ph_logs | The bathroom tiles were cool against my hand

The bathroom tiles were cool against my hand

CHARACTERS: Hawkeye and you! Yes, you!
DATE: November
LOCATION: Hawkeye’s Clinic
SITUATION: Settling in, making waves, shaking hands, making friends
WARNINGS: Blanket warning that war and injury may come up

Press my corpse against the wall

Hawkeye wakes up to sunlight instead of Radar yelling for helicopters. He has his coffee unhurried, plans out his day. No Frank to yell at him for not shaving, but no Trap to chew the fat with, either. Nobody to complain with about breakfast. It’s too quiet. If he doesn’t see a human person in the next hour, he’s going to start gnawing his own limbs off.

So from about 8am-6pm, the clinic is staffed. The sign out the front reads ‘Hawkeye’s Clinic, happy hour 6-7pm’, and underneath that, more recently, a smaller sign reads ‘100% satisfaction rate; just ask the survivors!’
Inside, Hawkeye is either cleaning, running his tabletop still for alcohol to disinfect with (or drink), or organising his small array of client notes.

I told the band to leave without me

If you actually visit during the signposted happy hour, the table in the middle of the clinic has a tablecloth draped over it, and Hawkeye stands there polishing the couple of glasses he owns. Someone should get him some decent barware. There’s a couple of stools, and he grins as you enter. He’s playing bartender. Indulge him?

I'll get the next flight

After happy hour, the ‘bar’ gets packed up and the clinic gets scrubbed down. If you’ve got a standing invitation for cards, a date, or just want to check in on him off-hours, this is the time to do it. Find him out on his front doorstep with his nose in a book, leaning out the window with a martini in hand and watching the street, or doing something upstairs, the sound of a pleasant baritone muddling through something jazzy.

And if I make it to the mornin' (wildcard)

(Hit me!)

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When should a reporter meander in but when there's booze being served? His face animated, his eyes wild, a friendly air about him, here's your Cecil, Hawkeye. Get him! Before he, uh, gets you? Or something.

Sam appears at the front desk of the clinic for two reasons:

1) He has a supply delivery. Equipment, ingredients, and documentation copied from the other office so that even if they don't all like associating, they do at least all have the same information on the people in the town that they would be taking care of

and 2) Sam had been pointed in Dr Pierce's direction as someone that might not rankle as much as some at the larger clinic. He still hasn't actually made the appointment that he'd assured in a wishy-washy sort of way that he'd make, because someone decided he needed a physical (he understands why but it doesn't mean he has to like it).

If there's a bell, it will be dinged. If there's not, he'll knock, and preemptively explain that he's got mail.

There is, of course, a baby strapped to his chest. This is nothing new. Half the village has taken note of Lou by now, he's sure.

The Shade's not a big drinker, never was--but he's Irish enough to hold his own, and the sign hits him in a way that makes him smile. For a second, Mr. Moody comes to mind and his smile grows, remembering the man's shrill little laugh.

Unable to resist the lure of that irreverent humor, the Shade opens the door and dips his head to walk inside--have nearly seven feet of tattooed ginger, Hawkeye. He's big, he's brawny, and he's got a presence to him, but the smile on his face is all curiosity and easy warmth.

"I heard of barber surgeons, but bartender surgeons? Ain't altogether sure how I feel 'bout that, seein' as I can't ply my trade here." he quips, sliding onto a stool. "What's on tap, Doc? Home grown rotgut or somethin' smoother?"

He isn't planning on stopping by--but the doc's hanging out the window with a drink in hand, and the (safe) familiar face eases some of John's perpetual tension. There's even a smile as he shifts his course to walk up to the open window.

"That to celebrate a good day? Or cope with a bad one?"

"Whatever it was, it just became a better one," Hawkeye beams, raising his glass in a lazy salute.

"How're you holding up, John Jay? Settling in alright? Hey- you want one?" he raises his glass again illustratively, "drive-through service."

Oh now this guy looks like he knows a good time.

"Fine weather we're having, isn't it?" he offers, while polishing a glass.

