Fandom: M*A*S*H.
Author: Epigone.
Pairing: Hawkeye/BJ.
Rating: PG.
Warnings: Sexuality, dark subject matter, present tense.
Archivists: Ask first.
Summary: Local anesthesia, the natural way.
Date Written: February 21, 2003.
Author's Notes: Written in response to Raven's 6/20/03 five-minute challenge, "Hold your breath--." Took days, not minutes. Thanks to Robbie for Korean translation and Meredith for the title.
Feedback: Can be sent to kmaru1701 [AT] hotmail [DOT] com, and is much appreciated.
Breathing Lessons
"Hold your breath," says BJ to the scrawny boy who stares up at him from the bed, wild-eyed, shaking. The nurse who has been doing the blood test retreats behind her clipboard and observes as BJ cups his hand over the needle and steadies the boy's arm. "Hold your breath," he says again, and looks to the mother, perched on the edge of the bed like a drab bird.
"Soom shee jee mah," she says in her thin voice, the words dry and brittle as old leaves. She is almost as frightened as her son.
"Soom shee jee mah," repeats BJ to the boy. "And it'll stop hurting."
Hawkeye, slumped in a chair by his own patient's bedside, lifts his eyes to watch. The boy's narrow chest is still for a moment, and then BJ says, "Now let it out, slowly." The mother translates, and, with the boy's attention focused on the rhythm of his exhale, BJ draws the needle out and closes off the tube of blood, which shines clear amber in the lights. "See? Done." He passes the tube to the nurse to be sent to the lab and touches the boy's wrist. "He should sleep now. We'll get this infection cleared up as soon as we know what it is." The mother nods her head vigorously, although Hawkeye wonders how much she truly understands.
BJ sighs and gets to his feet, stretching sore muscles. He catches the slightly glazed look Hawkeye is giving him before Hawkeye lowers his eyes and takes his patient's chart from the rail again. A beat, and BJ is at his elbow, saying, "What's wrong with this one? Elevated temperature still?"
"Yeah," replies Hawkeye to the floor. "I -- I think I'm going to have to open him up again, figure out if I missed something."
BJ's voice is small and fine as a thread between them.
"When?"
"Two or three hours, maybe." Hawkeye's fingers curl viciously in on his palm. It doesn't escape BJ's notice.
"Well, then," says BJ with false cheer, "you're coming back to the Swamp with me first. Abel can keep an eye on this kid. Abel?" He is prying the clipboard from Hawkeye's fingers as he speaks, gently.
"Doctor?" Abel approaches, looking from one man to the other.
At BJ's insistence, Hawkeye relinquishes the clipboard and stands, dully watching as it is passed to Abel. "Give him two pints of blood and call me as soon as his vital signs are strong enough to operate," he says wearily.
BJ has him out the door before he hears her answer. The red dust billows vaguely around them, a shadow of no substance, and then they are in the Swamp, BJ depositing Hawkeye on his bunk and moving off to fix a pair of martinis.
"You've gotta take a break, Hawk," he says. Hawkeye makes a noncommittal noise and lies down on his back, his arms stretched across the width of the bed, his legs rigid and straight. His eyelids flutter in a wince that BJ just catches as he turns away from the still. "What?"
Hawkeye rolls away onto his side, and momentarily he feels the mattress fall away beneath him, before BJ, sitting beside him, moves closer and hands him the drink.
"Nothing. I just want that kid to get well. Now," and his fist hardens around the glass. At length, he brings the drink to his lips and gulps it down violently.
Now BJ's hands are on the small of his back, just below the taut shoulder blades, in that stretch of vulnerable skin; BJ's knees press into the base of his spine as BJ kneels behind him. Hawkeye tenses and begins to put the drink down, but BJ takes it and sets it aside for him, and his other hand slides Hawkeye around so that he is lying supine again.
"What're you doing?" asks Hawkeye, squinting at him, not attempting to get up.
"Hold your breath," says BJ huskily, with indeterminate emotion.
"What?" But Hawkeye obliges, filling his lungs with a last stab of air.
"Soom shee jee mah," BJ tells him in the same tone. Leans forward: two fingers under Hawkeye's chin, legs straddling his legs. Hawkeye closes his eyes, so that BJ can fall the rest of the way and kiss him, a brush of lips and the floodlights hazy through the mesh and quiet, so quiet it seems they will never breathe again.
And, for just a moment, it stops hurting.
~Fin~
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