"Hawk-- news came. From... Tokyo."
Winces.
"Oh, boy. What has Frank done now? Gone so gaga over a wedding that he threw the cake into the Mekong?" Hawkeye paces, throws his arms in the air. "Tried to kiss a crossdressing blond general?"
BJ stands in the doorway of the Swamp. It's late at night, late enough that they aren't worried about other people seeing them. "No."
Hawkeye turns to BJ, and he's impatient. "Well, tell me. What did ferret-face do to himself now?"
BJ sits down on his bunk, and grabs a glass. Can't look Hawk in the eyes... immediately, Hawk closes his mouth. Puts a hand on BJ's shoulder. Eventually, and with three swallows of moonshine, BJ says, "Well. He found himself a gun."
A little gasp. "Oh god. He didn't shoot Margaret's hus--"
"Himself."
Oh, god.
There's a pause, because there's always a pause in conversations I write, and there's always a pause in conversations that are hard.
Hawkeye joins BJ on the bunk. Mirrors. Takes the glass from BJ's limp hand. Drinks.
Finally, he gets up the courage. Asks the simple, "When?"
BJ shakes his head, because he knows, neither of them really care about when. Or-- about much of anything, right now. There's nothing left to say, except, "Pour me another one, sailor."
And, "Yeah. Coming right up."