#BJ Chapter: Broken into Little Pieces

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Sand and Stars - Chapter Seven

Series Summary: After the water pump being blown up, the insurgents in Baqubah are taking a hold of the food supply to the village. Camp Warhorse is in dire need of reinforcements. It has been eight months of submitting countless requests when the High Command commissions Sergeant Olivia Ross to take her group of men and women and help Captain Syverson and his team to restore a semblance of normalcy. But with the war raging, does it get two hearts closer too?

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC x OMC

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: 18+, character death, angst, blood, gore, mentions of war, military technicalities (thread with caution)

A/N: This chapter was very difficult to write as I hadn’t written about losing a loved one before. But the entire experience of delving into the psyche of someone who is troubled by such loss was heart-breaking. I also took some inspiration from the song Hold On by Chord Overstreet. Also, I know I include army warfare a little bit, the references is only limited to what I know from media, I’m sorry for any inaccuracies. 

As always, @thelastsock​ was the helpful beta with her wonderful ideas. I love you for being with me while I write this series.

*gif credit to owner

<Chapter Six

Title: Chapter Seven

Darkness. Pain. Screaming. Olivia groaned as she tried to move. Her head throbbed along her temple, the helmet feeling like it weighed a hundred pounds. She opened her eyes, wincing at the light and heat that assaulted her. The shrill ringing in her ears making it difficult to concentrate on the next step. Wet sand and soil caking her skin as she tried to rub her face into some semblance of painless clarity. Her leg. The pain getting more intense as her leg swam into focus. No obvious injuries, maybe a fracture.

She blinked her eyes slowly, taking in her surroundings and finally registering what had happened. A straining wail sounded from the wreckage of their chopper. Gary. She pushed herself on her hands wincing as pain shot up her shoulder. She glanced at her arm; a piece of metal was sticking out from it. With a trembling hand, she took a deep breath and pulled the metal shard out, tears brimming in her eyes as blood oozed out from the gash running in rivulets and soaking her sleeve. She applied pressure on her wound, pressing her eyes shut as she tried to breathe through her pain.

Another painful wail sounded from the side of wreckage, making her grab onto the broken blades of the chopper sticking out from the sand to steady herself. She dragged her feet on the soil, stumbling to reach where her Sergeant was.

When she rounded the body of the Little Bird, she wasn't quite sure what she was seeing. Odd angles and red. So much red. Schmidt pinned under the tail. Blood spurting out his mouth with every breath. His leg was being crushed by the metal wreck and his arm was twisted in an inhuman angle with crimson liquid matting his entire body. Olivia fell to her knees next to her friend, sobs leaving her lips and tears streaming down her soiled cheeks. 

“Gary, hey, hold on.” She unclasped the belt of his helmet, pulling it off and throwing it away. 

Schmidt took a shuddering breath when Olivia took his hands in his. “I-I don’t…”

“You won’t,” She interjected, understanding exactly what he wanted to say. She lied. She knew he was going to bleed out and she wouldn’t be able to help. She blinked away the welling tears and looked around trying to spot anyone in their vicinity. The faint sound of gunshots came from a distance. “Someone will come looking for us.” She tried to speak with confidence, but her voice was faltering as Schmidt’s grip loosened in her hand.

“My wife…my kids…” He stuttered, blood beginning to flow out of his nostrils. “Tell them…I will always…love them.”

“You tell them that yourself, Gary. You hear me?” She grabbed at his fatigues, fisting them in her blood covered hand. “You are not dying.” She could hear his breath coming out short as he gasped for air. 

Gary elicited a mixture of laugh and a cry, tears streaming down the side of his face, making a trail on his dusty skin. “C’mon Red…we know…I’m short of time.”

Liv held onto his hand again desperately trying to will him away from the clutches of death. She watched with hazy eyes as her friend held onto the last thread of life, gasping in air and spitting out blood. Her mind pictured the time she had met his wife and his children; how his life partner had made Olivia promise she’d keep her husband safe. Her heart ached as she watched her best friend, her family, slipping from her hands.

The unmistakable rumble of a Humvee’s engine soared Olivia’s hope to save her friend. Over a rocky sand dune, the beige metal vehicle rode up and made its way towards them. She laughed at the realization that they were her men, coming to save them. 

“Gary…” She began, only to look down and be met with the vacant eyes of her Sergeant staring blankly up into the sky. There were no more shaky breaths leaving from his unmoving lips, his body laid limply, and his hand slipped from hers. “No, no, no.” She stuttered her words, trying to shake him awake.

“Sergeant!” Her men's voices mixed into one another as they called out. She offered no resistance as they hauled her up by her shoulders and hustled her into the back of the Humvee. 

Everything was a clouded haze after that. She had watched as Gary’s lifeless body was slid in the tight space between them. Sloan called out to her from beside her, but Liv’s voice seemed to have gotten trapped in her throat. Someone had closed Gary’s eyes for which Olivia was thankful. At least now she didn’t have to look into his eyes and be met with the disappointment in failing to save his life.

***

Sy paced in front of the gate, glancing at his watch and back to the road. He had been informed at the camp about the situation. His heart was racing, he hated not knowing. He expected the worst, always, but not knowing who was coming back in a body bag had him on edge.

As the whirring blades of the Medevac came into view, so did the vehicles making their way towards the gate. He stepped to the side as the metal barriers were opened, letting the cars enter the compound. Everyone rushed to the injured team; bruised and battered soldiers climbed out of the cars. Sy spotted Sierra who was clutching her bleeding shoulder, two other men drenched in blood being helped to the helicopter. When he saw Olivia stumble out of the back of the Humvee, his heart dropped.

Liv looked like she was walking in a daze. Her arm was covered in blood, soil and sand matted on her face and she limped when she walked. Sy gently placed a hand on her shoulder, drawing her attention to him.

“Liv,” He said cautiously. When her eyes met his they looked lost, distant and far away. 

“I’m okay.” Her brittle voice cut through Sy’s heart. She nudged his hand away from her shoulder and limped her way towards the building where the infirmary was housed, not even glancing behind as the Medevac team lifted off from the ground.

It took Sy hours before he could visit Liv alone. He couldn’t have abandoned his duties as a Captain while people under his wing had been injured and killed. But he kept a tab on her by asking Sloan about her whereabouts. Liv had gotten herself bandaged and had chosen to retire to their quarters. It was late in the evening when he was finally done with calls with his superiors and with briefing the team. 

Sy stood outside the door to the ladies quarter unsure of what lay ahead. He knocked sharply on the wooden door. When he got no response he pushed the door open, hinges protesting the movement as he peered inside the dark room. He glanced at the two empty beds on the opposite side which possibly belonged to Sloan and Sierra. BJ had asked permission to let Sloan stay with him tonight and Sierra was at the base in Baghdad which left Liv alone in the room. He stepped inside tentatively and spotted her on the bed shoved right at the corner of the room.

Liv was hunched over with her wet hair falling over her shoulder, shielding her face from Sy. The sleeve of her t-shirt was rolled up with a white bandage covering her arm, a crimson patch in the middle of it. He closed the door behind him and slowly walked towards her. Droplets of water fell from the ends of her red locks, pooling on the floor next to her feet. 

Sy debated whether he should sit next to her. He understood very well everything she was going through. He had lost buddies in combat; the first time was always the hardest. He wanted to comfort her and make her understand that this is the life they chose for themselves.

“It should have been me.” Her voice was barely audible, little over a whisper. Her hands covered her face with her elbows resting on her knees. “It should have been me, Sy.”

“Hey, don’t say that.” He brought his hand to place on her shoulder, but she flinched away. Sy felt dejected but he withdrew his hand away. “We all signed up for this. We know what there is to lose.”

“I should have been careful. I should have done something to save him.” Her voice trembled as she spoke. 

“Liv,” he started, braving to put his hand on her shoulder yet again only for Olivia to abruptly stand up. Her eyes blazed red, puffy with the tears. Her lips quivered as she stared at him, clutching her arm as the bandage was painted with more blood seeping from the wound.

“Just say it, Sy, say it was my fault.” 

Sy stood up as his hands balled into fists. He wanted to be Liv’s confidant, but she was pushing him away. “It wasn’t.” He replied sternly, his lips pressed into a thin line. “You stop berating yourself. You are a soldier, Liv.” He blamed it on tiredness for he did not mean to sound condescending. He quickly understood his mistake, his face softening as Olivia took a step away from him. “Liv,” he pleaded, extending his hand towards her.

“It should have been me! Gary’s death is on me!” She screamed with fresh tears running down her cheeks. “He has a family. He has…people waiting for him. And I…I-” her shoulder shook as ripples of sobs gripped her. She covered her face with her hands again, shielding herself away from Sy’s eyes.  

This time Sy pulled her against his chest without hesitation. Liv tried prying herself away from him, but he held her strongly against his body. She gave in soon, burying her face in his chest and soaking his shirt with her tears. He ran his hand through her hair soothing her and shushing her.

“There’s no one waiting for me back home. No one to cry if I die.” She mumbled between her sobs, sniffling and gasping with the onslaught of grief. “Gary had a family, Sy. What will… what will I tell his wife?” She grasped at his t-shirt, desperately trying to cling to the last hope of sanity. 

Sy held onto her like she was the most fragile being on this planet. He tightened his arms around her, wanting to shield her from the world and its sadness. He wanted to take away her pain. He would take it upon himself if he could. Sy rocked her lightly, whispering words of comfort as well as he could. He could not comprehend how bruised her soul was to think no one would cry for her if she died. A cold shiver ran down his spine even thinking about it.

After a long time Sy carefully turned her in his arms. She opened her puffy eyes, fluttering them slightly. “Let’s get you to bed, okay?” He ushered her towards the bed and gently sat her down.  She laid down on her side, curling up in a ball with her hands wound around her chest. He pulled the thin blanket over her, tucking the ends beneath the mattress. Sy caressed her cheeks with his hand, wiping away the tear stains on her cheek. 

He didn’t want to leave her alone. She was vulnerable and had dropped all her guards down. She was too stubborn to ask for comfort, but he could sense she hankered for his solace. Sy understood under the strong-willed demeanor, Liv wanted to be defenseless. She peered at him with half-lidded eyes without uttering a word. 

Kicking his boots off, Sy climbed on the bed to lie beside Liv. He gathered her in his arms, letting her shelter in the bend of his elbow. He pulled the blanket over their bodies, draping an arm over her torso. He entwined his fingers in Liv’s hair, running his fingers along her scalp. Liv dozed off not a moment later, holding him close to her like she was afraid to let him go. 

Sy kept drifting in and out of sleep with every stir of Liv’s body. She whimpered in her sleep in the middle of the night with the onslaught of nightmares entering her mind. Sy whispered words of comfort in her ears, running his hand soothingly over her back. Sloan had returned at the early hours of dawn looking like she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep either. But when she had spotted Sy cradling Liv against his body, she had excused herself and left them alone again. 

***

It hadn’t been easy for her to cope with the loss of her friend. Olivia had watched with tear filled eyes as they had loaded up Gary’s trunk to be sent to base. She had grazed her fingertips over his name tag sending a silent prayer to where he now rested. It was only when the Humvee had rolled out, Liv had caught sight of Sy watching her from his post.

That night she had felt like her entire being had shattered into a thousand pieces. She had lost loved ones before, but watching someone die in your arms, her best friend, had terrified her. She blamed herself for it. 

If only I could have been alert. If I hadn’t failed to save him. If… 

There were so many ‘ifs’ circling in her mind, she laid awake every night thinking what she could have done otherwise.

Sy had decided to give her some space. He had been quiet and allowed her to heal in her own time. She was grateful for that. She just wasn’t ready to break down in his arms again. She was afraid if she let him get too close to her and if she were to lose him too, she wouldn’t survive. 

It had been fifteen whole days since she had last stepped out into the field. Her leg had been healing, her stitches still fresh, for which Sy had ordered her to stay at camp. She had waddled around the compound, finished paperwork for the men and worked out to release the mixture of anger and sadness bunching up inside her. 

She had thought she would be able to handle it but glancing at the hilltop where she had held her dying friend, had brought everything back to her. Sy had looked at her, his eyes covered with his shades, with his mouth pressed into a thin line. He had accompanied them for their mission to receive the food truck, something he hadn’t done before. She had maintained her distance from him, choosing to stay with her own people. It had felt odd being on the ground when she was used to soaring high above everyone else in her chopper.

Back at the camp, her leg throbbed from walking on the uneven terrain. She winced as her hand grazed over the bandage on her sore calf, still hurting from the gash she had taken from the debris. Olivia took in a sharp breath as waves of nauseating pain crashed against her sleep deprived mind. She sat down on the steps of the building, gently massaging her throbbing muscle to ease the pain.

“You okay?” Sy sat beside her on the steps. Involuntarily she felt herself scooting away from him. She wasn’t sure what she was trying to gain from keeping him at arm’s length. He was being gentle, understanding, sympathetic, everything she needed right now. But something stopped her.

“Yeah. Just a little sore.” She refused to make eye-contact with him. 

Sy seemed to have gotten the message as he scooted a little to the side. From the corner of her eyes Liv noticed Sy let out a sigh, rubbing his beard with his hand. It was weeks ago when she had felt his arms around her, locking her in his embrace, making her feel safer than anyone ever could. 

“Are you sleeping alright?” He asked, adjusting his gun beside him.

“Yeah.”

“Are you telling the truth?” His voice was stern, and he turned slightly to look at her. She knew her words betrayed the reality, the bags under her eyes were evidence of her tired, sleepless nights. But even so, she nodded her head.

Another sigh left his lips. “Liv, I know you want to be strong, but you don’t have to go through it alone. I’m worried about you. I want to be there for you.” Sy reached his hand out and placed it over hers. Giving a gentle squeeze he pleaded, “Just let me in.”

Liv allowed herself to glance at him. His eyes were soft, worry marked with wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. He held sincerity in them, a hope that formed a crack in the wall Liv had built around her. 

“Sy,” They were interrupted by his Lieutenant. “We need you in the office.” 

Sy nodded at them, bringing his gaze back to Liv. He gently smiled at her, bringing his hand to her face. “I’m here for you.” He whispered before standing up and walking inside the building. She watched as he strutted towards his office, talking to his Lieutenant and discussing their matter at hand.

That night, Liv stayed awake in her bed. The chatter outside their room was dying out as midnight approached. Sloan was passed out on her bed; gently snoring while being wrapped in her blanket. Liv glanced at the empty bed that had belonged to Sierra. She had gotten severely injured in the attack. In the days Liv had stayed at the camp, she had a SAT call with her comrade about her corporal. Sierra had been sent home after the surgery she had to endure from the bullet wounds. Liv had been relieved to know she was at least alive.

When the lights cut out at midnight, shrouding the camp in darkness, Liv sat up in her bed. Sy’s words kept ringing in her ears. She didn’t want to push him away. She wanted a safe place. She wanted to feel something other than pain.

