Chapter Text
Most people would be excited for a vacation. And, short as it was, it was a vacation. BJ and Peggy had booked a room at the hotel where the conference would be held, they’d be attending a nice welcome dinner, and Peggy’s parents had come to look after Erin while they were gone—but therein lay the problem. He’d spent so much time away from Erin, losing out on the earliest days of her life; hell, Peggy had still been pregnant when he’d been drafted. He hadn’t even been there when she was born. When he’d returned from Korea, he’d been a stranger to her, a figure that she had only seen in pictures on the mantel. Even now, a few years after he’d returned home, he felt his stomach sour with guilt at parting from her.
Peggy, though, tucked her arm through his and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Don’t worry so much, darling. It’s only a short drive. And you know Mom and Dad will look after her.”
“Oh, I know they’re having a blast.” Without him. Again.
As if she could read his thoughts, Peggy raised an eyebrow at him. He tried to smile and patted her hand. “I know. I know.”
“We’ll be lucky if Erin remembers what bedtime is by the time we get back,” Peggy said. “So relax a bit, darling. Enjoy having a full night’s sleep, for once.”
BJ couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept through the night. Before Korea, for sure. Back there, at the 8063rd, he’d never slept well. There was always something—nightmares, wounded, night shifts. He’d learned to nap when he could, and he still hadn’t quite unlearned the habit. Erin had already been sleeping through the night when he returned home, but even so he went to her room each night, just to check on her. This short trip was the longest he’d be away from her since he got home.
“It’ll be like a second honeymoon,” Peggy said, running her fingers up his arm. “Just the two of us… in San Francisco…”
BJ had to admit, that did sound nice. He knew he’d been—not always in the mood, since coming back. Distant, so to speak. Not that Peggy complained; she was too good to him.
She hadn’t complained when he’d been drafted. She hadn’t complained about having to bear her pregnancy alone. She hadn’t complained when BJ had missed their daughter’s birth. She hadn’t complained when he’d missed their anniversary, not once but twice. She hadn’t complained about having to get a job to support their family. She hadn’t complained when he’d come back home with new nightmares and strange habits.
When he’d married her, he’d wanted to make sure she never had a reason to complain. He wanted her to never feel like she had to hold in any of her problems like she had when she was younger. He couldn’t help but feel that he was failing.
So, a vacation would be good. He was determined to enjoy it and, most of all, to make sure that Peggy enjoyed it.
“As long as you’re not too bored while the conference is going on,” he said.
“Of course not,” Peggy said. “I have a book to read. And we’re in San Francisco, not the suburbs. If I get bored, I can just step outside.”
“Leave me a note if you do,” BJ said. “I’ll join you if I have some free time.”
“We can walk down by the pier,” Peggy said. “It’s been awhile since we went there. Remember how we used to go fishing together?”
Fishing. Another thing that Korea had soured him on. He’d like to pick it up again. Teach Erin how to fish once she was a little bigger, maybe. They already had her learning to swim at the community pool, so he wouldn’t worry too much about having her near the water as long as he and Peggy were both there.
“Or Chinatown,” Peggy said. “We should visit Susie’s restaurant again. I’d die for some of those dumplings right about now.”
“Sure,” BJ said. “There’s the dinner tonight, but how about tomorrow?”
Peggy beamed at him. It made his heart ache; how rare had that expression become, in the days since he had returned home? These days, it felt like worry creased her face more frequently than happiness. “It’s a date,” she said, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Now, let’s get checked in before the welcome dinner.”
The hotel wasn’t one that he was familiar with, but it was a nice place—the kind of place that felt like a little too much, after a couple years in Korea. But he kept on a polite smile as he went up to the receptionist and rang the bell.
The receptionist, for his part, had a disgruntled scowl as he turned around, although it shifted more to a grimace as he met BJ’s eyes. “And how may I help you, sir?”
“We have a room. Hunnicutt,” BJ said.
“Hunnicutt, Hunnicutt,” the man muttered, searching through the reservations. “I’m sorry, I don’t see you. Perhaps you have the wrong hotel?”
“This is the hotel where the Society of Cardiothoracic Surgeons is meeting, right?” BJ said.
The man frowned like he’d been reminded of something unpleasant. “That is correct.”
“Then I have the right hotel,” BJ said.
“Is it listed under the hospital?” Peggy asked.
“No, no, they said it would be under my name,” BJ said. “BJ Hunnicutt. That’s H-U-N—”
“Oh, with a u,” the man said, as if he found the spelling of BJ’s name deeply offensive. “Let me see. Ah, here you are.”
As the receptionist turned back around to the keys, Peggy rubbed her temples. “Headache?” BJ asked.
“Just a little one,” Peggy said.
BJ had seen a small shop in the lobby as they entered. “I’ll get some aspirin from the pharmacy.”
“I’m fine, darling,” Peggy said, but BJ had already scooped up his bag and jogged off. He knew Peggy—she could have a headache like someone was applying a jackhammer to her temples and insist she was fine.
The pharmacy had all the usual little touristy bits and bobs—snow globes, models of the golden gate bridge, postcards, magnets—and some larger items that he couldn’t imagine anyone buying from a hotel of all places, like a radio. But there was, mercifully, a pharmaceutical section with all the usual necessities. Eager to get back to Peggy, he made a beeline for the aspirin—
—and nearly fell flat on his face.
