cannot be comprehended except by permission . . .

So after a bout of influenza and a visit to the states and days of everything BUT words on a page, including classes in a most irritating language (je suis fatique), I managed to peck out this little Hawkeye/BJ for the lyrically prose gifted Thayln, as per the meme of a thousand springs ago . . .

You know, hawk and bj always seemed to me to be the perfect slash boys. The circumstance of their friendship, Hawk's inherited from Alan Alda's emo tendencies, bj's underlying need to be needed . . . well, I am sure they tumbled together on many occasion. And I love them both for it . . . of course this ditty is but a pale attempt to capture some of that angst and desperation . . . hope it works.

We are Nowhere
Hawkeye/BJ
Slash
For Thayln

He comes to me at night. After endless hours of of sutures and sorrow, in the aftermath of another blood-smeared day.  He waits outside Post-Op, leaning his long limbs just out of the light.  I attempt levity, a quip, but he just drags me around the corner and shoves me against the wall, his hands making quick work of my protest. His lips search and destroy. Punish. I know it’s not me. It’s this place he’s trying to forget, leaving it behind in a trail of faint bruises on my flesh. I welcome him, wrap myself in his grief, exhale my own, and for a moment, we are nowhere. But then a tent door slams and he tears himself away, shoves a hand through his hair, and disappears back into the light.  And I am left with nothing.