"I am not a number!" Hawkeye yells, in his sleep. "I am a free man!"
He comes awake slowly, hands curling into fists on the metal edges of the bunk. Hunnicut glances across at him. "You watch a lot of TV as a kid, Pierce?"
Hawkeye stares at him. "Yeah. I guess." Through the half-blur of sleep, he's aware of the sky above him, dimly visible through the canvas. "Though don't you think..."
"No argument here." Something about his voice is calming, and Hawkeye makes a sudden, impulsive decision. "Hey."
"Yeah?" Hunnicut looks at him with interest, but there's still friendliness in that gaze, as though they're in this together. Hawkeye breathes in.
"My name is Hawkeye. I mean, it's... it's Benjamin Franklin Pierce - yeah, I know" - this off Hunnicut's expression - "on my papers, and, and stuff. But my friends, and everyone - they called me Hawkeye. My dad named me after a character in The Last of the Mohicans."
"Hawkeye," Hunnicut repeats, and holds out a hand. Hawkeye scrambles off the bunk ungracefully to grasp it, unrepentant about wanting human touch. "BJ."
*
The day after they operate in tandem, chest wounds, gunshot wounds, bodies opened up with strange hollownesses inside, the flesh fused like glass. Not for the first time, Hawkeye looks up at the overseer and says, "What... what happened to them?"
"That's not your concern." The overseer puts a hand to his face and for a minute Hawkeye thinks he might pull down the mask. "Another one coming."
"Ready to close," Hawkeye says quietly to BJ, and BJ responds without speaking. They're a good team, Hawkeye thinks, looking down at both their hands buried in the patient's abdominal cavity. He glances back at the overseer, the black band over his eyes shifted back into place. Hawkeye squeezes his own eyes shut for a minute, breathes in the clean smells of antiseptic and alcohol.
"Next," he calls, and the orderlies come in.
*
"Where are you from?" BJ whispers, after dark.
"Crabapple Cove, Maine," Hawkeye answers. "Went away to school in Boston, class of '08, then moved back to hang out my shingle next to my dad's. Kind of a country doctor, me."
"You're very talented," BJ says, and there's a beat. "Look where it got you."
Hawkeye shrugs, gives him a wry grin. "You?"
"California." BJ looks far away for a moment, his eyes on the stars they can see. "God, I miss San Francisco."
"Never been, and I miss it. You gotta tell me what exactly I miss about it sometime." Another beat, then Hawkeye asks, tentatively, "Where do you think we are?"
BJ looks back up at the stars, then matches his shrug. "Northern hemisphere. S'all I've got."
"Celestial navigation," Hawkeye murmurs, and without his really meaning to, his hand creeps out from his side, finds BJ's, grips tight.
no subject
[trigger warnings for graphic violence in this]
"I am not a number!" Hawkeye yells, in his sleep. "I am a free man!"
He comes awake slowly, hands curling into fists on the metal edges of the bunk. Hunnicut glances across at him. "You watch a lot of TV as a kid, Pierce?"
Hawkeye stares at him. "Yeah. I guess." Through the half-blur of sleep, he's aware of the sky above him, dimly visible through the canvas. "Though don't you think..."
"No argument here." Something about his voice is calming, and Hawkeye makes a sudden, impulsive decision. "Hey."
"Yeah?" Hunnicut looks at him with interest, but there's still friendliness in that gaze, as though they're in this together. Hawkeye breathes in.
"My name is Hawkeye. I mean, it's... it's Benjamin Franklin Pierce - yeah, I know" - this off Hunnicut's expression - "on my papers, and, and stuff. But my friends, and everyone - they called me Hawkeye. My dad named me after a character in The Last of the Mohicans."
"Hawkeye," Hunnicut repeats, and holds out a hand. Hawkeye scrambles off the bunk ungracefully to grasp it, unrepentant about wanting human touch. "BJ."
The day after they operate in tandem, chest wounds, gunshot wounds, bodies opened up with strange hollownesses inside, the flesh fused like glass. Not for the first time, Hawkeye looks up at the overseer and says, "What... what happened to them?"
"That's not your concern." The overseer puts a hand to his face and for a minute Hawkeye thinks he might pull down the mask. "Another one coming."
"Ready to close," Hawkeye says quietly to BJ, and BJ responds without speaking. They're a good team, Hawkeye thinks, looking down at both their hands buried in the patient's abdominal cavity. He glances back at the overseer, the black band over his eyes shifted back into place. Hawkeye squeezes his own eyes shut for a minute, breathes in the clean smells of antiseptic and alcohol.
"Next," he calls, and the orderlies come in.
"Where are you from?" BJ whispers, after dark.
"Crabapple Cove, Maine," Hawkeye answers. "Went away to school in Boston, class of '08, then moved back to hang out my shingle next to my dad's. Kind of a country doctor, me."
"You're very talented," BJ says, and there's a beat. "Look where it got you."
Hawkeye shrugs, gives him a wry grin. "You?"
"California." BJ looks far away for a moment, his eyes on the stars they can see. "God, I miss San Francisco."
"Never been, and I miss it. You gotta tell me what exactly I miss about it sometime." Another beat, then Hawkeye asks, tentatively, "Where do you think we are?"
BJ looks back up at the stars, then matches his shrug. "Northern hemisphere. S'all I've got."
"Celestial navigation," Hawkeye murmurs, and without his really meaning to, his hand creeps out from his side, finds BJ's, grips tight.