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“Hawk?” It’s barely a whisper that floats into the silent gloom of the bus, and Hawkeye jolts from half-asleep to awake at the sound of BJ’s voice (he could probably come back from the dead if BJ needed him for something), nearly smacking his head on the canvas above him.
“What is it, BJ?” he asks, his own voice hushed. The crickets are chirping outside, but the bus is silent.
“Frank fell asleep.”
“You’re kidding.” His brain may be fuzzy thanks to his lingering hangover, but Hawkeye definitely remembers that Frank was supposed to be guarding their wounded prisoner.
“I’m not. Look for yourself.”
Frank falling asleep with a loaded weapon in hand should be incentive enough for Hawkeye to roll off of his bunk and stand, but his motives are a little more selfish. The bus is noticeably colder, and Hawk wants nothing more than to curl up next to the nearest warm and willing body (especially if said body belongs to BJ Hunnicutt). He gets to his feet, only to find that BJ is already sitting up, brow furrowed as he frowns in Frank’s direction. Hawkeye follows his best friend’s gaze to where Frank is sacked out in the back of the bus, still clutching the gun, and clears his throat, before putting on his best announcer voice. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, if you look to your right, you will find several of the most dangerous creatures on the planet. Though they may appear docile, they are truly a danger to the safety of others. For your safety, do not attempt to feed or approach them.”
He’s rewarded with a laugh from BJ, which cuts right through his hangover. “Frank’s sleeping, Hawk, how dangerous can he be?”
“Oh, my dear innocent comrade, you have no idea. This is Frank we’re talking about. When he’s sleeping is probably the only time he’ll ever actually hit his target: me. Not exactly how I’d planned on going home. I’d prefer a transfer, or digging an escape tunnel, or even parcel post.”
“The army doesn’t take requests,” Beej sums up.
“If they did, would we be here?” There’s a pause. And then-
“At least one of us is sleeping,” Beej murmurs, and it occurs to Hawk that it’s the middle of the night, and they’re both awake.
“Uh… Listen Beej, is everything okay?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Well… much as I appreciate the wake-up call, it’s usually customary for people to be asleep at this time of night. It’s sort of a ritual. You lie down, you close your eyes, you dream of home… and if you want my professional opinion, sleeping is definitely better than watching Frank. But here you are, awake… and watching Frank. I don't get it.”
BJ gives him a guilty smile. “I guess I’m still adjusting. Couldn’t sleep.” The smile turns into a frown as he looks at Hawkeye. “I’m sorry, Hawk. I shouldn’t have woken you.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine.” He waves off the apology. “I got a whole twenty minutes. That’s twenty minutes more than I’ve gotten the whole war.” And if I can’t joke about it, the only option left is screaming, and I can’t because too many people depend on my jokes.
BJ gives him a smile, and in the dim light, with the beginning of stubble on his face, he already looks far older than he should at twenty-eight; he’s still new enough to this war that his greatest battle is with insomnia (as opposed to the all-consuming anger despair that weighs down every other person in this stupid war). Christ, Hawk thinks, staring at him. Was I ever that young? He’s pretty sure he’s aged a decade since arriving in Korea a mere year ago. The thought of the same thing happening to Beej is enough to put a lump in Hawkeye’s throat.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Now budge over.”
BJ moves aside, and Hawk hoists himself onto the bunk. Once they’re sitting together, BJ’s side warm against Hawkeye’s, BJ leans his head against Hawkeye’s shoulder. “I really am sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He can’t be mad at Beej for waking him, because Beej is so goddamn young, still new to this war and of course he can’t sleep, and if Hawkeye’s presence can make the night go by a little faster, how can he begrudge BJ that? Hawkeye takes a selfish pleasure in being needed, in having a warm body next to him, especially when it’s Beej, and just the opportunity to share the darkness with someone else is something Hawk can’t take for granted. If they fall asleep together though, it’ll get uncomfortable in a hurry, as there isn’t really room for both of them to sleep comfortably (never mind that the thought of sleeping with Beej, however innocent, is nearly enough to kill Hawkeye). “I wasn’t really sleeping anyway. Stupid Radar’s fault. I’m waiting for him to waltz back in here, so I can give him a piece of my mind. And if he doesn’t come back soon, I won’t have any mind left to give.”
