further like every day this man’s mental health is crumbling he’s hanging on by a thread and hawkeye knows this, more finale set up that’s so subtly done i love it

7.5) also the fact that if daniel’s surgery had gone badly this would be another hawkeye doesn’t get a real goodbye situation (.i.e his mom, trapper, henry, carlye, tommy, kyung hee, bj etc.) whyyyy do they do this

I think BJ as The Knight works in a lot of ways for his thoughts/feelings/position throughout baby it's you. In flashbacks, I see him presenting this very protective/loyal/rigid/chivalrous persona to mask his insecurities/discomfort he feels trying to fit himself into straight manhood (and fatherhood & marriage). For example, with Peg (in chapter 4):

Alone together. The phrase rattled around in his head. He’d been alone so long that he didn’t know how else to be. Every time he reached for her he felt selfish. He felt like he’d grafted himself to her, or that they were passing through each other. He felt like he wasn’t supposed to feel so intensely. He felt like the words husband and wife should come more easily. He felt like he could sit there on the church steps for hours, rubbing her feet. “Should I carry your shoes? Or are you going to put them back on?” he said. She laughed, chin dipping. “Carry them. Just don’t step on my toes,” she said.

The attachment/devotion/service & the intensity of his feelings despite his lack of attraction to her...carrying her shoes, idk. BJ's internal conflicts, for me, always come back to the tension between who he is, who he feels he should be, and how he can reconcile & articulate his identity after repressing everything for so long. He's always coming back to these questions of duty & the roles he plays in other peoples' lives.

And, where you point it out in chapter 12:

“Do you let anything get under there?” Hawkeye muttered. “Under my armor?” BJ said, eyebrows raising. He could play along. He was good at it. He was better at it with Hawkeye than with anyone.  “I wouldn’t be much of a knight if I did, would I?” BJ said. “You’re no knight,” Hawkeye said, yawning. “You wound me,” BJ said, letting the smile win over his face.  “See, if you were a knight, it would take more to wound you. They’re stoic,” Hawkeye said. “I’m stoic. People tell me I’m very stoic,” BJ said, though his tone contradicted his point. “Hmm,” Hawkeye said.

I think it's significant that Hawkeye immediately sees through BJ as The Knight, and more so that he's interested in what's under the armor/persona. For Hawk, it's not about what BJ does for him...he loves BJ for who he is. (He's warm, under all the armor!! He's easily wounded!!)

BJ in 1970 is certainly in a less precarious position than he is in the 40s/50s, but I think he still plays The Knight. Particularly in the scenes in Le Cafe, he's always got an eye on Hawk (protecting him from his own actions? protecting him from Trapper? serving him by fulfilling all his wishes wrt the wedding??) Like Hawk describes in this bit in chapter 10:

Hawkeye thought about what Beej said at the bar. He thought about his hand on his waist, steadying him, holding him too tight. He thought about the space he’d given. He thought about BJ hanging in the margins: on the couch in the living room with a magazine, pretending not to eavesdrop, watching Hawk’s face in the bar, keeping track of Trapper’s comments at dinner, pacing, hiding his hands, talking a minute to cool off, managing his temper like he managed difficult surgical cases. It was like there was an invisible boundary between him and Beej. BJ always knew where the lines were, and had been trying, ardently, not to cross them.

I wanted it to take a while for Hawk to notice the way BJ positions himself the whole Vegas trip (and how hard it's been for him). BJ The Knight is always on the outside. He's got a job to do. He can't get too close. He can't get inside. He's got to be stoic.

AND, I wanted to use Knighthood to connect BJ & Erin. They really don't get much time together at all in baby it's you, but I wanted there to still be clear similarities in their thought patterns. She takes after him in good ways and in bad ways. They're both very hard on themselves. They both wrestle with these questions of belonging & duty & bravery & purpose. In chapter 11:

Erin had never gotten so much sun in her life. The summer’s activities had bleached her hair and tanned her arms. She’d be unrecognizable at Berkeley, come fall, she realized. It was a thought that made her insides squirm. It was like she’d been picking at a scab all summer, to get to the fresh, new, pink skin underneath. She was about to cast off this wild, reckless, ragtag version of herself. They couldn’t stay kids forever. “Why are you so afraid of what Fern thinks?” Benny said. “Don’t say it like that. It’s not as if I…well, it isn’t like I’m afraid,” Erin said. “It sounds like you are,” Benny said. “Well, I’m not,” Erin said, sharply. 

I like this idea of the dual purpose of armor for Erin & BJ: protecting/serving/being brave for others while simultaneously shielding/masking/hiding themselves from the judgement of others. Erin's picking at the mask/armor like a scab...she's got to cast it off in order to be herself, but letting other people under the armor comes at a price.

And, like Hawk, Benny sees through the persona (while at the same time understanding its function for Erin). In chapter 12:

“I’ve been acting like it’s us against the world. I never stopped to think about how that weighs on you,” Benny said. Erin sat up.  “You were right, though. I want to be the kind of person that you think I am,” Erin said. “You are,” Benny said. He shook his head vigorously. “There’s no doubt in my mind that you are.”

Benny believes Erin is as brave as she pretends to be. He still knows she's pretending.