And so, she stood, outside his door in the dead of the night. She stared at his door, debating whether she should just return to her bed. She wasn’t even sure if Sy was in his room. With a timid knock, Liv stood with her arms hanging by her side. Her heart picked up a pace as she counted the seconds in her head until the door cracked open.

Sy had a scowl on his face when he opened the door, which eased as soon as he noted Liv standing outside his door. He watched her with a softened gaze as she took a step forward.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Her voice trembled as she spoke. She gulped, fearing he would drive her away.

But he did not push her away. He extended his arm open, tilting his head slightly and a gentle smile on his lips. “Of course.” 

Liv buried her face in his chest wounding her arms around his frame. Sy closed the door, holding her firmly against his body, circling her with his arms. He rested his cheek against her head, letting silence fill in the space that didn’t require words.

Liv could feel it then. Her walls being broken brick by brick by Sy. She felt safe, warmth seeping into her heart as he held her close to him. 

Chapter Eight>

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[yourdeepestfathoms]

one day, a horn grew from my head (part one)

Beetlejuice, but BJ is more visibly demonic, there’s world building for the Netherworld, and he has a partner helping him...

--------------------

- the whole being dead thing! -

A blue truck rattled up the gravel path, racing to beat the storm beginning to brew up in the sky. Rain was already starting to come down, drizzling over the clouds of dust kicked up by the tires. The headlights shone on the wall of an old house in the distance. From the darkness of the surrounding greenery, sharp teeth spread in a wide grin.

  “It’s almost time,” said the demon. “Took ‘em long enough. I thought he’d never get back.”

There was stirring at his side. He lightly whacked the figure next to him. His suit was sopped with rainwater, making the sleeves dangly and heavy as they hung around his wrists. It was odd to be in such merciless weather after having to deal with the acid rain back down in the Netherworld. Sometimes he couldn’t help but turn his head up to the downpour and let it run over his face in refreshing waves of coolness without it feeling like his flesh was melting off of his skull.

When his partner didn’t get up, he lightly poked her in the ribs with a claw. She squealed.

  “Come on,” he said. “It’s time to wake up.”

The mud-slathered, blood-stained young demon sat up straight from her curled position against his side. She blinked, and the moonlight caught on her bright hazel eyes, making them glow.

  “He’s here,” the larger demon pointed a black-clawed finger at the parked truck and the figure walking to the front door.

The smaller demon flicked her comically large pointy ears at the vehicle, then looked back up at him, eyes shining. A moth landed on one of her horn nubs.

The larger of the two smirked again, alligator teeth flashing. “It’s showtime, kid. Let’s put this plan into action.”

  “So, crazy story,” Adam began, taking off his rain-spattered coat. “I got all the way to Howard’s store, and Howard tells me they’re all out of stock.”

  “Oh no,” Barbara vocalized her dismay.

  “But I asked Howard Junior to check the back for me--”

  “Smart.”

  “--so he sends little Howard the Third and long story short, I got the last bottle of Manchurian tung oil!”

  “That’s great!” Barbara beamed. “Now you can finally finish the crib?”

  “Yup!” Adam said, ripping off the cloth of a shiny, wood-carved crib. It was his pride and joy in a strange sort of woodworking way. “It should be ready before the O'Brien’s baby gets here!”

  “She had it yesterday.”

Adam blinked. “Oh. Well--” He fumbled for just a moment. “Doesn’t matter! They’ll get it soon! They can put the baby in the…sink…in the meantime!”

Barbara laughed. It was a sweet, high sound that made Adam’s heart flutter.

  “That’s definitely a place to put a newborn,” Barbara said.

  “It’s round!” Adam said. “It can hold an infant. Plus, it doubles as a bathtub, so you can kill two birds with one stone!”

Barbara chuckled. She was shining one of her newest pottery jugs- her latest hobby. Last week it was painting. The week before that it was embroidery. And the week before that it was composting. He wondered how long this interest would last.

As Adam was shining one of the bars of the crib, rubbing his thumb over the pristine wood, he said, “Maybe we can keep it for ourselves.”

Barbara dropped her jug and it shattered into a thousand orange shards. Adam jumped, nearly ripping the bar right off of the crib. He stood up quickly.

  “Are you alright?” he sputtered.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Barbara said, haphazardly rushing for the broom. She began sweeping up the broken pieces of clay, then peered over at Adam. “What would we use a crib for?”

  “You know…” Adam gestured vaguely.

  “A baby,” Barbara smiled softly.

Adam smiled, too. “Yeah.”

  “I mean…we do have this whole house,” Barbara said.

  “It is a big house,” Adam nodded.

  “And we already have a minivan.”

  “A minivan is a family car.”

They smiled dreamily, imagining what it would be like to have a baby in their household, babbling adorably, snoozing in their arms, calling them “mama” and “dada”, having toys everywhere, getting in danger as they crawled around, crying, hating them when they grew up… 

Adam swallowed thickly. He shifted, and the floorboards creaked below him. “Oh!” He pointed to the ground. “But-- but the floor! Listen to this creaking!” He stepped, and it creaked again, perfectly on time. “We can’t have a family with floors like this! It can be a safety hazard!”

Barbara nodded energetically. She put the broom away and began walking over. “You are absolutely right! Someone could get hurt!”

  “Yeah! And we don’t want that to happen!”

  “Not at all!”

  “We have to do something about it before we have our own baby.”

  “Among other things. We have to baby proof this whole house!”

  “Yes! Great idea! We should get on that as soon as possible!”

  “You’re so right! As soon as possible! So we can get on that baby right away afterw--”

There was then an awful shriek, and Adam realized it came from below as the wood seemed to fold inwards, dropping he and his wife into the darkness below the house. The last thing he remembered was Barbara’s horrific screaming, and then something cold and hard smacking into the back of his skull… 

…and far above, in the light of the house, two heads peered into the hole, one with spiky lime green hair and the other wearing a red and black helmet.

  “Damn,” Beetlejuice said. “I knew they were going to die, but that was quite the fall.” He stood up straight. “Eh. Still a better death than others I’ve seen. At least their bodies will still be intact. Them being cut in half would make things WAY harder.”

The Jockey nodded at his side. She was leaning treacherously into the hole, so Beetlejuice grabbed her by the back of the helmet to keep her from falling in. He tugged her backwards. 

  “They’ll get up soon,” Beetlejuice said. “So we gotta get ready. Prepare. Where’s the book?”

The Jockey looked around mutely. Beetlejuice learned rather quickly that she wasn’t much of a talker. He had never actually heard her voice before so he didn’t know if she even  could talk, though she did nod when he asked if she could. Whether that was the truth or a lie to save face, he didn’t know, but he didn’t really care because they communicated together rather fine. It was quite a bit easier than he was expecting once he had all of her mannerisms down.

  “It’ll show up eventually,” Beetlejuice said, checking the watch he didn’t have. His sleeves were still dripping with rainwater. “In the meantime,” he gazed around the house. “Pretty big place they got here. And for only two people?”

The Jockey pointed to the crib.

  “Right. They  had been discussing starting their own family,” Beetlejuice nodded. He glanced back into the hole for a moment. The two bodies at the bottom were still in the same position as they had been a minute ago, but the pool of blood gathering around their heads had grown slightly larger. Their lights were definitely knocked out cold. “Hopefully the woman hadn’t actually been pregnant. Nobody likes ghost fetuses. They’re so weird. All crawly and goopy and malformed…” He shuddered.

The Jockey laughed. She was capable of making noises, just didn’t like talking for reasons Beetlejuice still didn’t know.

  “What about you? Did you have a house like this? Big? Small? Rich? Poor?”

She looked over at him, flicking one of her ears. She was quiet, as usual.

  “I only ask because my housing unit back in the Netherworld was terrible,” Beetlejuice said. “I was once chained in this abyss for, like, a hundred years. It was the worst. Really makes you miss normal houses, doesn’t it?”

The Jockey nodded faintly, her lips pursed, eyebrows knitted together as she stared at him.

There was suddenly a  thump  as a thick book appeared out of seemingly nowhere, crashing to the ground on a rather ugly green and brown carpet. Beetlejuice picked it up.

  “The rulebook,” he presented it to his partner. “Let’s see…” He flipped open to the first few pages and began reading,  “The Handbook For The Recently Deceased. Chapter One: The Netherworld. All ghosts should proceed directly to the Netherworld.” He closed it abruptly. “But that isn’t gonna happen! These lovebirds need to stay here with us and haunt their house!”

He thrusted out a hand and the fireplace roared to life, crackling with bright orange flames. The Jockey leapt around to it, the glow making her eyes shine. She followed him over to the mantle as he carelessly threw the handbook into the inferno.

  “Whoops!” Beetlejuice exclaimed. “Damn. There goes the book. Now they’ll never get to the Netherworld.”

The Jockey tittered softly. At the same time, there was the sound of shifting from within the hole.

  “Barbara…? Are you alright?”

  “Oh crap!” Beetlejuice grabbed the Jockey by the arm and yanked her behind the couch with him to hide. They both crouched low, listening as the couple crawled their way out of their tomb.

  “Holy smokes! That was some fall!”

  “I guess the floor gave out…?”

  “I didn’t think it was that weak. Are you alright, huh?”

  “I think so…”

  “Oh my god--”

  “You are like ice!”

  “You’re freezing!”

They must have discovered their body’s drop in temperature. 

  “I’ll make a… I don’t remember making a fire…”

The Jockey’s gaze shot over to Beetlejuice. He shrugged.

  “Had to destroy the book somehow, kid,” he whispered.

  “That’s so weird. It’s not hot…”

  “I think we should consider ourselves lucky. A fall like that could have been bad. I mean, my whole life flashed before my eyes like it does in the movies. I started asking myself the big questions, like… Why are our bodies still in the basement?”

  “What did you say?”

The Jockey grimaced behind the couch.

The couple then began screaming, though Beetlejuice didn’t exactly know why. He couldn’t risk blowing his cover just yet to check.

  “Adam! I don’t think we survived that fall!”

  “…What? You mean… Oh god.”

  “Here we go, kid,” Beetlejuice whispered to the Jockey. “It’s our time to shine.”

  “I know… I know. There’s still so much I wanted to do.”

  “I know, me too, but-- Hey, hey. We’re still together, right? We’re still in our house, all of our stuff is here! So what if we are…dead… That’s bad, obviously, but hey! Maybe nothing has to change!”  

Just then, Beetlejuice and the Jockey popped up from behind the couch. 

  “Hi.”

The Jockey waved.

Barbara and Adam whirled around to them. They all stared at each other in a beat of silence. Beetlejuice held up his hands.

  “Do not be afraid,” he said. His sharp black claws didn’t help the statement very much. “You are dead. I am also dead.” He pointed to the Jockey. “So is she. Maybe we can help each other out. What’s up?”

The Maitlands screamed and scrambled away as he advanced over to them with his hand outstretched. He backpedaled in reaction, pointy ears shooting up. He had  not been expecting them to act like that. Good thing he had a child with him.

  “Work your magic, kid,” he said to the Jockey.

The Jockey did as she was told, slowly walking over to the Maitlands with her hands up, palms out, claws visible, as if she were approaching a pair of spooked horses. The Maitlands seemed to relax slightly in the midst of the young girl, but then got weirdly defensive looks on their face. They bustled around her, forming a barrier of sorts between her and Beetlejuice. She blinked over their guard.

  “Hey!” Beetlejuice yelped. “That’s my jockey!”

  “Who the hell are you?!” Adam yelled. 

  “Help! I am help!” Beetlejuice said. “I’m here to help you both! And so is she! So can I have her back now? Pretty sure we have a whole codependent, separation anxiety thing going on here.”

Barbara peered at the small form of the Jockey, then at Beetlejuice protectively, not budging. “Are you her father?”

  “What? No!” 

Adam’s eyes somehow got even wider than they already were. “Did you kidnap her?!”

  “How did you even come to that conclusion?”

But Adam and Barbara were already wrapped up in the theory, becoming even more fierce and protective around the Jockey. Not that they were very intimidating. They had about the menace of a pair of pomeranians, and even that was being generous. 

  “You’re not laying another finger on her!” Adam yelled.

  “I didn’t kidnap her!” Beetlejuice yelled back, exasperated. Hints of orange-red were beginning to flicker around the crown of his head like the first sparks of a fire. If these two newly-deads weren’t so damn attractive he probably would have clawed their faces off by now and found a new couple to get a living human to say his name.

Barbara turned to the Jockey, crouching slightly to meet her eyes beneath the rim of her helmet. “Sweetie, did this mean man take you from your parents?”

  “I didn’t take her from anyone!”

  “That sounds like something a kidnapper would say,” Adam said, narrowing his eyes at him in suspicion.

  “I’m not a kidnapper!!”

The Jockey quickly held up her hands again, shaking her head. She weaved around the protective forms of Adam and Barbara and darted over to Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into his side possessively. He glared at the Maitlands for a moment before cooling off, easing his stare. The red and orange fire beginning to light through his hair went down. 

  “I did not kidnap her,” he reiterated. “She is my partner.”

Adam opened his mouth.

  “NOT LIKE THAT!” Beetlejuice cut him off before he even got the chance to say something. “Partner in business. My business partner. We work together.”

  “You work with…a child?” Barbara asked.

  “She’s more useful than half of the adults I know.”

The Jockey stood up a little straighter at that.

Adam looked Beetlejuice up and down. “You said you were here to help us…”

  “Right!” Beetlejuice perked up. “Yes! We are!”

  “Help us with what?” Barbara asked.

  “To learn how to scare!”

  “Scare? Scare who?”

  “The people who bought your house!”

At that moment, two men dressed in delivery outfits came in and began grabbing everything they saw. Barbara and Adam tried to stop them, but their yelling and waving did little to help. Beetlejuice and the Jockey watched on in amusement.

  “They can’t see us!” Adam finally exclaimed.

  “Keen observation, Adam,” Beetlejuice said. He took the crop from the Jockey’s holster and began waving it around as if he were giving a presentation. “The living ignore the dead. We are invisible to them. And they’re so wrapped up in their stupid little lives that they usually just ignore the strange and unusual unless you make them, which is why we’re here.”

  “This is all so much to take in,” Barbara said, running her fingers through her hair.

  “Hey, I get it,” Beetlejuice said. “It’s a lot, but it’s okay! You two are special! You died together! That NEVER happens! Unless it’s a murder-suicide, which makes for a VERY awkward eternity.” 

  “How did you die?” Adam asked warily.

Beetlejuice laughed. “Oh, that’s cute. I was born-dead. Never got to experience human stupidity.”

  “And her?” Adam nodded at the Jockey.