Beej laughs, and it makes Hawk grin. “I’m sure he’ll come back before you lose all your marbles.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure, Beej. I’m running out of marbles to lose. Side effect of war.”
They sit in silence for a few seconds, and Hawkeye regrets his choice of words, because he could stand to be a little more reassuring, and he wants to tell Beej that not everyone goes crazy here, really, and that even if it means sacrificing his own, Hawk will make sure Beej keeps his sanity.
“How long?” Beej asks, into the darkness. “Before you learned the secret to falling asleep here?”
“Too long,” Hawk tells him, struggling to find the words around the lump in his throat. “And not long enough.”
“I know that I need to sleep. And I know I’ll get used to… to this… somehow. But every time I close my eyes…” Beej trails off, as if he can’t put it into words. “You know?”
“I know, Beej, trust me. You don’t think I do all that drinking for fun, do you?” It may be his specialty, brushing off the horrors of war with jokes, but until now Hawkeye hasn’t really thought of how desperate his jokes sound. “We’ve all got our coping strategies, Beej. Just gotta find yours. Booze… sex… even just plain old companionship.”
“Coping strategies?” Beej asks.
“Yeah, Beej, coping strategies. Though I’m afraid if it’s booze you want, I left the still in my other pants.”
This startles a laugh out of BJ. “I guess sex is out of the question then?”
“Funny. Sorry, Beej. No booze and no sex. You’ll have to settle for the pleasure of my company.”
“Settling? That’s what you think, dummy,” Beej tells him, softly. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to be here, but if I have to be, then there’s no one else I’d rather be here with.”
“Beej…” His throat aches with everything he wants to say, and he rubs a hand over his eyes, because of course the thousands of soldiers that cross his table every day don’t make him cry, but a sentence from the man he loves is enough to bring him close to tears. “It’s the same for me.”
They’re silent again, until Beej says casually (almost too casually, the fink), “So, Hawk, now that I’ve got you here…”
“Yes?”
“A bedtime story wouldn’t hurt.”
“Know any good ones?”
Beej makes a face. “A few, but why should I tell it?”
“Don’t you have a daughter to practice for?”
“What about you?”
“What about me? I don’t have a daughter. At least if I do, I don’t know about it.”
“C’mon Hawk, stop horsing around. I’m serious. We never got to hear your story. And I for one would love to hear about your very first conquest. Knowing you, it’s a hell of a story.”
“My story?” Hawkeye asks, playing dumb. This is verging on the edge of uncharted territory, inching closer to topics that he needs about five more drinks to be able to discuss at all, never mind with Frank only a few feet away.
“Your story,” Beej says again. “The first time love conquered all.” He sounds almost wistful, and Hawkeye hates the war all over again for dragging Beej thousands of miles from his white picket fence life, and the woman he shares it with.
“We didn’t get to hear Radar’s story either. Or yours, for that matter,” he points out.
“I asked you first, Hawk.”
“How about we ask our prisoner instead? I’ll bet he’s got a great story. Infinitely more exciting than mine. Everyone loves a war romance! Think about Casablanca! Besides, what man woman or child doesn’t love a man in uniform?”
“Deflect all you want, Hawk, but you’re still not getting out of telling me.”
Hawk sighs as Beej grins at him (because whatever else Beej is, he’s a stubborn fuck and Hawk can’t help but love him for it).
“C’mon Beej,” he all but pleads. “I’m not in the mood to tell you a bedtime story. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love nothing more than to tell the best story ever, complete with silly voices, because no good story is complete without them, right? But in the shape I’m in, I couldn’t tell a good story if my life depended on it. I’m cold, and sleepy, I have a monster hangover, and I’m the furthest I’ve ever been from booze since arriving in this khaki hell. And on top of that, I’m so hungry I could eat Frank if I weren’t so worried about poisoning myself.”
