If

Author's Note: The title (apart from being a great word in general) is also the title of the Rudyard Kipling poem that Hawkeye misquotes when he first meets B.J. Hunnicutt at Kimpo. Despite the fact that Hawk (intentionally) mangles the line, B.J. instantly identifies it. That amazing connection is the hallmark of their relationship, and it took them all of two seconds to discover it.

May 1956

Hawkeye didn't so much wake up as drift slowly toward a gray and painful awareness.

Even before he opened his eyes—they didn't want to cooperate anyway—he reached up and put a hand to the side of his head, as if that would stop the thump-thumping. He groaned.

Lying there in bed, he took sad inventory: nauseous stomach, severe headache, sour mouth. Bad hangover… as if there were any such thing as a good hangover. He had no idea what time it was, and suddenly he was sickeningly sure he had failed to set his alarm clock the night before, seeing as he'd obviously been falling-down drunk.

No choice now, he had to open his eyes, to find out just how late he was for work. He blinked quickly, once, twice, until finally he could force both eyes open a slit to focus on the clock. Almost 9:30. He groaned again, and wondered if his dad had phoned and he'd been so deeply unconscious that the ringing had failed to wake him.

Hawkeye rolled out of bed with great effort and stumbled down the hallway to his bathroom. Before doing anything else, he dug into the medicine cabinet, fished out the aspirin bottle, and dry-swallowed two. As an afterthought, he ran the faucet and scooped some water into his mouth with his hand.

Looking into the mirror over the sink elicited the third groan of the day. He looked just as bad as he felt, and that was really saying something. His eyes were bloodshot and his complexion pale. He absently splashed water on his face, trying to wake up. How many patients were stacked up in the practice's waiting room right now, with his dad the only doctor responsible enough to show up for work?

Hawkeye sighed and started up the shower, hurriedly undressing as he mentally rehearsed his apology to his father. Sorry, Dad, I know I left you in the lurch this morning. It won't happen again.

But that wasn't going to fly, because both he and his dad knew Hawkeye couldn't make a promise like that. This was not the first time in recent weeks that this had happened, and it probably wasn't realistic to think it would be the last.

Standing under the spray of the shower, he berated himself for his immaturity. You're 36, start acting like an adult, dammit!

The shower finally got his motor in gear. He dressed, ate a bowl of cereal, and got out the door in record time. The practice was only a couple of blocks away from his new apartment, and it was shortly after 10 when he stepped into the reception area.

Three patients waiting. Sheila, the receptionist, looked up from her paperwork. Never one to keep an opinion to herself, she said, "It's not my place to tell you what to do, Dr. Pierce, but you really ought to consider shaving on a daily basis. You look… well, rather like a derelict."

The last concern on Hawkeye's mind was his day-old stubble. "Is my dad pissed? That I'm late?"

Sheila's lips were a thin line. "What do you think?"

At that moment, the elder Dr. Pierce came out of one of the exam rooms with a middle-aged woman, handing her a prescription and instructing Sheila to schedule a follow-up appointment. He looked at Hawkeye and gestured him into their shared office. Over his shoulder, Daniel said, "Give me a couple minutes before sending in the next patient, Sheila."

"Yes, sir."

Daniel closed the office door and turned to face his son. Hawkeye hated the look in his father's eyes; it was the look of great disappointment.

"Sorry, Dad—"

Daniel didn't let him get any further than that. "Hawkeye, I want you to do me a favor." He paused for a second, shaking his head. "No, forget I phrased it that way. As your boss, I am ordering you to take two weeks off, starting immediately. This is not the first morning you've been too hungover to get your ass into work. I know you're going through a rough patch right now, with the divorce and the upheaval that goes along with it. Having to move. Adjusting to living alone again. The pain of a failed marriage. So I'm saying: take two weeks for yourself, and get yourself back on track. I should have forced you to do this weeks ago. I guess I thought that working would be a welcome distraction for you, but it's clear that you need some down time."

Hawkeye nodded. Even though he didn't think he wanted time off—time was the last thing he wanted more of—he knew his dad was making the right call. Especially for the practice. Hawkeye couldn't keep missing appointments like this, it wasn't fair to his dad or to the good people of Crabapple Cove who were in need of medical care. "Yes, sir," he said contritely. "Two weeks."

"Starting now, son," Daniel repeated, and Hawkeye couldn't bear to look at the dismay on his dad's face any longer. He was the reason for that expression. There was a time when all that mattered to Hawkeye Pierce was having his dad's acceptance and approval. The fact that he was disappointing his pop was almost too much for Hawkeye's already fragile state.

He didn't trust his voice, so he just nodded again and hastily left the office.

By the time Hawkeye walked back into his apartment with a two-week forced vacation staring him in the face, he had already made up his mind how he was going to spend it.