  “Horse racing accident,” Beetlejuice said. He thought it had been obvious from her muddy and bloody silks and the hoofprints branding her body. He tapped a claw on her helmet. “She doesn’t talk very much, so don’t expect an answer from her.”

  “Wait-- how can you be born dead?” Barbara blinked.

  “I’m a demon, Babs, try to keep up.”

Both Barbara and Adam’s eyes widened. Thankfully, they didn’t freak out like they did the last time.

  “You’re a WHAT?!” Adam yelped.

  “So is she!” Beetlejuice pointed to the Jockey.

  “You don’t…look like demons…” Barbara said hesitantly.

  “Well, that’s just rude,” Beetlejuice looked down at the Jockey. “I swear, Breathers read the Bible once and think all demons are the same.”

The Jockey nodded with a tiny giggle.

  “Demons aren’t exactly what you’re used to,” Beetlejuice said to the confused faces of the Maitlands. “If you weren’t already ghosts, my true form could strike you dead simply by being in your midst. I can kill a Breather with a single stare! But I appear in this form,” he gestured vaguely, “to seem less intimidating. Don’t want to scare off any potential clients.”

  “You need to work on that,” Adam said.

  “I can go more demonic whenever I want, though,” Beetlejuice went on, ignoring him. 

He then snapped his fingers and a pair of black-and-white striped horns burst out from the crown of his head. A long, arrowhead black tail slithered out from his waist as his legs painlessly bent backwards into a more hock-jointed position, large talons pressing out from his ratty shoes. The Maitlands stared in shock. The Jockey looked enraptured, her ears fluttering. 

  “Like so,” He presented himself to them. “And this isn’t even what I REALLY look like.”

The Jockey clapped energetically. Beetlejuice grinned at her toothily. 

  “I was born a demon,” Beetlejuice said, looking back at the Maitlands. “Therefore, I was born-dead. She,” he drummed on the Jockey’s helmet, “became a demon. That happens if a ghost becomes too consumed with bitterness, grief, or anger and can’t get over their deaths.”

Barbara and Adam both shot worried looks at the Jockey from the implication behind Beetlejuice’s words. Beetlejuice didn’t blame them for that one. It was uncommon for ghosts to become demons; only if their deaths were REALLY bad. And for a child to turn, no less… 

  “Anyway,” Beetlejuice continued. “There’s a lot of feuds between the two types of demons because born-demons perceive turned-demons as “falsies” or “dirty half breeds” since they used to be humans and weren’t born with their horns and whatnot.” He tapped one of the Jockey’s little horn nubs for emphasis. “It’s just this whole thing.  We get along just fine, though!”

As if to prove it, he and the Jockey smiled innocently, showing their sharp teeth. The Maitlands blinked back at them. Adam glanced over Beetlejuice’s shoulders as the movers continued to haul out furniture.

  “So you can really help us get our house back?” he asked.

  “You bet your sweet dilf ass I can!” Beetlejuice replied animatedly.

Adam’s cheeks flamed to an adorable shade of pink. Barbara looked slightly startled before barking, “There’s a child here!”

The Jockey waved a dismissive hand and mouthed,  “I’ve heard worse.” She then tugged on her filthy silks for emphasis of sorts. 

  “Please say yes!” Beetlejuice said, trying not to beg. “Nobody else can help you! We’re all you got!”

Adam and Barbara cast one more dismayed look at their departing furniture, then said, “You’re hired.”

Electric green shot through Beetlejuice’s hair like the lightning bolts during an acid storm down in the Netherworld. His tail had to be wagging at the speed of light. He shook the Jockey’s arm eagerly. 

  “They said yes!!” He yipped, and the Jockey grinned up at him gleefully. He looked at the Maitlands. “You won’t regret it!”

The Maitlands looked slightly worried. 

  “I sure hope so,” Adam muttered.

--- --- --- --- ---

Jaws dripping with gore, the many-limbed, razor-clawed amalgamation towers over the smaller creature on the street, holding a heart between its teeth. The smaller creature raises its blunted, chipped, and ripped off claws in a sign of weakness, spiked tail tucked between its legs. The abomination devours its heart, then hisses in its ear, “D o n ‘ t e v e r t o u c h h e r a g a i n.”

--- --- --- --- ---

Beetlejuice’s eyes popped open. He stared into the darkness all around him, thick and tall like walls of onyx. Rain was still falling outside. Normal rain. 

There was shifting at his side. The Jockey curled up tighter against his side, finding him warm despite the Dead being deathly cold. Finding his presence comforting despite him being awful.

She didn’t need to sleep, and yet she did. Perhaps to retain a shred of normalcy in her unlife. The Maitlands seemed to be the same way from the soft snoring coming from the other corner of the attic. It was too dark to see them, but they were there.

People were there. 

His tail was still out, so he draped it over the Jockey’s ankle, testing her reaction to the touch. Even in sleep, she stirred, ears flicking slightly. She slumped over completely into his lap, her head cushioned by one of her arms, pointed tongue caught between her sharp teeth. Beetlejuice snorted. He poked her helmet.

  “I don’t know how you sleep in this,” he said.

There was no answer. Even if she weren’t asleep, she wouldn’t give him one. That was okay. He didn’t mind her silence. 

[writing-through-wonderland]

Finally Organized Masterlist

Fandom Related

Star Wars

Fics

I Promise You I Cannot Make Promises

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

--------------------------------

Marvel

Prompts & One Shots

"The Vessel"

-----------------------------

Attack on Titan

Prompts & One Shots

"You're Okay"

Fics

Blindsided

Chapter 1: Letters

Chapter 2: Could Have Been Worse

Chapter 3: Teamwork

Chapter 4: Capture the Flag

--------------------------------

Original Works

Project Look What I Wrote A collection of my older pieces listed by category.

Prompts

"No One Refused Her Answer"

"She Stared in to the Darkness"

"Lost"

"Locked Door"

"The Mirror"

"First Eye Contact"

"Dancing"

"First Eye Contact"

"Nightmare"

--------------------------------

Musings

Random little things I wrote.

Blood into Ink

Gone

Ripples

It's Finally Over

The Rose And Her Wall

Saved By The Star Man

Watchful Star Man (Follow up to "Saved By The Star Man")

Surviving Rock Bottom

My Shadow

Unrequited Love

My Grandmother's Eulogy

Foreclosure

View from the Dollhouse (Jealous of Giants)

Broken Dreams

Selfish Darkness

Submission by Moonlight

--------------------------------

Quotes

I made myself think.

Quotes: 1

Quotes: 2

Quotes: Ongoing Edition

--------------------------------

Poetry

Some of it rhymes.

Winter Orchestra

My Nightly Fun

--------------------------------

Also

I know this probably won't get much consideration since there's so little content posted on here right now but... I mean... if you wanna throw a request my way I'll uh... I'd appreciated it. As a writing exercise. I'm good with the following fandoms.

Marvel (I might not be familiar with every character you throw my way but I got most of 'em. Let's be honest... there are quite a few.) Star Wars (Main series) Attack on Titan Black Butler Once Upon a Time And while I do have triggers IRL I don't have issues writing about anything artistically. Except BJs. I can't write about BJs. That right there... that's a thing.

[tropicalfreckles]

Friends Again CH 1

Hey guys, decided I’d post this here, too! An obvious Disclaimer beforehand, B**TLEB*BES DNI MASTER LIST found here

Now then. I started writing this about two months or so ago, had the idea in my head from the first time I watched the musical. The first two chapters didn’t have anyone beta reading it, and my writing is super rusty since I haven’t posted fanfiction online in 10 years until now. Here’s the quick summary from AO3! Rating: M (for body horror mentions. other than that the content would be T for the cursing)

Warnings: Body Horror, Blood, they talk about how Lydia impaled Beej, some violence, at some point they will brush up on Beej’s child abuse from Juno (though it won’t be detailed), Bug eating, Beej pervs on the Maitlands just a little, Lot of cursing. (i’ll add more warning tags if you guys give me a heads up about anything I missed!)

Characters: Lydia Deetz, Charles Deetz, Delia Deetz, Adam Maitland, Barbara Maitland, Beetlejuice & a few OCs made for the fic along with the introduction of my demon BJ oc, Antares!

Summary:  It had been months since her face off against the ghost with the most, it ending on a very mixed note for Lydia. But, the events won't leave her dreams, and she is slowly coming to terms with her suffering from trauma because of her actions. Would it lead to her confronting them, and in turn, seeing the source of it all once more?

(fic in read more)

 Eight long months had passed since Lydia finally decided to open herself up more to her father again. Along with accepting Delia as being apart of their new, weird, happier family. Lydia definitely saw the Maitlands as part of that family with how much they've done to help her, her father and her recently made step-mother. She would've been surprised with how fast those two had gotten married after the engagement if it wasn't for the whole near death experience by angry demon thing. They figured after that life was short, especially compared to the Maitlands and got married only a few months after they finally were settled in. Unfortunately for poor Lydia, the nightmares she had after her clash with her demon ex-friend still clung to her. They started about two weeks after everything happened. It was enough time for Lydia to let things sink in about what they did and even if he deserved it, how she killed a person. They happened almost every night, then every other night, and by month four had stopped. Then the month after they started up again and even though Delia tried her hardest, she just couldn't help with Lydia's mental health deteriorating again. So she began to see a family therapist. She had to leave out some details for obvious reasons and changed the story a little, but it was only helping so much. Every time she would recount the nightmare in vivid detail to her therapist.

 'Everything around her was distorted, like it was the inside of a funhouse mirror. The colors around her varied from a mix of eerie, bright and ghoulish colors to more monotone colors blending into each other. Her heart was thumping into her chest as everyone played the part that she had given them. I'm doing the right thing, he won't stop. He's a demon so it's okay! That's all she was able to think about to justify her actions. The joy of being alive after their 'green card' marriage soon came crashing down onto the dirty recently revived Beetlejuice as he went off on one of his tangents. Going on about the mixed emotions of humans that were overwhelming him all at once. He started getting a look in his eyes, going straight to murderous thoughts just as she knew he would. Her breathing picks up as she grabs onto the broken piece of rebar from the poor taste of art that her father hands to her. She fixes her footing and screams as she plunges the make-shift weapon through the back of the demon, screaming as she used all the force she could muster. Everything becomes distorted around her after that; everyone else becoming shapeless blobs. Except for the dying Beetlejuice who stares off like he's gazing at an unknown force. In typical fashion he cracks a joke with his dying breathe. The blobs were all shocked at the action until Lydia told them why she did it. They started to move in an off-putting way to get ready to be rid of him when he would rise as the recently deceased.

Before it could play out just as it did in reality everything went black around her. Terrifying mouths appeared into the view everywhere she looked. The adrenaline that spiked when she stabbed him now was replaced from anxiety to dread as blood poured out from the mouths. Their laughter echoed with twisted and distorted voices. The blood swallowed up the demon before her. She tried to wade through the blood in vain trying to reach him as fear engulfied her.

"No... NO! Beetlejuice-!"

It's not supposed to be like this; he's supposed to go back to the netherworld, he's supposed to be okay! Everyone is supposed to be okay! She reached out, crying out his name in an attempt to save him,

"Beetlejuice!" She saw his body surface in the sea of crimson. It was carrying him further and further from her as her dress became heavier with every passing second. Blood coated her face as she kept an outstretched arm to try and grab onto him.

A cackle echoes from the darkness as a giant hand pulled him out of the blood, belonging to a woman she only was briefly introduced to. It was his mother, the head demon in charge of the more bureaucratic side of the Netherworld. Juno. His body is still, lifeless now, his hair color changed to a purpleish-blue.

" BEETLEJUICE !" She screams one last time. A giant sand worm jumps out of Juno's mouth and eats both the demon she cried out for, and herself. Then she wakes up.'

 Well, at least she would partly tell the truth. She left out a lot of key details from her nightmare when talking about it, such as marrying a centuries or millennia old demon as a green card thing to bring him back to life. About ghosts in general. Lydia had to switch many things around, along with the murder. The story changed to her having a horrible fight with an old friend who she 'stabbed him in the back'. More metaphorically than in actuality being physically. Talking about her trauma to anyone outside of the family was really difficult. Which is why she didn't see the point to seeing a therapist in the first place. Thankfully most of the facts could be turned into metaphors with some hoop jumping. She finally got the story 'straight' with her family prior to opening up. What she would tell the therapist is she betrayed a friend who had mental health problems and was threatening her family. She told them she called the cops on him and made it out that his abusive mother beat the shit out of him. Then shipped him off to military school instead of him going to juvey. The therapist took the strange nightmares she would have as a vivid imagination of her guilt of betraying someone she thought as her friend before. She wasn't even that close to him, they only spent a few days together and she was more focused on seeing her mother again. Yet killing the man is something that made her stomach turn when she thought about it again. It was different than the thrill of scaring people with him from before. Sure he was 'fine' in the sense of he was just back to square one of being a ghost and a demon again. However she still took something away from him that was bigger than she thought before. Life. Even if it did make him go crazy after being alive for less than five minutes.

 He didn't seem too bothered by it when he left following his melodramatic farewells. After feeding his scary mother to a giant sandworm of course. He seemed a little happier, even. Unfortunately she never really got true closure. Sure she gave him a small hug, even though that was a little hard because he smelled so bad. It was probably his clothes since the man looked like he never washed a thing in his life. After a two months of seeing them, her therapist suggested that maybe all she wants is closure to her traumatic experience. The therapist didn't recommend actually going to visit her 'friend' in case it would be too overwhelming for her. A phone call or something was suggested if she thought she wanted to talk to him. Tell him how much of a jerk he was before and how he took things too far. Tell him how she felt bad about the way she ended things. That was going to be complicated though for a number of reasons.

One, even if she did want to go back to the Netherworld which she definitely didn't. It was just like when she had her realization it would take possibly eternity to find her mother. What luck would she have finding Beetlejuice? Two, even though she saw him comically swing his mother's torn leg around after he took her out. What's to say she still wasn't 'existing' and back running the netherworld's social services for the dead. Or whatever it was she did. She didn't want to come face to face with that horrid woman again. She wasn't even sure if demons could die still and she had to have been a demon just like Beetlejuice. Sure she got eaten but once again she could've somehow came back. Three, her family would NEVER let her go back in there. Four was the most important though; did she even want to see him again? Could she even see him again? He certainly wouldn't want to after what happened. Even if they left on neutral terms he might be feeling a bit miffed that she stabbed him in the back. He was still a demon.

 "Feelings are stupid." Lydia groaned, flopping on top of her bed dramatically as she gave a deep sigh. She had just gotten back from another appointment and curled up on the bed.

  "I can't believe I miss when Delia would be the one 'life coaching' me. I shouldn't feel guilty for what happened; he deserved it. He was going to kill dad, possibly everyone. He tricked me into almost exorcising Barbara!" Lydia wrinkled her nose, kicking at the air with her legs as she grabbed onto her pillow then tore at it a little."That big, smelly jerk."