"Always wanted to say that while doing that. Hi- I'm Hawkeye, my name's on the door and not just because they won't let me in anymore. Pull up a pew- we've got gin, gin, gin, or an empty glass for you to hold and pretend you're drinking something."

That gets a laugh out of John as he ducks his head a little...he's not blushing. You're blushing.

People don't tend to be happy to see him. New feeling. Nice feeling. More of that, please.

Then Hawkeye offers him a drink, and the color drains from John's face.

Is there a law against me getting something to eat here?

Yeah, me.

John manages a wan smile and shakes his head with a dismissive wrinkle of his nose.

"I...nah, but thank you."

"Hold on-" Hawkeye gets the door, and beams just as soon as he sees the baby. Sorry Sam he'll be a moment.

"Is this the mail? It's not mine but I'll take it," he coos, stooping down a little to smile at the kid directly.

"Sorry, had to make the joke," he stands back up, "whatcha got for me Mr Mailman?"

"I'm also a barbershop quartet surgeon, if you can find me three other guys," he quips back. Oh he's big, with the sort of muscles that Hawk has only really seen on boxers before now. He leans his elbow on the 'bar', trying to look charming.

"This isn't rotgut, just the finest kind of homemade gin. And nothing else. Sorry, still setting up. Martini, if you tell me what your trade is?" he offers, retrieving a glass.

The Shade laughs at that, surprising himself. Sharp as a tack, dry as Sunday church--he ain't no Mr. Moody, but the old man would love this guy.

"Hey, least if a sawbones is mixing it up, I ain't gotta worry 'bout poisoning myself. Won't hurt me much, but I been told it's damn uncomfortable." the Shade replies with a grin. "This'll be a first, though: ain't ever had a martini before. Undertaker by trade--apprenticed in Houston, worked in New Mexico 'till the day I died. I go by the Shade, but Joe's easier for most folks."

Eddie won't make it into town until after happy hour, having to take care of his farm animals as he does. Missy and the carriage have been left at Angel's house, since Eddie is planning to spend the night there.

The first that Hawkeye likely sees of Eddie is the man approaching his clinic with a cloth-covered plate.

Eddie waves with his free hand. "Hello, doctor! Thought I ought to swing by with a housewarming gift."

Or is it clinic-warming? Whichever. Food-based present either way.

The new doctor moving into the clinic proves very convenient to Jean's usual project of interviewing new arrivals; nothing quite like a person self-selecting into providing useful information! After some consideration in the morning they decide to show up late in the clinic's hours, with a small bag of coffee as a welcoming gift. It might be a bit late in the doctor's day for an actual cup.

So congratulations Hawkeye! There's a very short person with messy, rough-cut black hair, dressed pretty simply (those suspenders though) and vibrating gently in your clinic. They hold up the bag and flash the kind of smile you get before someone says 'you have really nice skin' in a Concerning Way, with oddly pointed, triangular teeth that fit together very well. "Good evening, Comrade!"

"Hey, suit yourself," Alanon has already been invented, he might not need it himself but he's not judging, and he'll make a note to not ask again.

"I mean it, though- you settling in okay? Anything you need? I'm still setting up myself, but I can always lend a hand. Made any friends?"

"I make it on a one to three ratio. Three parts gin, and one moment to think if I should add vermouth before I don't."

And hey, criteria met, he pours the Shade a glass. He's not all talk- it's genuinely delicious gin, nice and dry.

"Joe, good to meet you. You know Chris? They mentioned they were a coroner- hope I don't have to see either of you too much on the job, at my old outfit we had a 98% survival rate, and I don't intend to let that drop. I'm from Maine, myself- little piece of paradise called Crabapple Cove."

John shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets as he shuffles a little closer to the window. His heart is still racing, but the fact that Hawkeye doesn’t seem to notice or comment makes him feel a little better—he just needs to get his goddamn body to understand that.

“Guess so—not much to settle. Still bunking at the inn.” He replies softly, glancing around before focusing on Hawkeye again. “Met a local smith. Ex-merc, commissioning a knife off her once I find work.”

He looks away again, squinting a little with another hapless shrug.