“Why would you even consider eating Frank, when there are three other people on this bus?” Beej asks, incredulous. “I mean, I’m not exactly an expert on the subject, and I’ve never had the opportunity to taste myself, but I’m pretty sure that even I’d taste better than Frank.”
“I’m sure you would be delicious,” Hawk reassures him. “But if I ate you, who would keep me from killing Frank? And besides, I’m kinda fond of you.”
Beej starts laughing, clapping a hand over his mouth as he shakes next to Hawkeye in silent mirth. He’s still chuckling, as he points out, “I somehow feel the army would frown upon cannibalism anyway.”
“They have to draw the line somewhere.” Hawkeye sighs. “Even the bus seats are starting to look mouth-watering at this point.”
“If you start eating the bus seats, they might give you Klinger’s Section 8.”
“I’m so hungry, I’ll take it!” He pauses. “What kind of sauce do they put on a Section 8 again?”
Beej laughs again, and Hawkeye thinks that maybe if he keeps up the jokes, he can somehow keep Beej and his sanity together until the war ends. I can’t save them all, he thinks, as Beej grins. But maybe I can save you.
BJ affectionately nuzzles Hawk’s shoulder, and Hawkeye can’t help but wonder if Beej does this to Peggy when he’s tired. Hawk has gotten good at ignoring the cues that this is anything more than friendship, and just because he’s the idiot who fell in love with his new (inexperienced, young, married) roommate in the time it took them to get from Kimpo to Uijeongbu, doesn’t mean he has to give in to the urge to kiss said roommate silly. No matter how much he wants to.
“I don’t know,” Beej says. “Something fancy and cultured, with a silly name.”
“Like what they’d serve at the Top of the Mark?”
Beej sighs. “Yeah, something like that.”
Hawk regrets mentioning the Top of the Mark, because reminding Beej of everything he left behind isn’t exactly good for his morale. He opens his mouth to say something but is stopped by the sound of his stomach growling.
Beej eyes him. “You ought to feed that thing, before it escapes.”
“Shhh,” Hawkeye tells it. “I can’t take you anywhere.” He looks up at Beej. “Believe me, Beej, I’d feed it if I could, but there isn’t a single scrap of food on this bus. Unless Frank has food stashed somewhere.”
BJ raises his eyebrows, and they both turn and look at Frank again. “You surely don’t mean Frank Burns, renowned humanitarian?” Beej asks after a minute. “Frank Burns doesn’t have a mean bone in his whole body. He would never dream of holding out on us!”
It’s Hawkeye’s turn to laugh. “I think you’ve confused Frank with an actual human being there, Beej.”
Beej’s brow is furrowed, like he’s working out a complicated diagnosis. “He would do it too.”
“One of us should go through his bag and check.”
“You’re welcome to try,” Beej says, grinning. “I’d imagine you’re much better at going through his things than I am.”
“How dare you!” Hawk retorts. “I am pure of heart and would never stoop to such low levels, especially when it comes to our esteemed colleague. How could you ever think that I would do such a despicable thing as go through a man’s personal property!”
He’s torn between wanting to go see if Frank does have food on hand (which is definitely a possibility) and wanting to savor the closeness and warmth of Beej, because their time to huddle together is running short. Potter may be easygoing when it comes to the distillery but finding two of his surgeons cuddling may be another story altogether. And cuddling like this in front of Frank, platonic though it may be, is a terrible idea in so many ways.
The hunger wins out, though it doesn’t stop him from wanting to sit back down as soon as he hears Beej’s half-hearted grumble. “Where are you going?”
“To look through Frank’s personal property.”
“If Frank doesn’t shoot you first, bring me back a doggy bag.”
“Well, since I’m not an ace of hearts, I think I’m safe. But just in case, how about a kiss for luck?” he asks, batting his eyes at Beej, who looks flustered but amused in the dim light.