“Oof,” said the person under him, as BJ realized he was staring into a pair of blue, blue eyes. The man underneath him was handsome; something about his features was striking, and he was tall enough that their feet knocked together as BJ shifted, and his dark hair was streaked with premature grey, making him appear young, but somehow old in a way that struck a chord.
Those blue eyes squinted as the man smiled. “I gotta say, it usually takes a little more effort for me to make someone fall for me. You alright there? You really came out of nowhere.”
“Bing Crosby,” BJ said, without thinking. The man blinked and then laughed. His chest shook under BJ’s hands, and BJ realized, to his embarrassment, that he had yet to make any move to get off of him.
Hastily, he got to his feet and offered the man a hand up. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there. I’m fine—how about you?”
“Oh, I like New York in June, I like a Gershwin tune, I love a fireside when a storm is due,” he said.
“And I like potato chips, moonlight, and motor trips,” BJ said, which had him laughing again.
“Mad about good books?” he asked.
“Can’t get my fill,” BJ said.
“Holding hands in the movie show when all the lights are low?” he went on.
“May not be new, but I like it.” BJ realized, abruptly, that he was still holding the man’s hand. Hastily, he let go. “Although my wife might not.”
The man took a step back. “Jealous woman?” he asked, something teasing still lingering in his gaze.
“No,” BJ said. BJ had always been the jealous one, of the two of them. Another way that Peggy was too good for him. “But she’s waiting for me to bring her some aspirin for her headache.”
“Oh, well, better not keep the lady waiting,” the man said, stepping aside so BJ could pass him. He didn’t go far, though, peering at the shelves alongside BJ. “I could use some of that.”
“Sorry again,” BJ said, although something about the scenario struck him as odd. He really hadn’t seen the man at all—he had to have been almost completely flat on the floor. “What were you doing on the floor, anyways?”
“I dropped a magnet,” the man said, gesturing towards one of the shelves. “I’d just gotten it out when I was ambushed. But in terms of ambushes, this is one of the better ones. Usually my ambushers aren’t quite so handsome.”
BJ laughed, startled and flattered, and the man grinned at him. “You get ambushed a lot?”
“Only every Sunday by my Aunt Eloise,” he said. “I don’t know what she’ll do now that I’m away for the weekend.”
“Better keep an eye out,” BJ warned, and the man let out a loud, honking laugh, which had BJ grinning right back at him. Really, the last person he’d had this much fun talking to was Peggy—
Peggy, who was waiting for her aspirin. He quickly grabbed it and made his way to the counter. The man leaned against the counter beside him, turning the magnet over in his hands. “Maybe I should get a different one,” he said. “Or a snowglobe. What do you think?”
“Why not both?” BJ said.
“Both, huh?” the man said, twisting around to look at the snowglobe display. BJ pulled out his wallet to pay for the aspirin while the man picked one out, considering it carefully, like the choice of a souvenir worth about a dollar was a far more important decision than it seemed.
“Are you going to buy those?” BJ asked.
“What?” The man looked down at the magnet and the snowglobe. “Oh, right. At this point, I think I’d better.”
Aspirin in hand, BJ glanced around for his bag—he’d dropped it when he fell—and eventually spotted it, lying in the aisle. “Nice meeting you,” he said, grabbing it. “I’ll see you around.”
He felt foolish as soon as he left—see you around, like the man wasn’t a guest in a hotel in a city where BJ didn’t even really live. He tried to put it from his mind; Peggy was waiting for him, just over there.
“Aspirin, milady,” he said, offering the bottle.
“Thank you, my good sir,” Peggy said, as she twisted it open and took one. “Shall we?”
“So he handed over the keys?” BJ said.
“Finally,” Peggy said, rolling her eyes, as she picked up her bag with one hand and tucked her other hand in the crook of his elbow.
“Is it just me,” BJ said. “Or did that receptionist have something against surgeons?”
Peggy burst out laughing. “Oh, good, I thought it was just me!”
“Maybe a surgeon stole his lunch money,” BJ said.
“Or beat him to the best parking spot,” Peggy suggested.
“Or cut in line at the grocery store,” BJ said.
“Or ran away with his wife,” Peggy said.
They had each other in stitches by the time they made it up to their room, coming up with more and more outrageous reasons for the man’s dislike of surgeons; BJ could hardly unlock the door for laughing. They tumbled through the doorway, eventually, still giggling.
“We should get ready,” Peggy said, pulling him down into a brief kiss. “Mind if I wash up first?”
“Bathroom’s all yours,” BJ said. He needed less time in the bathroom than Peggy did; she would want to fix her makeup for dinner. While she made her preparations, he got comfortable, hanging up the garment bag with his suit and Peggy's dress and setting his bag on the bed. When he opened it, though, he stopped short. There, at the very top, was a stethoscope. He picked it up and set it aside, digging deeper. Scalpels. Suture kit. Bandages. Thermometer. Everything a doctor on the go might need.
“Uh, Peg?” he called. “This isn’t my bag.”
“What?” Peggy called back from the bathroom. “Oh! I have your bag, darling. Trade you.”
BJ stared down at the bag with a sinking feeling. “Unless you’ve got a side job you didn’t tell me about, this isn’t your bag, either.”
***
Hawkeye opened up his bag—or not-his-bag, as it was—and pulled out a bra. He stared at it, turning it this way and that, and thought back to the man he’d encountered in the hotel store.
“Huh,” he said. “You know, it’s always the ones you least expect.”