 She sniffled a little then buried her face into the pillow. Why should she care. He only ever cared about his powers and about himself. Even if he stood up for her and saved her from his crappy mom. Who only was there because she ran into the Netherworld and abandoned everyone. In hopes of seeing her mom again. She wasn't at fault, though; it was just a big mess.

  "Lydia sweetie, are you okay?" A concerned voice came from behind her door with a gentle knock following it.

  "Is it okay if I come in?" Lydia lifted her head from the pillow then looked to the door. She gave a one shoulder shrug.

 "Only if you want to, Barbara." She shifted, rolling onto her back as she stared up at the ceiling. Barbara phased through the door deciding she would practice on her ghostly abilities some more. Even if she still felt it a bit rude to not use the door. She walked over to the bed, then sat down on the edge of it while reaching out to gently stroke Lydia's head.

  "How was your appointment honey?" She gave the sweetest, caring smile she could muster for the young girl as Lydia blew one of her bangs out of her face.

 "Was okay, I guess; I don't know why I still have to go to these.." The goth teen closed her eyes, finding it soothing in a way to feel the cold fingers of her friend comforting her. Barbra quirked a brow at her, then stopped for a moment as she gently patted Lydia's head in response.

  "Are you still having those nightmares?" Lydia inhaled deeply before sitting up as she swung her legs around.

 "...yes." She spoke softly, just barely above a whisper as her gaze cast downwards. Barbara inched closer to her then wrapped an arm around the girl's shoulders.

  "Oh, Lydia. I know that man was awful. Yet, I understand if you feel bad for him. I still.. really do not like him. Although I hope he's found peace in whatever he is doing now, in the Netherworld. Even if I will never forgive him." A frown creased the lips of the ghostly woman as she knit her brows. "I'm just glad he left on his own at least. Only good thing he did while he was here. Besides saving you." She sighed then gave a shake of her head. Lydia looked up at her while playing with the ends of her lacy black dress.

 "I know.. he. I mean, he wasn't.. I don't know. He's a jerk, yeah, a real asshole. But, I think he did care about us, even if it was a little. Scaring people with him was fun, I just didn't.. want him to kill my dad. Even if I was mad at him. Upset. I know now dad acted the way he did because he was hurting as much as I was. He just masked his grief differently than I did. But, I hated the tantrum Beetlejuice made. I didn't want him to hurt you or Adam." Lydia gently moved her hand over Barbara's hand, eyes softening a bit. Barbara moved her hand away from Lydia, opting to gently grab her cheek.

  "You put too much on your shoulders, sweetie. You're a good kid. You were so brave.. we should've been the ones to protect you, though. Not the other way around. You know I don't hold anything against you for what happened. Adam and I should've not put our trust in Beetlejuice in the first place. What we should've done was shooed him away. But we were just so desperate. Losing everything in such a short amount of time." She moved her hand away, resting both of them now in her lap as she stared down at the floor. "Gosh. I wish I became more assertive sooner. At least now if anything like that happens again, we'll be better about it." She looked back to Lydia, giving her a comforting smile. Lydia nodded to her in response.

 "Well, you don't have to worry about me. I'm not gonna make any more deals with demons I barely know again." Lydia snorted. Barbara gave a small chuckle as she bumped her shoulder.

  "I hope you mean any deals ever again."

 "Eh, we'll see." Lydia snickered, Barbara giving her a small scowl of disapproval.

  "Lydia." Lydia laughed, then gave Barbara a hug.

 "Okay, okay. I really need a nap now." She let go then smiled up at Barbara. The woman took the hint, getting up after giving a small wave. She turned around then phased through the door once more. Lydia kicked her combat boots off her feet, then got up and walked over to the door. She locked it just for some privacy and moved back over to the bed, jumping on it. A nap.. another nightmare? Her expression soured as she stared out to the window of her bedroom. The sky was cloudy, dark grays and purples covering every bit of the bright blue endless sky. She shifted her gaze to the mirror that was on the other side of her room. Reason number four. It would be crazy. She shouldn't even try. How could she be so sure that she could even summon him if he was in the Netherworld. It would be safer to try that than going back into it. Wrapping her arms around herself, her mind was battling all the possibilities of things that could go wrong. A thought occurred to her as she remembered the handbook for the recently deceased. She still had the copy Beetlejuice gave her. Maybe there was a chapter about how to deal with a demon besides marrying them and killing them. Hopping off the bed, she ran to her dresser, digging around in the bottom one. Just as she left it; under her old clothes she never wore anymore. Taking it out, she sat on the ground then began sifting through the pages. A faint glow coming from each one.

 'This is crazy, what am I doing.' Lydia thought to herself after looking through a couple of chapters, sighing as she began to close the book. She couldn't endanger everyone. She didn't want to put them through.. hm. Hold on. Her eyes flickered as she noticed a color change in a page, big red letters spelling out the name of a new chapter. DEMONS, and how to handle them. Her fingers smoothed over the page as he brought the book into her lap once more.

  "You can summon special demons by chanting their name three times, without breaking the pattern. If your demon guide however is unhelpful, and causing more problems than you need. You can send them back by chanting their name once more. Three times, unbroken..."

 Her eyes widen as she bit her lip. If it was in this book, then it had to work, right? This was given to the recently deceased to help them after all. She thought back to after everything happened with Beetlejuice, remembering her dad now having crosses around the house even if that didn't really work when he used it before. However he had also acquired holy water and given Lydia some as a precaution. She thought it was silly, since back then she had no reason to believe Beetlejuice would come back. Now that she was faced with a new option, however. She slid the dresser drawer back in place, keeping the book tucked under her arm. She walked over to her bookshelf and pulled down a squirt gun that her dad had poured the holy water in. Would this actually work? If it didn't it probably would either piss Beetlejuice off or make him laugh at her. Or both. Either way she still liked the security of it. Maybe he'll be too entertained by her squirting him with holy water to hurt her or the others. Holding this in her hand meant that this was real. She was really going to do this. Walking over to her curtains, she closed them quickly. Lydia then went to her phone on the nightstand then picked it up. She turned the Bluetooth on, changing the volume of her music to the max. It wasn't uncommon for Lydia to listen to her music loudly some times. A good excuse to cover up whatever noise the demon would bring; the others wouldn't question it. Her dad wouldn't be home for a little while longer so she didn't need to worry about him. He was the only person who was ever bothered by her listening too loud.

 "Alright.. you can do this, Lydia. Just. Just one quick conversation can work for closure, right? Right. This isn't the dumbest thing you ever did at all. Besides summoning him the first time.." She tossed the book on the bed, then held up her squirt gun. It might not even work, so that would be good. Right? This is just an empty attempt. Whatever it took to reassure herself she wasn't going to get killed. Sitting down on the end of her bed, she stared out at the mirror. Okay. You can do this, Lydia Deetz.

 "Beetlejuice.." Everything seemed normal so far. Just the sound of her music, nothing eerie whatsoever. There was a chill however she felt against her neck, though she figured it was just her nerves.

 "Beetlejuice." A gust of wind started knocking hard at her window. It had to have been the oncoming storm. Just another coincidence. Or so she thought. Her music started to change songs at a frequent pace. Shit. This was really happening. Was he really going to come? She gripped her squirt gun, gritting her teeth. She couldn't show fear. Lydia refused to let him have the upper-hand.

 "Beetlejuice!"

[talkingismylifewrites]

18 19 and 22 ! love your work and hope you're doing ok!

18. what is a line/scene you’re really proud of? give us the dvd commentary for that scene.

Crouching down, he began to shove the photos back into the box, careful not to bend them or touch the glossy finish. But the moment he picked up the first handful, he stopped, staring in confusion down at his own face squished next to John's. He flipped it over to the next photo, this time just him grinning at the camera. The next, John, looking rather displeased, Roger's hand holding his cheeks tightly. Next. The two of them curled up on a couch, their heads bent together in sleep. Next. John from behind, but in Roger's fur coat. Roger hugging John. Roger and John drunk at a party, winking at the camera over glasses of beer. The two of them eating orange slices, showing off orange rind teeth. John asleep on the bus. Roger attempting to pour tea. John tuning his bass. Roger in John's lap. John laughing while Roger wrapped an arm around his waist. John and Roger. John and Roger. John and Roger.

John and Roger kissing. Roger was half on John, one hand threaded through John's hair, the other tight on his waist. It wasn't a kiss between friends, or even a kiss you'd give as a joke. It was a kiss. One between lovers.

Roger dropped the photos.

In the films, your memory comes back in some dramatic fashion full of tears and pain and a sequence of someone shaking apart while they clutch at their brain, agonized by the rush of memories. The amnesiac panics and flutters, weeping as it all comes back, hitting them over and over like a tsunami of pain and memory.

It was not like that for Roger. For Roger, they returned with a half sigh and the relief of finally coming home. It was like the missing piece that had been gone for so long finally snapped back into place, the key slipped into the lock, his compass finally pointed north. He picked up the photograph and his head broke through the surf, and finally, finally, he could breathe again. Out of the water and onto the shore. Between one second and the next, he felt whole after months and months of feeling empty and broken, searching for everything he had lost.

Roger rocked back onto his heels, collapsing on to the ground in muted shock as it all came back. Everything from their fights to their relationship to every damn dream he’d had and written off as a fantasy. John—his John—not Dominique. All of it, everything he had thought was true was wrong. It was all wrong, all of it. Dominique was wrong. Just being John's friend was wrong. Not loving John was wrong.

"Holy shit," he whispered, crouching down to trace the photo with shaking fingers. Freddie had taken it, in '79. They'd been over at Brian's for dinner and Scrabble, stretching it late into the night. Roger had been complaining about it being late and wanting to go home, but John had been winning and didn't want to forfeit. Roger had crawled into his lap and murmured all the dirty things he was going to do him when they got home. After one particularly filthy suggestion, John had given in and kissed him, licking deep into his mouth just long enough for Freddie to snap the pic, before throwing in his tiles and dragging a smug Roger home.

Because they still lived together. Not as friends, as partners. Boyfriends, lovers, paramours, as John's Kept Man. They were together, had been since January 21, 1978—Roger had missed their anniversary. He'd forgotten it, laid up in bed and sickly and John had never said anything.

"John," Roger murmured, dropping the picture again. "John!"

He had to call John, he had to see him. Scrambling to his feet, he practically flew out of the bedroom—their bedroom—and down the stairs, stumbling as he skipped steps in his haste to get to the phone, to get to John. What would he say? It's me; I remember; I love you; how could I ever forget you?

so i’ve definitely spoken about this being my favorite passage, but i can’t deny that its probably the section i’m most proud of. first of all, it was one of the first scenes ever written. for dyldyl; right off the bat i knew exactly how i wanted the reveal to go (although slightly different in some parts, instead of it being a photo of john and roger kissing, it was going to be a letter roger had written to john that discussed a morning bj in exchange for putting away the laundry). i wanted roger’s initial reaction to the revelation that he’d forgotten to be confusion that melted into sheer joy, and then for it to melt into horror and hurt. 

i also wanted to show that the act of remembering itself is not traumatic, in fact, it’s welcomed and almost as though roger can finally relax. roger remembers and he’s fine, he can breathe again, he’ll find john and be reunited with the man that he loves. 

i also very sneakily reference this particular scene many many times throughout john’s chapters as a kind of juxtaposition of who they are. john spends his nights sitting in the closet staring at their photos and remembering what they once had; so does roger. john also runs down the stairs the same way as roger in his haste to get to him, he skips steps, grabs the banister, spins himself around, he’s leaping down the steps to get to him. 

and, there are some mirrored references to john’s hurt in the same way as roger’s hurt. john’s hurt by the fact that roger has forgotten, roger is hurt by the fact that john remembered. the two of them are two sides of the same coin, and roger regaining his memory puts them both on equal if shaky ground. 

furthermore, the act of hiding the photographs is the kiss of death for both john and roger. for john, tucking away the photographs (which he has admitted are mostly his; john is the keeper of their relationship not just in pictures but in memories as well) is the sign that things are at their lowest, that the relationship he knew and cherished has ended. for roger, the hiding of the photographs is the very same, only for very different reasons. one was done purposefully, the other was done to them. 

i like to think that i managed to get the right sort of mood and expression of emotions right for something like this, and that i did roger’s memories justice. 

19. who is the easiest/hardest character for you to write about? why?

john is actually really hard for me, which is surprising because i’m literally writing four chapters from his pov that come in at 157k, plus however long chapter seven will be. i think it just takes me a while to get into his mindset? and sometimes i’ll write something that’s too ooc. john is so reserved in the sense that he holds himself really taught, and when he does break its an explosion of emotion and sort of overwhelming. he’s funny and witty and rude and so strong? but he’s also reserved. i tend to write to extremes, and that doesn’t commute with john. if it were roger dealing with john’s amnesia, it would be lots of anger and fury and tears and an overwhelming need to be supported, while john is kinda more ‘i’m going to hold it all right here in my chest until i die please excuse me while i go lick my wounds in private’. so it takes me a while and a couple of rewrites to get that tone exactly perfect. hence why john’s chapters have taken me so much longer (that, and the length). 

i also really struggle with freddie’s motives and voice, which surprises me because i think i’m the most like freddie? (okay, if freddie and roger had a baby and it was tag team raised by crystal and john). i actually tried writing a fic from freddies pov completely and i’m not gonna lie i really struggled with it. i think its because freddie is such an oxymoron of a personality. outward he’s very bright and brash and very social, constantly in your face with who he is and how he behaves, but internally he’s very shy and also reserved. his public image is very different from that of his private, and it can be hard to juggle the two of them. if you make the mistake of making him that brash and loud person when the time calls for his quiet side, you can lose the character in the blink of an eye. in order for me to understand his character and the voice i want for him, i have to try a little harder and write a little slower. 

it’s easy to make freddie just be like ‘darling’ and ‘oh how very dare you!’ and all other sorts of platitudes, but that wasn’t him. roger has said he was very shy and insecure, and that he put on an act, which is easily seen in certain interviews or when he’s been filmed without his knowledge. so finding that balance between devastatingly funny and extroverted freddie with his more introverted side can be hard. especially because the very last thing i’d ever want to do is make him a caricature of who he was. 

the easiest pov for me is roger because i basically just think: is this how a gold retriever raised in a frat house with access to cocaine would behave?? and if the answer is yes then i know it’s roger. if no, then it’s john. if fuck yeah, where’s the booze? it’s crystal. 

