lovethyneighb_or | IC inbox (pumpkin hollow)

How is it that Mulcahy never feels less like himself than with the people who used to know him best? Hawkeye makes him feel haunted--not just even by that old Hawkeye, but by his past. By what Hawkeye wants him to be.

But he's not here. There's a stranger in the house. (Maybe that's how Hawk feels, with everything Mulcahy remembers of someone else and all the things he didn't do. There's a stranger in the house.)

Mulcahy waits for him to spit at him or curse him, to continue his long enlightenment of every way he has erred and continues to err with him. Or at least to refuse. Or at least remain silent. But Hawkeye says, however strained, however reluctant, thank you.

He had been prepared for insults, but not for this. He could tolerate any form of cruelty better than kindness. The ugliness of him had to be given expression, and if there was anyone who sees it, it's Hawkeye. It feels like a lie. It feels incongruous with the look on his face--Mulcahy can't tell if it's disgust or if he's just paranoid, if it's even for him. But it must be. They're the only ones here.

But Hawkeye says thank you, and he's not willing to fight.

"I'm sorry," he says again, "and I'm sorry I was too cowardly to tell you."

"Yeah, well," Hawk starts, but can't really find something to finish the sentence with. Nobody's perfect feels like the understatement of all time, and 'don't worry about it' isn't something he can say in good faith.

An exhale.

"I should get out of your hair, if there's nothing else," give them both some breathing space. This proximity is going to kill them, they need to try again at a nice arm's length.

It's alright. Mulcahy can read the silence perfectly fine.

"Yes. That might be well." He sighs, pulling away. Considers the window. It's probably still early to pull it back much farther than the little corner of visibility he's vigilantly left open.

Sigh.

"Will I see you around, Hawk?"

Another opportunity for a small mercy. Another chance to grant him some small relief. So he does.

"Yeah, you will. I probably owe you coffee for that tray you brought over, so. You know my hours and when to knock."

It's not a grimace but Hawk offers him a closed-mouth smile stuck tight to his teeth.

"Keep well, Father."

He watches Hawkeye go, hands wringing over each other. Not in a nervous fashion necessarily, just... moving.

"I'll do my best." It's the best that he can promise. "And you as well, Hawkeye."

It isn't until Hawk gets out of the apartment that he feels like he can breathe again. They were in love, Trapper is gone, such big defining things feel like they need time before Hawk can accept them. Time to ruminate, time to bargain and deny them until he can't anymore. And Mulcahy...

Is it strange that it's relieving to know there's a reason he feels so far away?

When Hawk gets back up to his apartment, he opens the curtain on his side to about halfway.

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