“Come back alive and then we’ll see,” Beej teases in return, and this alone is enough to make Hawk’s mind up for him, even if Beej is just kidding (though Hawk would certainly like to find out).
Wrapping his jacket tightly around himself against the chill of the night air, Hawk shuffles to the back of the bus, where Frank and the prisoner are sleeping. He manages to wiggle Frank’s bag out from under his head, suddenly grateful that Frank could probably sleep through anything.
He’s too hungry to care that Frank could conceivably wake up and catch him in the act, and even if he did wake up, it wouldn’t stop Hawkeye digging through Frank’s bag with reckless abandon. It isn’t as if he cares what Frank thinks of him anymore (Frank’s opinion of him is ranked only below the army’s opinion of him in terms of relevance). And luckily, beneath all the other unnecessary junk that Frank carries, Hawk finds the hidden chocolate bars. He stuffs two in his pocket without feeling a shred of guilt. They’ve been sitting here starving while Frank has been chowing down in secret. Wondering if it would be more humane to wake Frank up before killing him, Hawk stuffs the bars in his pockets and shoves the bag back where it belongs (maybe a little more roughly than necessary).
Hawkeye barely swallows a fiendish cackle as he hurries back to Beej, eager to share the meal, however modest. He hands over a chocolate bar as he hoists himself back onto the bunk, seeking the warmth that Beej radiates. “Your dinner, sir.”
“Amazing.” Beej is cradling the chocolate bar in his hands like its his firstborn and the sight makes Hawk grin. Hawk may be used to the lack of real food, but Beej isn’t, and seeing the smile on Beej’s face when presented with edible food makes the theft worth it. “I hope he doesn’t have them counted,” Beej says.
“Probably not. Frank can’t count that high.” Hawk taps his chocolate bar against Beej’s, a pathetic attempt at a toast. “Maybe not a well-balanced meal, but definitely a better dinner than you’d have found back in camp. Compared to the mess waiting for us there, this is practically gourmet cooking. Cheers.”
“Cheers,” Beej responds, and for a few seconds the quiet in the bus is interrupted only by the sound of the two of them tearing into what feels like the first and best meal they’ve had in days. And then Beej speaks up again, as he stuffs the wrapper in his pocket, head leaning against Hawk’s shoulder. “It’s no Top of the Mark, but that may be the best thing I’ve eaten in Korea.”
“Not much competition there, Beej.”
“Well, we may still be lost and cold and exhausted, but at least we don’t have to worry about being hungry anymore.”
“Ever the optimist.”
“But since we’re still awake, I want to hear your story.” He pauses, and then grins as Hawk turns to glare down at him. “I won’t even ask for silly voices, I promise.”
“This isn’t dinner and a show, Beej. I don’t kiss and tell.”
Beej lifts his head from Hawk’s shoulder, and even in the gloom of the dark bus, Hawkeye can see the look of skepticism on his face. “Really?”
“Really. I’m a very shy person. I don’t even like other people looking at me. I go bright red all over. Makes me look like a sunburned lobster. And trust me, I’m from Maine, I know what a sunburned lobster looks like. Red really isn't my color.”
“Hawk, weren’t you just telling me the other day about the time you walked into the mess tent absolutely naked for no good reason other than you were bored?”
“That was my stunt double.”
“Uh-huh. I do hope he was at least better looking than you?”
“They don’t come much better looking than me. Women swoon if I so much as look in their direction. It’s a gift; I inspire love, Beej.”
“Then why don’t you just tell me your story and be done with it?”
“Why do you want to hear my story so badly anyway? I can guarantee it won’t be nearly as interesting as Potter and his French nurse, or Frank and his Jewish classmate, or Radar with the lead pipe in the library-”
“Look, would it help if I told you first?” BJ cuts him off.
