Cut scenes between chapters 29 and 30 of The Noise and the Quiet. Not super proofread or edited tightly to be officially part of the story but thought it might be a nice bonus scene.
‘Dad’s got some Mozart,’ Hawkeye offered, in the somewhat awkward silence of the living room. He was still baffled that Charles had shown up two days before. He’d almost meant that as a joke when he’d offered, but somehow, Charles wanted to spend Christmas away from his family, and Boston, and had taken him up on it. When you bunked with someone, you had to get used to having moments where there was silence between you, but the living room felt very different from the Swamp. For the first time, Hawkeye felt very self-conscious about his surroundings. In Korea, he had the excuse that everything they had was uncomfortable, khaki, army-issue, covered in blood and grime, but here in Maine, Charles could actually judge him and his dad on the layer of dust on the sideboard or the mismatched sofas, or the worn needle on the record player, because here, he had the capacity to do something about it.
But Charles didn’t seem interested in judging his rural, sparse, surroundings, staring into his glass.
‘No, thank you, Pierce-’ he answered, taking a drink.
Hawkeye wasn’t sure what to do with himself so he headed over to the record cabinet anyway, poking through some old ones no one had touched in a while. ‘Beethoven, Handel, Sinatra-?’
He’d offered the last one as a joke, but, as ever, Winchester was not swayed.
‘Thank you,’ he repeated. ‘Pierce. I-uh-haven’t-‘
Hawkeye pulled out a record he’d never seen before, wondering how “I’m my own Grandpa” would even work, and if the song would tell him if he put it on, but Charles’ hesitation, the catch in his voice, intrigued him. Worried him, really. He’d heard that tone very little, but he knew what it meant: Charles was letting his inner emotions show, a rare event indeed.
He slid the record back into the cabinet, and looked at Charles expectantly.
‘I haven’t had the heart-to enjoy it. Since-‘
Hawkeye cast his mind back to their last night in the Swamp. He was a bit wrapped up in himself, he supposed, but now that he tried to recall it, he didn’t remember any music. Charles hadn’t wound down from the session with some caterwauling opera singer or bombastic symphony. ‘What happened?’ he breathed.
‘Those musicians I was teaching-’ Charles stared at his glass, unwilling to make eye contact, his voice even quieter, more unsteady, as he continued. ‘That last batch of wounded I went out to triage-the POW bus had been hit. All of them-’
Hawkeye shut the door of the record cabinet with a heavy sigh. Winchester could be an ass, with his sense of superiority in his breeding, his lack of instinct to help others, and his penchant for playing music when everyone else wanted to sleep. But he was a doctor. As much as he acted like it, Hawkeye knew Charles was not immune to the suffering around him, especially by the time the war ended.
‘I just-haven’t found comfort in the music like I used to,’ he finished, still not looking at Hawkeye, who felt his throat tighten in sympathy. ‘I destroyed my record collection before I left camp,’ he added. ‘And sold what I had in Boston when I returned.’
‘You should tell BJ that story,’ Hawkeye told him, settling back into the chair next to the sofa. He didn’t actually want any of the fancy cognac Charles had brought himself but thinking about the war always made him want to numb himself like he used to. It was good Charles had brought his own-his father hadn’t brought a drop into the house since he’d emptied the liquor cabinet.
‘Someone else who no longer can listen to music,’ Charles said sadly, raising his eyebrows at Hawkeye as he took a drink.
Hawkeye sighed, but his stomach clenched unpleasantly as he thought over what Charles had told him.
‘Oh, god no, don’t,’ he changed his mind, ‘Our POW truck was hit?’
He hadn’t heard any of this story before. He barely remembered that last surgical session, and thinking about how spotty his memory was made his chest tight. He’d been so wrapped up in his own problems, he hadn’t even noticed the horror that Charles was dealing with. Great, he’d invited Charles to come visit, he finally had company besides his dad and Heidi, and he was going to celebrate by having a fucking panic attack.
‘Hm,’ Charles affirmed, leaning forward and putting his glass down, watching Hawkeye a bit more attentively, perhaps concerned he’d have to run over to Heidi’s house to get the other Dr. Pierce when Hawkeye came unwound.
‘Were there any survivors? I don’t remember-‘ but Charles shook his head, confirming that no, it wasn’t Hawkeye’s memory that was faulty, they hadn’t brought any POWs into the operating room that day. This kept the panic attack at bay, but his stomach was still churning.