“I don’t…talk to people much. Don’t need much, don’t—“

I’m not wanted. I’m not allowed. No one will let me settle anywhere and all my friends are dead. You’re the first person to ask after me in so long I can’t remember, and it feels strange.

He takes a breath to try and compose himself, flashing Hawkeye a small smile.

“Got at least one friend. Maybe. Big fan of cheese. I hear that’s how he got his bars.”

"Ah, my spies inform me that you must be Jean," he says, looking up from where he's laying out his surgical tools.

"Hawkeye Pierce. That bag for me, or do I need to operate on the coffee?"

"Well hey- that's neighbourly of you," Hawkeye beams, moving to take the plate from his hands, peaking at what lays under the cloth, inviting him with a gesture inside.

"Y'know I'm gonna be glad when I can finally stop introducing myself. I'm Hawkeye, name's on the door, who are you?"

What lies beneath the cloth is a pound cake -- the same recipe that River la Croix likes so much, so Eddie figures it's already proved its mettle as a good basis for friendship.

"My name's Eddie Kaspbrak, and according to Angel, I'm another one of your marriage prospects," Eddie replies with a wink.

(Of course that little chat with Angel got back to Eddie. In universe we'll say that they discussed it, but really you know this mun is a nosy parker.)

"Spies -" Jean Gets It after a second and laughs before setting the bag down on a free space, well away from the tools. While the thought of surgically becoming part-coffee is appealing to Jean in a 'would joke about this for hours if given enough beer' sort of way, they don't wanna see it wasted. "For you, yes! Agent Jean, at your service. I thought it might be more polite to not show up during peak hours! I'd hate to interrupt a patient's care."

Yeah, still vibrating. Their pupils don't seem to be getting any bigger either. "Welcome, Doctor Pierce!"

"Ah, guess we can't all be so lucky to have a job that we can take everywhere."

He smiles back, using his free hand to reach over and pat John on the shoulder.

"Glad to hear it. We don't need music or film or books either, but I don't want to live in a world without them, y'know? It's good to have friends."

Hawkeye indicates with his head towards the clinic, "had some people come in and introduce themselves. Seems like a nice little place, lots of friendly people. Almost makes me suspicious."

"Lucky me," he beams, tilting his head before he places the cake down- away from his nice clean examination table- and rifles through his surgical gear for a bone saw. It's fine he hasn't had to use it yet.

"Eddie- you're the other guy from Maine, right? The uh- the farmer? You should've heard how Angel was talking about you, absolutely smitten. You want some?" he holds up the bone saw illustratively, "I'll just eat it myself if you don't have some."

"It's actually been mercifully quiet, I haven't had to do more than take out a couple of stitches. Knock on wood, I mean."

He picks up the bag and looks it over for a moment, before glancing back to Jean.

"You feeling alright? You're uh-" just kind of gestures at him with the bag, "shivering?"

"Never fear, I'm always like that! Doctor First Aid solved the relevant problem." There's a flicker across their face; First Aid bothers Jean, but the two of them are also stuck together. It's not like surgeons competent to handle bio-augs fall out of trees. "Though! I appreciate the concern." They glance around, and then back to Doctor Pierce. "I actually came to ask if there's anything I might be able to help you with. Properly supporting our new peers is vital!"

"Ayuh," Eddie replies (which Hawkeye will likely recognize as a very Maine way to say 'yes'), and he smiles at the mention of Angel. "Well, it's mutual. But I won't bore you if you've heard it all from Angel before."

At the offer, Eddie says, "Sure, I'll have a slice. Breakin' bread together is a good start, so breakin' cake together might be even better."

"Great."

The flicker does catch his eye, and he asks- "not a fan of First Aid? The uh- the oversized carousel horse who's calling himself chief surgeon, not the medical practice."

Hawkeye waves off the offer, "not unless you know any trained nurses on the island. Preferably with good legs, but I'm not picky. I'm still getting used to working by myself, it'd go a lot smoother if I had someone to hand me things."

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The bathroom tiles were cool against my hand

I told the band to leave without me

Press my corpse...

I Told The Band To Leave Without Me

I'll Get The Next Flight

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And if I make it to the mornin'

Press my corpse against the wall

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