22. have you cried while writing a fic?

yes, but only because i was so frustrated over it. never because what i wrote was sad, because if i’m thinking it, i can compartmentalize it. i’ve cried reading fics, tho

[caroline18mars]

A Man On Fire - Chapter 20

“What did you just call me?” he cocked his head and squinted his eyes, did she just..? Harper felt her cheeks go bright red, busted, damn, did she just say that out loud? Oh yes she did, another fit of giggles “uhm..floppy hair, in my mind I call you 'floppy hair'” she hiccupped, oh could he just stop the ridiculously cute staring he did? “I mean, you have rather sleek hair, but then there's these wavy bits too and it makes it kind of..floppy..I don't know”. Could she be any cuter? Oh she was gonna add to the cuteness, just talk to me, whatever you say is just sexy and hilarious and cute all at the same time, but then she wasn't exactly done on the topic of his hair, “you know who your hair reminds me of sometimes? Farah Fawcett! You know, like the original Charlie's Angels and..”. Oh I know Farah Fawcett, better than you do, were you even born in that era? “Ok, enough! enough about the hair already! I'm totally done with the subject, can we just go and eat now?”. Uh-oh! Floppy hair was upset, must sober up but most of all shut the hell up, and can you just stop giggling? What are you? 15? oy! “sure yeah..of course..” she took a step back and went in search for her bag and her keys. Five minutes later, they stepped back out into the biting cold that immediately seemed to sober her up, because she remained relatively quiet as they started walking, had he been a bit too harsh? “so..pasta, right? Do you already have a place in mind? Because I know this really amazing Italian place and it's right around the corner, actually” he tried to break the silence, “lead the way” she smiled, oh thank god for that smile.

“Buona sera questa sera” the classical Italian waiter waltzed up to greet them, “Buona sera, hai encora un tavolo per due?” Harper looked at the tiny dining room that was pretty much full, “per una bella donna comme voi? sempre, se vuoi seguirmi” and followed him. Jared watched the waiter pull back her chair and make her more compliments in Italian, ok, ok, we got the picture, just leave her alone, alright? “Grazie, grazie mille” yeah go on, give him a seductive smile, why don't you? Stop being so jealous, man, it's just harmless banter..aaannnddd focus back on me, yes!. Harper looked back up at Jared, not really knowing if he was still a little upset over that floppy hair comment, was it the light in here or did his eyes have a darker colour?. “De Robiano..I should have guessed you were Italian, I thought it was French..you know ever since we started e-mailing, I was wondering what your voice would sound like, hearing someone talk can paint an entire image, but I really had no image of you at all” there was that cocking of his head again. “Does everything have to be about image? Sometimes the flow of a conversation is so much more sexier and can draw up an entire world instead of just an image, looks are fleeting, but what people say or write to each other has so much more impact, don't you think?” Harper shrugged and smiled at that waiter again who was filling up a glass of water for her, pfff. Jared waited until the waiter handed them their menus and left again..finally. “Fleeting looks? Woman, you just don't realize what a stunning beauty you are, do you?” he blurted out, did he care that he already threw all his cards on the table? god no, this felt absolutely right. “Oh..well..” the compliment was as wild as it was unexpected, it was alcohol induced probably, everybody looked better after a glass too many “ have some water, because you've had too much to drink probably..but thank you, haven't heard that one in a looong time, my love life is kinda non-existant at the moment, I've just got a weird stalker that tends to lurk on me when I'm taking a bath” she raised her waterglass at him with a roll of her eyes. “Ah..Sean..I can fire him if you want” just saying that name made his blood curdle, he so didn't want to go back to Europe, he wanted to stay right here in NY with her and forget about all the responsibilities that were gonna take him away from her for months on end. “No, please don't, Shayla hates my guts more than enough as it is, but let's not talk about her or Sean, alright?” she shook her head with a painful grimace, but her eyes lit up the second their food arrived.

Watching her eat her pasta was just mesmerizing, every time a thin string of spaghetti was sucked up between those full lips, he shuffled in his seat, those suggestive sucks followed by a little lick of her lips did things to his loin that weren't exactly appropriate in a restaurant. “You ok? Not hungry?” she licked her lips again, oh could she stop torturing him? “I am, I just...got a lot on my mind..” and not just on his mind, but also a lot going on 1 metre below his mouth. “Ah, ok, because my mother always used to say that I should never trust a man who doesn't eat” she put her fork and spoon down, what was going on in his mind to put him off his food?. “Oh, so what else did your mother warn you about? She sounds like a smart woman” he looked up at her with a grin, “smart is debatable, she's a lot of things, but smart is really the least appropriate term” bye bye appetite, change of subject, right now!. “You don't deserve to be lonely, beautiful Harper Coco, can't you make things better with your family?” he hadn't even finished when she crumbled into a million little pieces “I'm..I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..” he reached for her hand but she leaned back in her chair and shook her head, no, no, she wasn't gonna start crying, not here and definitely not in front of him. “No, it's ok, no harm done and no offense taken because I'm not lonely, anyone ever tell you that you're a real bad judge of character, Joe? By the way, is Joe a nickname?” there, change of subject done and dusted, ha!. “Uhm..no, it's..” what, what just happened? “my middle name, Joseph..Joe” ok, he was gonna play along with her little game, but he would find out the truth later, that was a fact. “BJL..then what does the B stand for and Cubbins? What? BJ? I admit I thought at first it stood for..well you know..” oh he wanted to hear her say this, “BlowJob” she whispered and then started that hilarious giggle again, oh god, he so had no resistance against this woman and her ridiculous sense of humour. “I like the way you think, but in case you've forgotten, we're in a restaurant right now, maybe later, ok?” the shock on her face was priceless “but if you really must know, Bartholomew Cubbins? Dr. Seuss? It's just a name I used at hotels..to stop the fans from finding out what hotel we were staying in”. She took a sip of her water and just couldn't take her eyes off him, he was so obnoxious..and sweet and sexy..he was just..hot, but the last thing she wanted was for him to know she knew.

That twinkle in his eyes when he talked about one of the things he adored doing, like music, was one of the most mesmerizing things about him, every story was probably laced with exaggeration but it didn't matter, he was happy and that was all that mattered. Harper rested her chin on her hand, it didn't matter if they didn't do anything else than just sit here all night, talking like they had a lifetime to catch up on..but then his phone started buzzing around on the table, his face clouded over when he saw the name on the screen and the spell was immediately broken. “Sorry, I.uhmm..will you excuse me a minute?” he asked with an uncomfortable, little smile, “sure, of course..” she nodded, but her mind was screaming no, I will not excuse you, just stay here with me, this is our bubble, ignore the call. Jared connected the call as he walked away from the table and reluctantly put it against his ear “This better be important, because if it isn't I really don't want to hear it”, Shayla pulled the phone a little further away from her ear, oh this was important, mister, so important!. “Yeah, well, it's Shannon..”, his heart froze hearing his brother's name and he knew that his visit to New York was gonna be cut short, “he and his girlfriend..they had a huge fight and trashed a hotelroom, it's frikkin mayhem down here..he even gave Sean a black eye..you and I both know he only listens to one person and that's his brother”. What?! Fuck no! No, no, no “Me? He doesn't listen to anyone” he growled at his assistant, “yes he does, and you know it, I wouldn't be calling you if it wasn't serious, I tried calling Constance but her housekeeper said she's out of town on some hiking trip with friends, and apparantly she has no cell reception”. Oh for fuck's sakes, why couldn't he get a break? “I can have the plane waiting for you in NY in the morning, your time..please..Jared?”

Harper took another sip of her wine that she ordered during his absence, for months on end she had been alone and been just fine by herself, and now that he came along and had spent a few hours together, she couldn't seem to stand the silence any longer, not even for 10 minutes, oh..there he was, finally!. “Everything ok?” she smiled up at him, he just looked so troubled, “yeah..just..something at work, uhmm..I'll ask for the bill”, ok..game over..damn. “I got this” she held up her hand as he reached for his wallet, “no..I..” he tried but she already got up and walked over to the bar, the last thing he wanted was to leave her behind, he wanted to stay here, forget about this stupid tour and just start something completely new with this wonderful, breathtakingly beautiful, incredibly talented woman. “Shall we?” she came walking back to the table, tucking her purse back in her bag but then made an abrupt turn to head for the exit, he wasn't staying, that much was for sure, better to get things over and done with, this wasn't meant to be, a clean break, story of her life, hey hey hey don't go jumping to conclusions just yet. He followed her out and when he saw her fold her arms over her chest to try and keep warm, he sped up to catch up with her “here” he shrugged off his coat and put it around her shoulders. A wave of his perfume and 'just Joe' wafted up to her and she grabbed the sides of the coat, letting the rich fabric roll between her fingers “you're leaving, aren't you?” she refused to look at him, she didn't know why but she just couldn't bear to watch him confirm her worst fear. “Yeah..I'm afraid so” he sighed and she closed her eyes, why did this affect her so much? Simple, because she really, really liked him and this kind of spontaneous crush had never happened and she wanted more of it. 

“Oh..ok” she nodded and pulled the coat a little tighter around her and kept strolling, sometimes silence was the best answer, he seemed to think the same becdause they just kept walking, both of them lost in their own little world but with the same trouble on their mind. “I wish I didn't have to leave but I've got no other choice..” he broke the silence when they arrived at his hotel unexpectedly and some doorman recognized and greeted him, “is this where you're staying?” she stopped and fidgeted nervously with the lapels of his coat. “Uhh yeah, this is me, wait how did we get here?” he looked around him like he didn't know where he was anymore, “doesn't matter” she shrugged his coat off her shoulders and handed it back to him “thank you for the coat..and for today..”. She took a step back but before she could turn around “wait..where are you going?” was she for real? Wanting to leave, just like that? “home..it's getting late” why did she feel like crying? Because this day that had started so wonderfully, was about to end in a total disaster?. “I'll get you a cab” oh just shut up, will you? Just ask if she wants to come up, force her if need be, but she's not leaving, not like this anyway, “no, it's ok, I'll walk..I need to clear my head” she shuffled uncomfortably and instead of a kiss goodbye, she touched his arm with a warm smile and off she went leaving him stunned. Don't look back, Harper, do.not.look.back, because then you'll see the ridiculousness of all this, the meeting, the few seconds it took to develop a crush on this guy..whoclearlyhadotherprioritiesandshewastooafraidtogetattachedtohimtoosoon...run, turn the corner and run like hell. No, this wasn't what he wanted, this couldn't be it..he had just been a little absentminded and wooshhh she was gone..”Harper?! Harppperrr!” he put his coat back on and ran after her.

[angryhausfrau-writes]

Something Old and Something New - Chapter 8: Dinner...

“I feel like an idiot.”

BJ curls into Peg's side and she wraps her arms around him. And they're still standing right outside of the hotel room door, blocking the hallway. But her husband clearly needs this right now – and she won't be the one to pull away.

“I just – I just spent so long getting ready to see Hawkeye, you know? And then he wasn't there. It was Trapper!”

And BJ's voice is full of anguish. Peg holds him closer.

“I know dear, I know,” she soothes.

He had clearly been thrown for a loop. And she can understand why. He'd been both looking forward to the reunion and dreading it for weeks now. He'd stood in their hotel room tying and untying and retying his tie in an expression of nervous excitement – and a desire for everything to be perfect for his and Hawkeye's reunion. And that's been shot in the foot, now, hasn't it? But there's nothing either of them can do about it now.

And they are running a bit late at this point. Late enough that Trapper has disappeared downstairs with the wedding present and they're left standing alone in the empty hallway. Late enough that she doesn't have the time to comfort him like she wants to.

None of this is going how they wanted it to. But it will all turn out all right, she's sure. Because the two of them are here together and they'll figure things out - come hell or high water. So she holds BJ tight once more and then gentles his head out of the crook of her neck. A position that he'd had to contort himself into, bending his knees to reach – and that can't have been comfortable at all.

“BJ, look at me. You're not an idiot. And I'm sure Hawkeye is downstairs with the others, waiting for us.”

The “So let's get a move on, huh?” is silent but heavily implied. And he can't really argue with that – much as he just wants to spend the whole reception in his room where it's safe. Where he doesn't have to confront his feelings for Hawkeye. Where he doesn't have to have the coming awkward conversation of just what, exactly, those feelings are. Where he doesn't have to come face-to-face with Trapper – the lover of the man he's in love with, and who he just made an idiot out of himself in-front of.

At least things can't get any worse, impressions-wise. And Hawkeye's already seen him at pretty much his worst anyway and they're still friends.

“Ok, yeah. Let's head down.”

--

Trapper makes the long, awkward slog to the gift table at the front of the reception hall. And it feels like all the rich fuckers are staring at him – cussing him out with their eyes for daring to be late, and be him, and pollute their refinement with his presence. And Jesus fucking Christ, he hates Back Bay. Charles had better fucking appreciate this.

And he ain't feeling too fucking charitable towards BJ for making him this late – and therefor the center of attention like this - either.

But Trapper's had plenty of practice bullshitting his way through poncy parties where people just barely tolerate his presence – left over from his college days at Dartmouth and the yearly holiday shitshow with his ex-wife's family – so he keeps his back straight and his face blank and his seething pissed-offedness locked up tight.

He delivers the gift. And Max owes him so fucking big for this. But also, he's glad this is happening to him and not her and Soon Li. Cuz that would prolly get about a million times worse for them than it is for him. And Max would mouth off at someone – or Soon Li would, cuz she ain't one to be condescended to either. And then whatever rich fucker'd started it would get even more upset. And that wouldn't end well for anyone.

Trapper can see the whole scenario play out piece by piece – and it ends with Max and Soon Li getting kicked out. And then the party wouldn't be no fun at all. So it's just as well she's a conniving little bastard who knows just how to play him.

But he ain't gonna let it go that easy, either. Not when he can prolly knock her down another five percent or so on that lingerie price via guilt trip, anyway.

Task complete, Trapper swings by the bar cuz he's noticed that none of the tables have any drinks other than booze at them. And maybe Marjory made sure Hawkeye's got something he can drink - but he wouldn't bet on it, given that even the kids got champagne to toast the happy couple – whenever they actually show up. And some of the kids are clearly parroting their parents in describing the bouquet of the wine or whatever else bullshit. Which, Jesus Christ. Imagine being a wine snob at eight.

So anyway, Trapper gets Hawkeye a Shirley Temple, which nets him a weird look from the bartender, but it ain't like he gives a shit about what he thinks either. Thought even the reception's bartender is posher than just about anyone else Trapper's ever regularly interacted with. Only the best at this wedding, apparently.

And then finally, Hawk's drink in hand, he makes his way over to his designated table, and thank God that's over with. And thank God that they – all the MASH contingent, plus Letta and her husband – have been put at an out of the way table so none of the Emersons or Winchesters or Oakes will have to look at them. And maybe that should feel like a snub, but Trapper's honestly glad he won't have to put up with any of the sneers and glares he got walking into the reception while he's eating dinner.

--

“Hawk!” BJ exclaims and goes tearing across the ballroom toward a tall, thin man with salt and pepper hair and an old fashioned tuxedo, sitting next to a man who appears to be a priest. Which seems rather out of character for the description she has of Hawkeye Pierce. But the man stands at her husband's shout.

