I'll Tell You In The Morning, Hawkeye

Summary: It is the mid 1980s, and Hawkeye tries to justify some of her father's actions in a brutally frank letter toto Erin Hunnicut. This is a BJ/Hawkeye centric fic, with some mentions of BJ/Trapper.

Rating: prologue PG-13, subsequent chapters may range as high as R but no higher. Some may also be milder.

Disclaimer: No profit is being made, and no rights are being claimed. Except for the right to remain silent.


From the records of Dr S. Freedman, dated September 7th 1960, 3.45 p.m.

As told by Dr B.F. Pierce

'It shouldn't have happened like that. That wasn't how it was supposed to go. I'd put so much thought into it, and I knew how it ended. How it was supposed to end. How I'd visualised it, time and time again.

I know it was wrong, but people are made of different layers. Like those things you get … what are they called? Russian dolls. On the outside, that's what people see. What do you shrinks call it? The ego. The mediation between the other bits. The super-ego and the … whatever. Id. Thank you. Those are two of the dolls, the little ones inside the big one, and they all mesh together to make who you are. Well one of my inner dolls wanted to go to Missouri and get the whole thing over with. Of course I missed the guy, and of course I was upset. As upset as any of you. But deep within me was that other little doll that wanted BJ so badly I could think of little else but him the entire time. You must know how it feels. You try so hard not to think of something that you end up thinking about it more and more and you can't break the cycle by just not thinking because the thoughts are subtle, insidious, and get in whether you try not thinking about them, or you just try not thinking, or even if you stand there and hit your head against the wall for a straight hour …

I thought about him through the entire service. I mean, of course I tried to think of Sherman, but … I'm not one of the good guys, Sidney. I'm not. I'm selfish, I'm jealous, and I'm so damned arrogant I actually though the whole thing would go my way, exactly as I planned it, as if they were both just pawns for me to move around as I pleased.

I don't think I want to talk about the funeral. You were there. You saw it. It was like every other funeral I've ever been to, because they all have one thing in common; the priest never knew the deceased. Some Methodist guy with a voice like gravel … a million middle-aged women sobbing. Of course I felt sorry for them, but I'm a surgeon. The amount of death I've seen … they couldn't comprehend. At first, the ones you know are different. And then … they just aren't. They're just more corpses, more failed attempts at resuscitation … more memories …

It was weird. If he'd died in Korea, we'd have wept for weeks. We loved him out there. But none of us had seen him for ten years. It was like an old uncle we never really knew had died, and we – me and you, BJ and Trapper – were the only ones who couldn't force the tears.

I invited Trapper, so I suppose it's my fault. But when I got that letter from Mildred, there was nothing else I could do. 'Bring all his old army friends you can find', she wrote, but the only person I was still in regular contact with was BJ. We tracked down Klinger, but there was no way he could make it. Margaret has made herself scarce, I dunno. Changed her name or something. Probably married, moved away. Maybe she's gone back to the army again. I could never tell what she'd do next.

Radar … Poor guy. Must be nearly thirty by now, but he cried on the phone. Couldn't make it, though. Not enough hands to tend the farm. He's married, did I tell you? Deserves every ounce of happiness. Ah … I only wish I had happier news to deliver to him.

Charles was tied up, no surprise there. Frank … Well I made the effort and found him, but he hung up as soon as he realised who he was talking to. Thought it was some kind of prank. Maybe it was. And that only left Mulcahy and yourself. Couldn't turn up with three people and say 'sorry, lady, these are all his pals'. So I hunted down Trapper, and he came along. For me, he said. 'For you, Hawk, anything'. I explained how much he would have liked Potter, and I told him all about BJ. Great, he said. I'll play like I knew the guy. I'll meet this BJ.


Ah, BJ. Would that you had known. But he did, didn't he? He always did. He knew exactly what I felt for him in Korea, because it was what he felt for Peg. He read it in my face every day. I remember when we had that chat, the first time, and I told you about the male nurse in med school, and it took you hours but finally you got me to say it out loud. I loved BJ. I did. I guess I still do, in a way, but he betrayed me like he betrayed Peg.

People … change. It's an obvious thing to say, but when you see it first hand, in people you thought you knew … It frightens me. BJ would never betray his wife. Not the BJ I knew. But when I think about it, it's obvious. He hadn't been married long, they had a baby, and he had been torn violently away from them. Marriages fall apart. More so now than ever. Even those that seem the most stable, the most loving …

It was one of the first things he told me, and I hated myself for it but it gave me hope. I remember it clearly. On the train between a place I can't remember and a place that doesn't matter, he told me all about his 'experience'. That's what he called it. He slept with some guy and it changed him, and he left Peg and moved away for a while before going back and trying to make it work with Erin. The whole thing seemed to make him proud, like I should have applauded him for doing something unexpected. Bastard.

I laid it on with a trowel. There's no way he could have missed it. I touched him at every given opportunity, flirted outrageously, and finally, in some shitty subway near the hotel, he kissed me. Not many people know what it's like to get the thing you want after a decade of wanting it, but I did right then. I knew. And it was fantastic.

But then we had to go and meet Trapper. You know the arrangements. We'd booked three rooms. BJ and I arrived a day earlier, then we met Trapper, then we had a clear day to prepare for the service. BJ and I spent the best part of twenty hours alone. I should have fucked him right there in that subway.

But Trapper was waiting. Good old Trapper, with his muscles and his curly hair and his cheeky grin. I don't know why it never occurred to me to love Trapper, but it didn't. I was waiting for BJ the whole time.

I don't know what else you want me to say, Sidney. I'm … furious. Jealous. Ha! Passionately jealous. I'm so green I sometimes wonder if the army doesn't still own me. I hate Trapper for it, even though it wasn't his fault. And I still love BJ, even though it was his. I'd take him now, if he walked in and offered. I … guess I'm addicted to him. You're married. Imagine walking in on your wife with another man. That was how I felt. Livid.

So yeah. That's why I went a bit nuts the other day. That's why they've got every head doctor in America peering at me over the tops of their spectacles, but I'm not going to tell them any of this, and neither will you. The anger and the grief and the lust got the better of me. That's all there is to it. I'm not ill, I don't need help. I need BJ. I need him to tell me Trapper means nothing to him. I need Trapper to stop ringing me and apologising.

I suppose you're right. I do need some sleep. A lot of sleep. I could sleep for America in the Olympic games. Maybe I'll volunteer …

Hey, Sidney? Are you recording this? That's a bad habit you've got there … let me see that thing. How'd you stop it? Okay –'

Interview ends, 4.01 p.m.