‘Never tell BJ that story,’ he hissed, hoping to impress the seriousness of this onto Charles.
‘And why not?’ Charles asked, looking a little put out that Hawkeye had reversed course on that suggestion. Perhaps he thought it would bring him solace to speak to BJ about it, there was something in common between the two of them, but it wasn’t just the music that was the common thread here. It was the POWs.
‘Fucking hell, Charles,’ Hawkeye hissed, fighting the nausea, and the lump in his throat. ‘You don’t think he’s been comforting himself for months now with the knowledge that at least he’d done the right thing, at least he’d saved lives, at least there were other men going home and hearing ‘I love you, Daddy’, from their daughters?’ Hawkeye was nearly shouting, the emotion getting the better of him, like it always did. Charles’ eyes were glassy, and Hawkeye caught his Adam’s apple bobbing, but he didn’t respond.
‘It was all a fucking waste,’ he muttered, more to himself than Charles. He wasn’t just talking about BJ right then, he was talking about Tommy, and Henry, of the little girl on the bus, every soldier he tried to save but couldn’t, every soldier he did save. What the hell had it all accomplished? Would anything have been worth the cost?
‘A fucking waste,’ he repeated, head in his hands, leaning on his knees, unable to stop the sobs, wishing he didn’t want to vomit right then. Wishing he hadn’t asked about the music. Wishing he’d never gone on that beach trip. Wishing that death certificate his father had received had been real.
To his surprise, he felt a hand squeeze his knee after a few seconds, and heard Charles sniffle. He looked up in surprise, and possibly alarm. Charles was crying, more quietly than Hawkeye, but crying nonetheless.
‘Merry Christmas, Charles,’ Hawkeye mumbled sarcastically, not sure how clear he was.
‘I would make a toast to peace,’ Charles told him, quietly. ‘But it feels a fruitless hope.’ Hawkeye nodded in agreement. ’To the connections that sustain us,’ Charles tried.
He raised his glass towards Hawkeye, and Hawkeye put his hand over the one on his knee and squeezed, nodding in agreement. * * * ‘Hawkeye said you were planning on driving back to Boston today,’ Daniel said, handing Dr. Winchester a mug of coffee. It had only been a few days since they’d met, but Daniel felt like they’d established a sort of rapport, and an early morning coffee routine while Hawkeye slept in. Winchester was an early riser, it seemed-no wonder the two of them had struggled to live together for so long
‘Mm,’ he confirmed, taking the mug with a polite nod. ‘On call tomorrow and back to scheduled surgeries Wednesday,’ he explained. ‘Well, I am glad you came,’ he assured the other doctor, settling in across from him at the table. ‘You’re welcome back anytime. I hope you found whatever it is you are looking for.’
‘I had been hoping to find another experienced surgeon for my department,’ he answered, eyes drifting towards the paper, obviously interested in leaving the conversation before it got too personal. Like hell it was a recruitment trip, but he’d let Winchester keep up the pretense if needed. It was bittersweet to know how much he valued Hawkeye’s medical talents, and knowing how much of an impossibility it seemed right now. ‘Does he want to return to surgery?’
‘I have no idea,’ Daniel admitted. He wanted to believe being a doctor was an immutable part of who Hawkeye was, but Hawkeye himself seemed to have let that go. ‘I’d like to think he’ll return to medicine, in time, but if I knew what the future held, I would be a much richer man.’ An odd choice of words, Daniel realized, speaking to Winchester, of all people.
‘Well, if there’s anything I can do to-‘ he looked like it was physically painful for him to offer assistance.
‘Come visit occasionally. Bring your sister, she sounds like fun-’
‘We’ll see,’ he said, but Daniel hid his smile with the coffee mug-that sounded almost like a yes coming from Dr. Winchester, and it had somehow perked Hawkeye up to have him around. He supposed that’s what Hawkeye might have been missing, having someone who understood what he’d been through in Korea without Hawkeye having to explain. It made him a little jealous that there was something Charles knew about his son that he didn’t, but he could wait until Hawkeye was ready to tell him. He supposed he could also wait until Charles was ready to tell him as well. All he could do right now was make coffee and breakfast, wait patiently, and be available when he was needed.