And responds with an equally exuberant, “Beej!” before getting pulled into a bear hug.

At least BJ's anxiety about seeing Hawkeye again appears to have abated.

Peg approaches more sedately than her husband, so they've broken apart by the time she gets close.

“The infamous Hawkeye Pierce, I presume?”

He looks different from the grainy black-and-white photos she's caught glimpses of in passing, when cleaning BJ's study or when they'd been passed around to her and Erin if BJ'd been telling bedtime stories about Korea and in a particularly nostalgic mood. The man in those photographs had looked gaunt and tired and overall worn down by the mundane horrors of war. This man here is vibrant and alive and full of the kind of childish mischief most people outgrow a decade or so earlier. But despite the differences, this man is undoubtedly Hawkeye.

He grins and holds out a hand. “And you must be Peg! It's wonderful to finally meet you in person.” Then his expression turns sly. “BJ, you've been holding out on me. Your stories didn't come close to doing her justice.”

Peg finds herself grinning despite herself. Hawkeye is quite the charmer - no wonder her husband had been so taken with him.

“Hey, hands off my wife! Go bother your own date.” BJ pretends affront.

“Would that I could, but alas, Margaret has run off to the powder room with Kat and half the other women at the table. They're either unionizing or planning a bank robbery.” He turns conspiratorially to Peg. “If you want to get in on the ground floor of the heist, I'd cut out now.”

Peg laughs. “I think I'll wait a few more years to start a life of crime. At least until the children are a little older.”

“I'm just surprised Margaret agreed to be seen with you,” BJ chimes in.

“Well, it was between me and Trapper – and Kat drew the short straw in the date department.” Hawkeye grins at Trapper, who's just arrived at the table, presumably from dropping off the wedding present.

“Ouch,” Trapper says, not sounding very hurt. “Just for that, you're getting your own drink next time, Hawkeye.”

But he's smiling as he hands over the glass of whatever it is. And Peg watches as their fingers brush and linger. And she sees how Trapper angles himself around Hawkeye, pressing against him in a way that would look innocuous if you didn't know better.

Peg hadn't been entirely certain that her husband wasn't reading too much into things. That Hawkeye and Trapper weren't simply very close friends, the way she assumed BJ and Hawkeye had been. Friends forged in war and terror – and closer than brothers for it.

But it turns out that BJ's in love with Hawkeye.

And then she'd thought that maybe BJ was reading too much into Trapper and Hawkeye's relationship because of how he felt about Hawkeye. Like if Hawkeye really was a homosexual and in a relationship with Trapper, then there was a chance for BJ too. And maybe it's all just wishful thinking.

But it's fairly obvious, now, that BJ was right. And that Hawkeye's relationship with Trapper is more than simple friendship. Which has some potentially unfortunate implications for BJ's chances with Hawkeye. Which Peg doesn't really know whether to be happy or disappointed about, she honestly doesn't.

And now the conversation has foundered with her focus on Trapper and Hawkeye – and on the two of them together– and BJ's focus on her reaction. So she endeavors to set those thoughts aside for now and return to the social niceties.

“Who's Kat?” Peg asks. BJ hadn't mentioned her in any of his stories about Korea. Maybe she left before he got there.

“Margaret's roommate,” Hawkeye supplies. With perhaps a touch of emphasis. Hmmm.

“So you're on a double date?”

Trapper laughs. “Just like old times. Though I don't remember them running out on us quite this fast in Korea.”

“That's just because there were fewer places to hide.” And that's how Peg meets Major Margaret Houlihan. BJ really was not exaggerating about her in his stories at all.

--

Finally, Charles and Marjory and all the rest of the wedding party show up – so Trapper'd been glared at for nothing. He guesses the rich get to decide how late is fashionable and how late is rude and everyone else just has to lump it. But their arrival seems to be the signal for everyone to sit down and shut up so that a succession of really boring people can make terrible speeches about how great Charles and/or Marjory are. All without really seeming to know them at all.

Trapper's a little jealous of Hawkeye, BJ, Peg, and the Padre cuz they're carrying on a silent conversation in sign language the whole time – even with the other three way down the table - and that looks like a lot more fun than trying to actually pay attention. But Trapper does have Kat whispering sarcastic commentary in his ear. And sure, it's mostly so he'll whisper it into Margaret's ear like some kinda lesbian to lesbian telegraph service. But he'll take what he can get at this point.

And God, he'd forgotten how much fun Kat is. Not that Margaret ain't a good time – but Kat has one hell of a sharp tongue and Trapper's counting on her running commentary to make this upper-crust shitshow of a wedding reception bearable. Since all the Back Bay snobs are gonna be gossiping about Trapper and his friends all night, he may as well get his own entertainment outta them.

And then Honoria joins their table after the speeches finish up and dinner gets started. And she's apparently stolen a bottle of top-shelf champagne from the head table to get their portion of the party started early.

“Shouldn't you be in the wedding party?” Hawkeye asks her after turning down a wine glass of champagne. “You know, since your brother is the one getting married.”

“And your dress looks an awful lot like a bridesmaid dress,” Trapper adds. “You on the lamb?”

“It-t's tr-true,” Honoria says, with a dramatic hand to her brow. “I confess, I've run aw-way from home.”

“They gonna come hunt you down?” Trapper's a little wary of causing more of a scene this early in the proceedings.

“Ooh, do you need a disguise?” Hawkeye asks, delighted at the prospect. “How bout you and Max swap outfits, you're about the same size.”

“And I look absolutely stunning in teal, it has to be said,” Max adds from down the table.

She laughs. “Th-thanks, but I doubt th-they mind I've gone missing. Less chance of embarrassing th-the family w-way over here.”

“I'm sure that's not true,” Margaret chimes in. “Charles always spoke very fondly of you, Honoria.”

“And you seem like a fun gal to spend time with,” Kat adds with intent.

Trapper bets her and Margaret will run off somewhere with Honoria the minute they can get away with it. Not that he can really blame them for jumping at a good time when it lands in front of them. He's just a little sore that his built in dance partner is gonna abandon him – given that was the whole point in getting a date to this shindig. He'll have to hope there's someone in the rest of herd of MASH vets and their partners that wants to take a spin around the dance floor.

“In fairness,” Hawkeye says, interrupting some pretty heavy eye contact between the three women, “Charles is too busy making eyes at Marjory to notice a herd of elephants stampeding through the ballroom – much less that his sister is missing.”

Trapper looks up at the happy couple. “I'll say this for 'em. They do genuinely seem to be in love.”

If Winchester gets to looking any sappier, he's gonna have little hearts coming outta his eyes like in a cartoon.

“Isn't it something,” Radar interjects in an awed tone.

“Radar! Come sit with us, it's been an eternity since I've seen you.” Hawkeye pats the seat next to him. They've all started playing musical chairs as various couples swap with each other, using the time it's taking for the servers to reach their table at the back of the room to catch up with everyone they've missed talking to, either upstairs or before the festivities got underway.

“You saw me upstairs ten minutes ago,” Radar grumbles under his breath. But he sits with them readily enough. And brings his date along as well.

Their whole table's completely ignoring the fancy little place cards set out for them – and given that Honoria's stolen a chair from some other table, that appears to be spreading across the whole room. Trapper can spot at least one surreptitious chair theft happening while the former owner is busy at the bar. And some of the guests are just baldly demanding others give up their seats since their own have gone missing and they're obviously much more important. It genuinely feels like things may come to blows – or the posh equivalent – at some point this evening. So at least there's that to look forward to.

And it's good to know that the 4077 can still sow chaos wherever they go. Though hopefully it doesn't get them booted out before dinner's even served.

And it's nice to catch up with Radar. He's changed a lot since Trapper'd last seen him – and even since Hawkeye had, apparently. And it ain't really a surprise. He'd been just a kid back in Korea, stuck in a shit situation with way too much on his shoulders. But now he's really come into himself, it seems like.

Radar talks about running the farm – and it sounds like him and Park Sung are doing a good job of it. Not that he's one to judge or anything. The depth of his experience with rural living amounts to going to visit Hawkeye's dad and a few semi-disastrous Boyscout camping trips as a kid. But he's glad Radar's happy. And his Ma's apparently doing fine too.

But mostly, Radar talks about Patricia – his date to this little shindig and who's been pulled into a conversation about nursing by Margaret and Kat. Leaving Radar to gush over how smart and pretty and all around wonderful she is - to Trapper and Hawkeye's amusement. To hear Radar talk, she's invented penicillin and polio vaccines all in one.

Finally, Radar pauses to take a breath and Hawkeye mock whispers, “Do I hear wedding bells?” And at Radar's blushing nod, he sniffs dramatically and pretends to wipe his eyes with a handkerchief. “They grow up so fast, don't they Trapper?”

“Seems like just yesterday we were conspiring to get him a date.”

“Yeah, after his fiance threw him over – jokes on her,” Hawkeye says, pinching Radar's cheek, “Radar's grown up to be quite the catch.”

“Oh, cut it out you guys. I ain't some dumb kid no more. And me and Patricia are engaged now, anyway. So I ain't thought about Lindy Sue in forever.”

“Engaged!” Hawkeye gasps, affronted. “And you didn't tell us? Does family mean nothing to you?”

Radar looks abashed and mumbles “I didn't figure you'd wanna come all the way out to Ottumwa for the wedding so I didn't bother sending nothing out. Id'a told you after I was actually hitched.”

And it makes sense, given Radar'd been left at the altar before. He wouldn't wanna jinx nothing by spreading things around. But it looks like both of them are in this thing for the long haul.

So Trapper throws an arm around his shoulders. “Radar, Radar, Radar. It's us.”

“Your Aunt and Uncle,” Hawkeye continues. “We threatened to adopt you.”

“And those threats ain't made lightly.”

“Of course we'd come to Iowa for the wedding.”

Radar blushes. It's a little embarrassing – them talking like they're his kinda parents still – but it's nice too. “Thanks you guys. I'll make sure to invite you once I know when it's happening.”

It sure won't be as grand as this one is. But it'd be real nice to have his friends there – Hawkeye and Trapper and maybe Max and Soon Li'd wanna come down for the wedding. It ain't that far from Toledo to Ottumwa. And maybe Colonel Potter'd wanna be there. He ain't Colonel Blake, but he'd done his best to look after Radar – just like Radar'd done his best to look after him. And it'd be real nice have the Father there, even if he'd have a pastor to officiate.

Radar leans back in his chair, closes his eyes, and lets himself open up to the future like a sunflower opening up to the sun. Till now, he'd been real careful to keep whatever it is lets him look squeezed shut tight, just in case he'd see something he don't wanna see. Like Patty leaving him like Lindy Su'd done – not that he's been thinkin on that or nothing. Or maybe he'd see some other kinda disaster befall them that'd keep 'em from getting hitched. And he's still scared of all that.

But here, with all his friends, it feels like things are gonna work out just fine. And like it ain't gonna hurt to let the future in.

Eventually, Radar and Patricia leave – running off to go talk to Max and the Padre about their engagement, looks like. And Trapper doesn't mind that. He knows they'll have time to chat again later if they want.

What he does mind is that BJ steals Radar's vacated seat, plopping himself right between him and Hawkeye.

BJ'd been kinda hovering in the background for a while now, like Hawkeye had suddenly gained a blond, over-earnest shadow. And Trapper figures he's probably missed seeing Hawkeye everyday like Trapper knows he had after getting home, so he can't begrudge them wanting to catch up. And he has a wallet full of kid pictures and enough public-appropriate stories from work they oughtta make it through dinner ok. If BJ even deigns to talk to him, that is.

He seems real fixed on talking to Hawkeye – and only Hawkeye. Margaret barely warrants a distracted nod and Trapper doesn't even get that.

But it ain't like they've ever been close, so he just shrugs it off and goes to talk to BJ's wife. She's small and blond and pretty – and bears a striking resemblance to Louise. It's a little uncanny, if Trapper's being honest.

Mrs. “Peg, call me Peg” Hunnicutt seems like a nice gal, though. Shame about her husband.

And that's maybe a little too catty. So he turns to engage Peg in conversation about her real estate career – and the interior decorating that goes along with it - cuz it seems polite and she's kinda being ignored by BJ, too. And maybe not his favorite topic – or one that he knows anything about, given that he'd pretty much left his house like Louise had had it, plus a few additions from Hawkeye and his dad – but it beats trying to horn in where he ain't wanted.

Seeing Hawkeye is... seeing Hawkeye is indescribable. BJ almost can't believe that he's real and here and sitting next to him. Close enough that BJ can feel Hawkeye – electric and chaotic and full of an infectious joy that's not exactly settling but that feels familiar like home and bright shiny new all at once. Magnetic in a way that makes BJ have to fight not to touch him, press against his side, throw an arm around his shoulders, pull him into another hug and just never let go.

He turns sideways a little in his seat to more fully face Hawkeye and it brings their knees bumping together under the table and it's like there's a live wire running through him lighting him up and he can't fucking stand it.

Can't keep hold of the thread of whatever story Hawkeye's telling because he's too busy watching the dance of his hands. Too busy feeling the press of his leg when he leans towards BJ during an especially emphatic point. Too busy looking at Hawkeye's face – split by a huge grin and with his eyes all crinkled up in mirth and shining with joy as he tells the punchline of a joke.

He can't bear to tear himself away.

And then Hawkeye's leaning behind BJ to talk to Trapper and the little world he's built around just the two of them comes crashing down. Because, oh yeah, there's other people in the room aside from him and Hawkeye.

All the ambient noise of the room rushes back in – including Hawkeye rattling his glass of ice meaningfully at Trapper.

Who's leaning around BJ to smirk at Hawkeye – and there's an intensity so very visible in his eyes. “Why Hawk, would you like another drink?”

Hawkeye effects a “who, me?” expression, which just prompts Trapper to roll his eyes and take the glass from him – hands brushing and lingering – and BJ has to turn away.

Trapper stands and turns to the ladies. “You want a drink, Maggie? Kat?”

Kat waves him away but Margaret orders, “Scotch and water, tall,” with all the strength and steel of a military command.

“Yes ma'am!” Trapper sketches a sarcastic little salute. And then he turns to Peg. “How 'bout you, Peg? What're you drinking?” And he seems very familiar, leaning towards her in a way BJ doesn't particularly like.

“I'll be buying Peg's drinks,” BJ interjects. Where does Trapper get off flirting with his wife?

Trapper looks a little taken aback – and maybe BJ shouldn't have been so quick to jump down his throat. It's just that things between him and Peg have been a little – not strained, never that – but different. Like they're standing at the precipice of something neither of them can see and trusting that everything will be ok if they jump. So BJ's maybe been a little protective of her.

