"Inheritance"

 

by Jimaine

 

My very first five-minute fic, and a true one it is. Four fifty-five on the 'Nobody ever…' challenge.

 

Rating: PG

Pairing: Hawkeye/B.J.

Archive: mash-slash…somebody *please* resurrect it before I die??? And it can also be found at T'Len's & Lady Charena's place.

Disclaimer: none of it's mine, they belong to FOX, all eleven seasons (and don't I hate them for it) and I'm just borrowing them for a little fun. No profits are made.

 

The last paragraph I kinda semi-borrowed from a Sarah McLachlan song called "Building a Mystery", quite appropriately so, I think.

 

 

********

 

 

Nobody ever should have such power over people. Nonetheless, you do, and you wield it effortlessly, charming and smooth-talking your way through the insanities of war by collecting fragments of other people's sanity to patch up your own, taking what you think you can get away with.

A skill you must have picked up from my predecessor.

 

You trapped me whole.

 

My eyes first...my thoughts next...then my voice so that there wasn't a single sound when, last but not least, my soul followed.

Where it is going, I don't know, and you couldn't tell me if I asked you.

That much at least I do know.

I'm not blaming you, or anything, you've got to believe me.

It's just…in some hollow space beneath my skin I feel something twisting, screaming for it to stop.

For 'us' to stop.

 

I didn't have it in me to stop you.

I couldn't say the words he would say when you'd teeter too close to the edge.

I couldn't give you what he would give you.

I couldn't give up myself the way he could.

 

You had to realize that I was…different. And yet…

 

On a cold night, we took the last step, never thinking that it would mean…this much.

 

Treacherously much.

 

Wish I could have known the then-you. Before Korea, before the blood dyed you (you died?) a permanent red (that why you wear that bathrobe? Because that's a red you can slip out of at will). And before...him. Maybe…maybe I could have saved you. Or even loved you. And maybe you could have loved me back.

 

We might have loved each other.

 

You without that blazing despair in your every kiss, the fierce trace of loathing need you communicate with every touch.

And me without my, well, surrender. Please don't call it pity. Please don't! It's all I have to give, Hawk. This is all I am when I'm with you…

 

The now-you is someone who wakes up screaming aloud, the sound a prayer from your secret god to feed off of fears and hold back your tears.

 

 

FINIS