“Beej, it’s not that I don’t want to tell you, but…” He trails off. “Well, let’s just say that I owe Radar. He timed it perfectly, going missing when he did. If he hadn’t, it would’ve been my turn, and I’m a good liar, but not where it counts.” He doesn’t mention how he didn’t want to lie to BJ, or how BJ is the one person who’s earned Hawk’s honesty.
Hawkeye knows damn well that he shouldn’t be telling Beej any of this, especially not with Frank only a few feet away. But it’s the middle of the night, too late to be anything but honest.
“Right.” There’s a pause. “All babbling aside, I think I understand.”
“Do you?” Hawkeye asks. I don’t think you do, he wants to say.
The first time love conquered all for BJ probably involved a decidedly army-approved encounter with a pretty girl, because BJ deserves nothing less. Maybe it was even his wife, Peg, who sounds like the best thing to ever happen to Beej (in the same way that Beej is kind of the best thing to ever happen to Hawkeye). It must be nice, Hawkeye thinks, to love someone so completely and not be afraid to show it, to talk about it.
“Sure.” Beej shrugs, and then gives Hawk a winning smile that makes the darkness of the bus a little lighter.
“How do you know what I’m talking about?” Hawkeye asks.
“Well.” Beej stops, clearly trying to think of the words. “It was a man, wasn’t it?”
“Something like that,” Hawk says, softly, and he looks up at Beej, who to his amazement doesn’t seem remotely disgusted. “How did you guess?” he asks.
“When it was your turn,” Beej points out, “you went to look for Radar instead of answering. I figured it was a story you couldn’t tell in front of Frank and Colonel Potter. I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Hawk asks, voice cracking in fear. I’m sorry. Two potentially explosive words, but this conversation was already primed to go off, and has been since Beej’s question. It was a man, wasn’t it?
“I shouldn’t have put you in that position. It wasn’t fair.”
“How would you know?” Hawk asks in return. “It isn’t like I told you.”
“I just mean… if someone had put me in that position, I don’t know what I’d have done.”
“You wouldn’t be in that position. And how can I be upset, when you were just trying to boost morale?”
“Well…” Beej runs a hand over the back of his neck, looking uncertain. “I’m still sorry.”
“The only thing you have to be sorry for is picking that stupidly specific topic. The first time love conquered all.” He forces a laugh, a lump in his throat, as he thinks of Tommy. He’s gotten so good at shoving those memories into dark corners, never to see the light of day, because this war takes and it takes and it takes, and it took Tommy, and what if it takes Beej too? “Not the second time. Or just a time love conquered all. You had to go for the first time. Dummy.” He grins, so that Beej knows the insult is affectionate, but BJ is lost in thought.
“Well I couldn’t pick the second time,” Beej says after a minute. “Because if I had, I’d have the same problem you had. And I’m a pretty bad liar myself.” It’s casual, so nonchalant that Hawkeye almost misses what BJ isn’t saying.
And then he gets it. His jaw drops. Because BJ, clean, pretty, straight, married BJ just confessed-
BJ looks at him and laughs to himself, shaking his head. “Oh Hawk, you ought to see your face.”
“Beej…” He tries to find the words, tries to find the right way to pick his jaw off the floor without sticking a foot in his mouth. “I- You?”
Beej laughs, and nudges Hawk’s shoulder. “Me.”
“Well, Beej, I... I don’t know what to say.” Does Thank God cover it?
“If I didn’t know better, Hawk, I’d say you seem almost disappointed.” BJ is watching him carefully, as if expecting some measure of disgust or disappointment.
Quite the opposite, Hawkeye thinks. Instead he simply stutters out, “I dunno, Beej, maybe I just like being an individual, but I was enjoying my status as the only guy in camp who’s a little bent.”
This makes BJ laugh, and shake his head. “You think that you’re the only one in camp? You have a lot to learn about the 4077th. And besides, wasn’t it you that said it’s no fun alone?” He shakes his head. “I guess you’re not as perceptive as I thought you were, Hawk.”