Luckily, Trapper just shrugs and says, “C'mon then” over his shoulder as he heads to the bar. And he seems completely relaxed walking through the crowded room, even as BJ wilts a little under the bald stares of the other wedding guests.

Although some of his self-consciousness may have something to do with being alone with Trapper without the buffer of Hawkeye – or even Charles – to ease the conversation along. And the way Trapper's lounging at the bar, all broad shoulders and long, lean body – seeming perfectly at ease – doesn't help any. And neither does the way Trapper plucks the cherry out of Hawkeye's drink, puts the whole thing in his mouth, stem and all, before pulling the stem back out, tied in a perfect little knot - which he places back in the glass like some kind of trophy or calling card or something.

BJ squirms a little in what's probably jealousy.

He downs his double Scotch in one and orders another. But the feeling is still there whenever he catches a glance of Trapper out of the corner of his eye – still sprawling on his barstool like he owns the whole damn hotel.

And it doesn't help when they get back to the table and he puts a big, possessive hand on Hawkeye's shoulder as he hands over his drink. Yes, definitely jealousy - and nothing else. Because what else could it possibly be?

And jealousy is something he's been trying to be better about. But hasn't exactly been easy – particularly with Trapper right there in front of him, flaunting his closeness with Hawkeye.

“Don't forget to tip your waiter,” Trapper jokes as he hands over Margaret's Scotch.

“Oh, I'll give you a tip and a whole lot more later tonight.”

Hawkeye's lascivious whisper right into his ear makes Trapper almost forget where he is and who he's with. But all he says is, “I look forward to it.” And then turns his gaze towards Margaret and Kat – two much more socially acceptable targets for whatever the hell his expression looks like right now.

And Margaret just smiles knowingly at him, bless her. “I don't know, Trapper. You took an awfully long time bringing a lady a drink. I'm not sure I care for the service at this establishment.”

No, she wouldn't, would she.

He laughs. “It's not my fault some pompous asshole ordered a punch Romaine – to be made immediately, of course – right in the middle of the bartender making your drink. I had to sit there for fifteen goddamn minutes while the poor guy chipped ice.”

“Oh! Is that why my cherry's already been plucked?”

BJ chokes quietly on his drink.

“Sorry Hawk. I know how much you like to watch.”

Hawkeye opens his mouth for a rebuttal, but Margaret interrupts them by asking after the girls. Probably for the best, cuz they're being maybe a little too overt. BJ's giving them a kinda weird look, anyway. And the change in conversational topic means Trapper gets to show off Becky and Cathy's school pictures and a real nice snapshot from when they all went up to Maine to visit Hawkeye's dad.

Despite Hawkeye's insistence that Trapper loves his daughters more than just about anything else, BJ is still surprised when he pulls out a series of photos of his daughters and shows them to Margaret. Who passes them around to Kat and then Peg.

“Oh, Trapper, they're lovely!” Peg exclaims.

“That's Cathy.” Trapper leans over her to point out which daughter is which – and BJ has to stop himself from doing something stupid. Like tackling him from across the table.

“And that's Becky. She's smart as a whip – got that from my ex-wife, along with her looks, thank God.”

“Oh, I don't think you do too badly,” Hawkeye interjects glibly.

Trapper studiously ignores him. “And that's all of us at the beach in Maine with Hawk's dad and Steve and Millie.”

Peg laughs. “Here, BJ. You'll get a kick out of this.” She hands over the photo – and BJ's a little afraid of what might be in it to make Peg so certain he'll want to see it.

And oh boy. There's Hawkeye in swim trunks - and nothing else. And sure, BJ's seen him in his skivvies plenty – one of the dubious pleasures of living together in an army tent with no privacy and a roommate with even less shame. But this is different. This is... wow.

BJ's almost glad when the waiters show up to serve them dinner and he has to hand the photograph back to Trapper. But only almost. Because what he really wants to do is look at it long enough the planes and lines of Hawkeye's sunkissed skin are burned into his memory forever.

Maybe Hawkeye'd like to come out to California sometime – he's talked about it before in some of his letters. Then BJ would be the one throwing a casual arm over Hawkeye's naked shoulder. The one Hawkeye would lean into to keep his balance on the shifting sands.

Instead, it's Trapper that's standing there with his arm around Hawkeye's shoulders and with Hawkeye pressing into Trapper's side. Trapper standing there tan and built and – BJ will admit, but only under duress – attractive. The crooked grin and aviator sunglasses certainly don't detract from that impression and BJ wants to punch the non-photograph version right in his stupid, handsome face.

Because, the thing is, is that Trapper's not a bad looking guy, objectively speaking. BJ can see why Hawkeye might want to be with him – with his movie-star looks and his secretive little smirk. Flirtatiousness practically oozes out of him like an oil slick.

But that's the thing – he never seems sincere. Through all of their interactions – and now, through all of Trapper's interactions with Peg and Margaret and Kat and even Hawkeye – BJ has never once gotten the sense that Trapper has actually displayed a genuine emotion. He just sits there joking and flirting indiscriminately like none of it matters – like none of it means anything.

And BJ thinks Hawkeye deserves better.

Dinner's really nice. Lots of laughing and joking around and yelling down the table to pass the salt and elbowing each other in the ribs cuz they're all packed together like sardines. It's almost like being back in the mess tent – minus the accompanying horrors of the Korean war.

And they tell stories from Korea, all shouting over one another and arguing about how events actually transpired. BJ joins in for most of the ones from his tenure at the front. Including stories of pranks he'd played on Frank and Charles and even Hawkeye – which causes him to elbow BJ in the ribs while Trapper leans around him to grin at Hawkeye in silent laughter. And Margaret even chimes in with little tidbits about Frank Burns that none of the rest of them had even known about, so that's fun. Particularly the part about him having a weird thing for her feet. Just lovely. Hawkeye is so glad he's learned this little fact.

“Between Frank and feet and Ponobscott and fingers, I feel like you tend to attract a very peculiar class of man, Maggie,” Kat says.

So it's just as well I've given them up, now isn't it, her eyebrows seem to say in response. And it really, really is.

“Wonder what that says about us, Trap, given that she wanted to jump your bones and actually jumped mine.”

Trapper laughs. “Don't worry Margaret, Hawkeye's into completely normal things like getting stepped on by women in high heels. You have nothing to worry about there.”

BJ blushes as Hawkeye practically launches himself across his lap to slap a hand over Trapper's mouth. “Shut up, Trap. Now she's never gonna wear those leather hip boots around me.”

Kat raises an eyebrow at Margaret who just smiles demurely. She makes a mental note because that. That bears future investigation.

Meanwhile, Trapper has licked Hawkeye's hand in a bid to get it off his mouth. And poor BJ's looking a little squashed with Hawkeye still half in his lap. And a little red in the face.

Probably because Hawkeye is now exclaiming, “Gross, Trap. Stop that – I know where your mouth has been.”

Trapper waggles his eyebrows lecherously. “And I know where your hand's been.”

Hawkeye laughs and runs his wet hand through Trapper's hair to dry it off. And their faces are right in front of BJ's when Hawkeye's hand catches in Trapper's curly hair and it's like time stops. They're just staring into each other's eyes – expressions full of such naked desire – and it's like BJ's caught in some kind of sexually charged force-field. And he's got to get out from between them, he's just got to.

Luckily, Peg rescues him by nudging Trapper in the shoulder – conveniently knocking him and Hawkeye out of their trance – and saying, “Why don't you swap with BJ? I'd like to spend some time talking to my own husband tonight.”

And Trapper agrees readily enough. Probably because it means he gets to sit next to Hawkeye too. But BJ can't bring himself to mind too much, not when he's got Peg's hand on his thigh and Hawkeye and Trapper have stopped looking at each other like they want to devour one another. Though Trapper pretty obviously has his leg pressed into Hawkeye's under the table – the way BJ had until just moments ago.

But he doesn't really want to think about that right now. So he gets down to the business of eating dinner and lets the chatter and laughter blend into a wash of background noise. The only thing that's real is him and his fork and Peg's small, soft hand on his leg.

BJ's gone a little quiet, Hawkeye notices. Quiet like he'd gotten towards the end of his visit to Boston. But maybe that's just how he is now. Hawkeye himself had gone through a similar change after the war, so he's not one to judge. And he's more than capable of filling the silences with stories of the better parts of the war – helped along by Trapper, who remembers some good ones that Hawkeye has half forgotten about.

And even though BJ isn't saying much, Hawkeye's enjoying getting to sit next to him. Just sort of soaking in his presence. Because he has missed BJ a whole hell of a lot over the years since Korea. And they have an unspecified number of days after the reunion to visit with one another, anyway.

Maybe BJ will open up a little more when it's just the two of them. Well, the two of them plus Peg. Who's an absolute delight and Hawkeye can more than understand why BJ's completely and utterly besotted with her. Which Trapper obviously picks up on, cuz he tips Hawkeye a very knowing look when Peg starts talking about the injustice of the government mandated redlined neighborhoods in San Francisco.

She's truly a woman after his own heart. And he's really looking forward to getting to know her better over the next few days.

But the dinner conversation mostly stays light. Funny stories from work, or joking flirtation with the women at their table. And he and Trapper fall back into their little double act from Korea pretty easily – just treading the line of overt camp and humorous insinuation, with Maggie and Kat playing along happily enough – and Peg, once she figures out the game. And she's very good at it – which makes sense, given that she's married to a man who makes terrible puns on an hourly basis.

All in all, it's like being at a better version of the 4077. One without death or bombs or rats or death. Plus, the food's a whole hell of a lot better than army food. Not a single powdered egg in sight – and Hawkeye's more than grateful. Though all the talking he's doing means he doesn't have very much time for eating and he has to pawn the rest of his plate off to Trapper. Who's never exactly been shy about eating Hawkeye's food, invited to or not.

Trapper takes the plate of mushed together potatoes and vegetables – stirred together by Hawkeye as a pretense that he was actually eating the food, rather than just playing with it – with a grimace. But he ain't one to waste food. And it means something to Hawkeye to give it to him.

“You're lucky I love you,” Trapper whispers into Hawkeye's ear.

He throws his head back in a laugh. As if Trapper has said some uproariously funny joke, rather than a declaration of love – framed as a tease or not. And it lets him slap his hand down on Trapper's thigh – totally accidentally, of course, and not at all an excuse to touch him intimately in public. It's a gesture that absolutely doesn't end in a gentle caress of said thigh. Or in Trapper slapping a hand to Hawkeye's shoulder in shared mirth – a hand that ends up with the thumb stroking gently at the nape of his neck.

Hawkeye feels something inside him settle at the gesture. At the reminder that Trapper's here with him and they're home and that Korea is just funny stories and distant memories to be rehashed with friends. He bumps his shoulder gently against Trapper's in appreciation and understanding. And then steals his dessert.

“You just did all this so you could eat all my cake while I finished your vegetables, you little sneak,” Trapper says with a mock glare. It's obvious he doesn't really mind – and he ought to be used to Hawkeye stealing his dessert by now, anyway.

But Hawkeye's feeling generous, so he holds out his fork. “Fine, you can have one bite.”

“Wow, thanks, Hawk. One whole bite of my own cake.”

But he takes it anyway.

And they probably can't get away with much more than that in such a public setting. BJ's already giving them a weird look. But for now, it's enough.

[don-dake]

BJ got his favourite meal today! 🍵🍚

*お茶づけ (ochazuke) — tea on rice

[angryhausfrau-writes]

Something Old and Something New - Chapter 4: Eat of This Bread and Drink of This Cup

“All right BJ. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Peg sets the plate of breakfast and mug of coffee on the table with deliberate care. And she's whispering – but that doesn't keep BJ's head from feeling like a freight train's running through it. He hasn't been this hungover in... well, a while, anyway.

All he can do in answer is groan pitifully.

“Not that I'm not sympathetic-” Peg says, with emphasis, though still at a whisper. BJ's head rings. “-but I'm going to need more of an answer than that.”

“Please, honey, can we talk about this later.” Like when he's alive.

Peg looks at him sharply, assessing whether her husband's being honest or not. He's weaseled his way out of conversations about this before, after all. But he just looks so pitiful right now.

“All right, dear. But we are talking about this.”

He groans in a way that must sound affirmative because Peg heads towards the living room. The sound of her heels on the linoleum crack like gunshots against the inside of BJ's skull and he lets his head fall into the cradle of his folded arms. He's in big fucking trouble and too hungover to think of a way to sweet talk himself out of it.

But he should at least make sure he's capable of human speech for this discussion. BJ shovels a forkfull of eggs into his mouth and even chewing hurts but he feels better after several cups of coffee and an aspirin. And a shower helps even more – the water hot enough he looks like a boiled lobster afterwards but he's able to look his reflection in the eye as he brushes his teeth.

BJ doesn't particularly like what he sees in the mirror, but at least he can stand to look.

Eventually, BJ can't put off going back downstairs another minute. He's clean and dressed and he's set his office back to rights.

That had been – that had been difficult.

He'd wrecked a few photographs, the frames twisted and splintered, the smiling faces of his family and the 4077 obscured behind spiderwebbing cracks. It makes him feel guilty, but it's fixable. BJ sweeps up the glass and rescues the pictures from the wreckage of the room to be put in new frames.

But there's nothing he can do about the pile of confetti he made out of some of Hawkeye's letters – the ones that mentioned Trapper most often, by the looks of what's missing from the box of envelopes. And that. That really fucks him up. To know that he was angry enough, drunk and out of control enough, to destroy something so precious.

He has few enough connections to Hawkeye - to what they meant to each other - to go around destroying them like that. But there's nothing he can do about it now except gather the pieces and throw them into the trash, paper falling like snow to gently cover the rest of the broken shambles of his office. That done, BJ really has no more excuses not to go downstairs to find Peg. To talk to her.

BJ thinks maybe his office could use another round of tidying up.

Peg is an immovable boulder. BJ won't be able to shift her or persuade her to put this off again or sneak past her. She will sit here as long as it takes for BJ to come to her, to apologize to her for last night, to tell her what, exactly, the fuck is going on with him right now. But that doesn't mean that Peg isn't an impatient boulder.

She crosses her legs, ankle demurely over ankle, and flicks to the next page in her Good Housekeeping. It's a quiz to see if you're a good housewife. They seem to put one in every issue – and always with the same questions. Is your floor clean enough to eat off of – despite the requisite dog and several young children? Do you look like you just spent the day at a spa – instead of spending the day cleaning and cooking and chasing after said dog and children? Do you do anything and everything for your husband – and have no expectations of him ever doing the same for you? Peg recrosses her ankles the other way and flips to the next article. Twenty gelatin dishes your family will Just Adore! – sponsored by Jell-O. Lovely.

She hopes BJ hurries it up a little.

When BJ quits stalling and actually gets up the courage to go downstairs and face Peg, she's sitting in the living room, reading a magazine. It's a normal enough scene – although the lack of children is strange. And then BJ realizes that he hadn't seen them last night either. Peg must have - must have kept them away from him.

All the air goes out of his lungs and BJ collapses next to her on the couch, burying his head in his hands. He wants to weep. The idea that he can't be trusted around his own children - who he loves more than anything in the world, except for Peg - is terrible, horrifying. And he had no idea how long she's been doing this. When BJ thinks back to other nights he's gotten a little too far into the bottle – what he can remember of those nights, anyway – the kids are conspicuously absent there as well. Sent to bed early – without a bedtime story, since BJ is usually the one to do that – or sent off to his parents' house. Carefully kept from having to see him like that. Like that, like that – dead drunk and so angry he starts breaking things is what he means.

BJ tries to tell himself it's not really that bad. That it doesn't happen often – and it's always provoked by something, anyway. Justified. And he would never hurt anyone – would never turn that anger on Peg or the kids, only on objects, things that can be replaced if broken. But that's not really true, either. He'd hit Hawkeye - punched him right in the face for no reason other than BJ'd been angry and Hawkeye had tried to keep him from making a mistake. And they'd never really talked about it afterwards. BJ hadn't really apologized, either – just helped Hawkeye rebuild the still – and permanently erase the last tangible part of Trapper left in Korea. Cuz it always comes back to that with him, doesn't it. Jesus fucking Christ.

Peg has continued to flip through her magazine during BJ's little crisis, but he can tell she's not really paying it much attention. Her eye's keep slipping from the glossy pages and onto BJ's face. Waiting for him to start explaining himself, to give her some sort of context for last night – and all the other nights he's been like this. And BJ still doesn't understand all of what he's feeling, all of what had made him so fucking angry last night – but at least he knows where to begin.

“I'm so sorry, Peggy,” he says into his knees, not able to look her in the eye, afraid of what he'll find there. “I know it doesn't make up for things, but I am so fucking sorry.”

Peg nods to herself. He's right, sorry doesn't fix anything. But BJ has cleaned up the damage he'd done and apologized. It's a step in the right direction – and useless guilt and self recrimination doesn't rope a steer.

She puts a steadying hand on BJ's shoulder. “Apology accepted, dear. But we are talking about whatever caused this little... outburst.” Because sorry or not, they can't keep going on like this.

BJ nods. “I've – this morning was sort of a slap in the face, Peg.” His face twists in anguish. “I don't ever want something like this to happen again – I can't let something like this happen again. So.”

BJ takes a breath, gathers the stray thoughts he's had, tries to bring them together into something that resembles coherency.

“So Trapper John McIntyre. I hate his guts and he was all over Hawkeye's letter. What they did together and what idea Trapper had for this stupid wedding. And Hawkeye talked the whole time about Trapper's kids like they were his or something – and how they were all going up to Maine to visit Hawkeye's dad. It just! Why does Trapper get to have that? Why does he get to live with Hawkeye, spend time with Hawkeye's family, be Hawkeye's family?”

Why does he get all that when BJ doesn't.

“Trapper's a third-rate surgeon and a cheater and a, a rake. Always tom-catting around with his stupid body and his stupid face and his stupid little smirk. Like he's some kind of fucking movie star or something. Some big man on campus. Where's Trapper's research position at a prestigious university if he's so damn good? That's right, he doesn't have one. All he has is some experience in trauma surgery and friends in high places. Hawkeye deserves better.”

“Like you?” Peg's sideways glance seems to ask.

“Yeah, like me,” BJ growls under his breath. And then at a volume Peg can hear, says, “But despite Trapper being average in probably every single way – and he's not half as funny as he thinks he is, either – Hawkeye's shacked up with him like they're fucking newlyweds. It's. They're keeping house together. And Hawkeye just – as soon as Trapper walked through the door, he just stopped talking to me. Started asking after Trapper's day and why he was late getting home – like some perfect little wife. I'm surprised he didn't run and get him his fucking slippers.”

“So you think Trapper's taking advantage of him – of his feelings for him? Is that what's bothering you about all this?” Peg asks.

Because Trapper sounds like a real heel, from BJ's telling. But she's not sure how much of that is reality and how much of it is BJ twisting and misinterpreting things due to his own dislike of the man. And she knows that BJ's feelings towards him are only part of this – that there's more to BJ's anger than just Trapper being a jerk and Hawkeye writing about him.

BJ sighs. “No, I don't think that.” And in all honesty, he doesn't really believe that Trapper's half so bad – either as a surgeon or as a friend. It's just. “Trapper was doing just as much of the domestic routine as Hawkeye was. He made us dinner, if you can believe that – a roast like you do for Sunday dinner. Or for company that you want to impress.”

And shit. BJ can see – without the haze of alcohol and anger and whatever the hell he'd been feeling when he saw Trapper and Hawkeye together like they'd been – that Trapper had been trying. Probably out of consideration for Hawkeye, but still. He'd tried. Asked BJ about his work, showed interest in BJ's achievements, made polite conversation with him when Hawkeye was all talked out.

Or too busy eating the food Trapper had made.

All the time BJ had known Hawkeye, he'd barely eaten anything at all. Even with their strange little dinner routine of Hawkeye smelling his food and then giving it to BJ, who'd then put it right back on Hawkeye's plate, most of it went untouched. And sure, Army food was terrible – worse than anything BJ'd ever tried to cook in his shitty apartment kitchen back in college. But it was edible, if you were hungry enough. And the thing about thirty plus hours at a stretch in the OR is that you get pretty hungry.

So BJ had figured that Hawkeye just didn't eat much. He was skinny enough for that to be believable. But there he'd been, eating seconds at dinner and stealing cake off Trapper's plate during dessert. Something Trapper reacted to with fond annoyance - like it was normal, like he'd always done it. And BJ had started to wonder if this is what Hawkeye had been like before, when Trapper'd been in Korea.

Back before BJ had showed up.

And that's not even getting into the way the two of them had been during breakfast. Dancing around one another in the kitchen. Like they were so familiar with one another that they didn't need words to navigate the space between their bodies. And they'd fed each other then too. Hawkeye pressing grapes into Trapper's waiting mouth. Trapper fixing Hawkeye coffee like he knew the way he took it by heart. It had been so intimate – more intimate than almost anything BJ can think of doing with anyone he wasn't married to.

“No, Trapper's in on the whole newlyweds thing, too. And the worst of it is is that Hawkeye's happy like that.” BJ pulls at his hair in frustration. “That sounds terrible. I. What I mean is, I just thought that we needed each other, back in Korea. That Hawkeye needed me just as much as I needed him. And I needed him so much, Peg – I clung to him. And I thought he was clinging to me, too. But it turns out that what he needs is fucking Trapper.” Or Trapper fucking him, a snide voice inside BJ's head pipes up. “And now I don't know where we stand with one another. If Hawkeye really liked me at all, or if I was just. Convenient. A replacement for the person he really wanted there.”

“I know that you, that you need to feel needed in a relationship, BJ,” Peg says gently.

She's starting to see a connection here, with the way BJ's talking about things, to how he'd been when he felt she didn't need him anymore. A connection that she's pretty sure he hasn't figured out yet. He always was a little obtuse.

“And dear, I think Hawkeye being happy probably has more to do with not being in Korea than anything else. He wasn't very happy in Korea with Trapper either, after all. And he might not need you quite the same way he did back then, but he reached out to you, BJ. He kept your friendship alive after the war, and I think that counts for something.”

BJ looks a lot less miserable at that. “You're right, Peg. Our friendship is too important to let something like being on opposite sides of the country get in the way of it. Or us having our own lives.” Even if Hawkeye's life inexplicably involved Trapper. “I guess I should take him up on the offer to stay over a few extra days, then.”

Peg takes his hand. “You don't need to make any kind of decision about anything right away. Maybe take a few days to figure out where you stand with things. It's been – it's been an emotional day.”

BJ isn't quite sure why she's counseling him to wait on writing back to Hawkeye, but he trusts her judgment, so he nods in agreement and squeezes her hand tightly. He's really really lucky to have someone like Peg in his life.

--

About a week later, the penny finally drops. BJ bolts upright in bed, going from just about to nod off to terribly, utterly awake.

“Oh my God,” BJ whispers in something that sounds a lot like horror. “Oh my God, I think I'm in love with him.”

There's no real mystery as to who he's talking about. Not with the way BJ sits there, practically stewing in – Peg doesn't know. Guilt maybe. Or shame. Like he's done something wrong, cheated on her somehow, by feeling things he didn't even realize he was feeling until just now.

Peg isn't particularly surprised, is the thing.

She'd spent the week thinking about all of this. This thing between Hawkeye and her husband. And Peg feels like this realization hasn't just been brewing since BJ got back. No, this all started well before then.

Peg feels like she ought to have known, ever since she'd gotten that first letter from BJ talking about how good a surgeon and how compassionate and how bright and fun and funny Hawkeye was. It was practically a love letter to Hawkeye Pierce. It was just neither of them had seen it til now.

Then there were all the other letters, talking about Hawkeye nearly constantly. Both in the funny stories and the more serious passages about terrible the war was - about how much BJ loved and missed Peg and Erin and couldn't wait to be back home – and how Hawkeye had done something to cheer him up in the meantime. He'd inhabited every stroke of BJ's pen. He'd become a constant companion to Peg during BJ's time in Korea.

She'd come to care for him a great deal, despite having never met him. She'd been glad that BJ had someone there for him – and that he could be there for. Because that thing of BJ's about needing to be needed, Hawkeye had brought that out of him in spades.

So many of the letters had had themes of: Hawkeye's feeling down, here's how I cheered him up. Frankly, it should have been obvious just from that. BJ's love for Hawkeye goes well beyond simply friendship.

And Peg thinks the feeling is mutual. After all, she had gotten that letter from Hawkeye saying that BJ was real cut up he was missing his anniversary and could she maybe send him something to cheer him up. Except that it wasn't just a letter or maybe a photograph or another smutty novel Hawkeye was asking for Peg to send. It was her he was asking her for – all the things she'd do with BJ on a normal anniversary with them both home in Mill Valley recorded and mailed to Korea.

Hawkeye had needled and prodded and tricked information out of BJ until he could recreate an entire day of his life. And not just any day – their wedding anniversary. And since Peg couldn't be there to celebrate with BJ, Hawkeye had done it for her. For BJ. If that doesn't spell love, she doesn't know what does.

It should bother her, the idea that another man loves her husband – and that her husband loves him back. And that Hawkeye knows parts of BJ that she can never know.

And it does, a little. The idea that Peg hadn't been able to be there for BJ in all of the ways he'd needed. That he'd had to find someone else a little closer to home to take care of him – and to be taken care of by him – in Korea. That BJ still harbors these feelings for Hawkeye even now that he's back home with her and the kids.

But BJ isn't about to leave her - not with the way he's clinging to her hand and looking at her like she's his only chance at deliverance. And all of Hawkeye's love for BJ had been expressed in gestures like that anniversary movie – things that brought them closer together, things that let BJ come home to her mostly whole.

Even if they end up talking about this, BJ and Hawkeye, it's not going to go change things between them. There's no guarantee that anything will come of it other than emotional honesty. After all, BJ seems quite certain that Hawkeye is in a committed relationship – for whatever value of committed he and Trapper are both capable of. Trapper hadn't been the only one with rather legendary prowess with the nurses, after all.

So the only question she has is, “What do you want to do about this, dear?”

What BJ wants to do is run and hide, to curl up in the safety of Peg's arms and never think about this again. What BJ wants to do is go find Hawkeye and bring him to Mill Valley and keep him here forever. But neither of those are exactly options, so he says, “I guess I want to talk to him. About all this.” He gestures vaguely at the space between them, the bedroom at large, maybe even all of Mill Valley. There's just so much – and BJ doesn't know what any of it means yet.

“Well then, I guess we'd better plan on staying in Boston a few extra days. Why don't you let Hawkeye know.”

--

Trapper gets woken up by the phone ringing in the middle of the night on a week when he's not supposed to be working nights. But sometimes, there's an emergency bad enough everyone gets called up, scheduling be damned. So he holds back on the stream of profanity he wants to let loose and picks up the receiver.

“This is John McIntyre.”

“Hi, Trapper.” And it's Aisling from down the way, not one of the emergency services operators, so that means he doesn't need to start getting dressed at least. “I got a BJ Hunnicutt calling for Hawkeye. All the way from California, if you can believe it.”

“Yeah, yeah, they're old war buddies. I'll go get Hawkeye. Tell BJ to learn how time zones work while he waits.”

Of course, Hawkeye's wide awake now and looking questioningly at Trapper, trying to figure out what's so important that he's getting a phone call from BJ at two in the morning. And Trapper could just pass over the phone, BJ probably wouldn't say anything about it – and Aisling, who's voice Hawkeye can hear clear from across the room, definitely wouldn't. But Trapper's apparently feeling a little huffy about being woken up for a non-emergency type situation – at least, Hawkeye hopes it's not an emergency type situation. Not much Hawkeye can do from Boston if it is. So that just means something terrible like death or. No, everything is fine. BJ just doesn't know what time it is in Boston. Or he's drunk and. No, that's not really better.

Hawkeye makes impatient grabby hands at the phone.

“Hey, BJ. What's going on? Is something wrong?”

Hawkeye sounds muddled and half-asleep through the phone and suddenly, this seems like a bad idea. Like BJ's jumped the gun. What time is it in Boston, anyway?

“Hey, Hawk. Nothing's wrong.”

BJ hopes not, at any rate. He'll have to wait to see Hawkeye in person to know for sure. That definitely isn't the kind of conversation you have over the phone when the operator – or Trapper – could be listening in.

“Look, I'm sorry to call so late. I just wanted to say that I'm planning to come to Boston for the wedding and that Peg and I would love to stay for a few extra days. And that I'm sorry I've been kind of a jerk.”

Hawkeye's smile can be heard through the phone. “BJ, that's great news! I can't wait to see you both. Though maybe we could talk about this some time other than the middle of the night?”

Oops. Peg's listening in on the call and BJ can feel her silent laughter breathing against the back of his neck.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'll write you a letter tomorrow. Sorry to call so late – I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

“It's ok, BJ. But if that's everything, I'm going back to sleep. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Hawk,” BJ barely breathes into the receiver.

All of the air has gone out of his lungs, but out of relief this time, not fear. It feels like a huge weight has been lifted from his shoulders, getting to hear Hawkeye's voice – even if only for a minute. Knowing that he's real and there, even all the way across the country, and that BJ will have a chance to talk – really talk – to him soon. It's a bigger relief than he could have imagined.

“You're a real smart lady, Mrs. Hunnicutt,” BJ says into Peg's bare shoulder.

She kisses his forehead. “Goodness knows, one of us has to be. Now you'd better get some sleep too. You can write Hawkeye and Charles in the morning.”