“Oh, and I suppose that means you’re now the leading expert on bent?” Hawkeye asks, trying to suppress a sudden burst of delight. This doesn’t change anything, he reminds himself. He’s still married, and happily so, and you won’t ruin that.
“Not an expert, no. I just have a good pair of eyes,” Beej tells him, and in light of this revelation, Hawkeye pauses, suddenly remembering all of the times he’d gotten a little too close to BJ, let his hand linger a little too long, held a gaze a second longer than necessary. He feels like his crush on BJ is suddenly written in neon lights above his head, brilliant and obvious and fucking life-ruining.
God, he needs a drink. And, judging by the way this evening is going, a time machine.
“Did you know…?” Hawkeye asks, a second too late, and he isn’t entirely sure what question he’s asking. He can already feel the beginning of a fist tightening around his heart. Both of them being queer is one thing, and neither is in a position to judge in that regard (and is it just him or is BJ relieved that Hawk is queer?). But Hawkeye being quietly in love with the very married BJ could very well be another story, and Hawkeye isn’t sure he wants to see the ending. He has to swallow past the lump in his throat, as BJ watches him squirm.
And Beej must see something in his face, because he softens, and gives Hawk another radiant smile. “I suspected,” he admits. And then his eyes drop to Hawkeye’s lips. “I had hoped.”
It’s so quiet, Hawkeye isn’t sure he’s heard right. “What?” he asks, and the fist gets tighter.
“I think you heard me.”
“Beej,” he says, and his voice cracks again. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
“Hawkeye, I think of all people, you know best that nothing here makes sense. I’m new here and even I know that. I’m thousands of miles from home, far away from my wife and daughter. I’m cold and starving and exhausted, serving in a war I have no business being a part of, and seeing terrible things on a regular basis that no person should ever have to see. None of that makes sense. But… but I have you here, and that does make sense.”
“But, Beej-,” he tries again, tries to stop this runaway train, because oh yes, he loves Beej, and Beej feels… something for him in return that Hawk doesn’t dare name, but that changes absolutely nothing. Because no matter how queer Beej is, he has a life and a family waiting back home that Hawkeye doesn’t, a wife and a daughter that he loves with all his heart. And Hawk already loves Beej, but he’s spent weeks seeing Peg through Beej’s eyes, and he can’t help but love her too, and that alone is reason enough to stop this before it goes any further.
“Hawk.” It’s soft, and gentle, and it stops Hawkeye from babbling on nervously about Peggy and Erin and all the things that Beej left behind in Mill Valley (and how loving them makes infinitely more sense than loving Hawkeye of all people). “Having you is the only thing since Peg that makes sense. And if I’m the only one who feels that way… then tell me. Stop me. And we can just… forget all about it. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”
“No,” Hawkeye tells him, and brushes Beej’s hair back from his forehead, an ache in his throat. He wants to tell Beej that he loves him but holds back. This isn’t the right time nor place. “I should stop you. I want to stop you. Because you have Peg to go home to when this nightmare ends, and I know that you love her more than anything. You’re not allowed to fuck that up over me.”
Beej cups Hawkeye’s face in his hands. “Hawk, you’re the only thing in Korea that isn’t senseless, the one thing that isn’t crazy. Peg knows that. I don’t think I give her nearly enough credit, but she’s smart, our Peggy. She put the pieces together before I did.”
“What?” Hawk asks, confused.
“I have Peg waiting for me at home, but I have you here, and I didn’t expect to find you here, but I did.” It’s all said in a rush, the words spilling over each other, as Beej strokes a hand down Hawkeye’s cheek, before running a thumb over Hawk’s lip, grinning as Hawk gulps nervously.
Hawkeye wants nothing more than to kiss him, but he can’t. Because he’s supposed to be the only fuck-up in this friendship, and Beej is too good and genuine and lovely for Hawk to corrupt, but what if Hawk has ruined him before Korea had the chance?
“Beej... I don’t want you to do anything stupid. I don’t want to be something that you regret. Please.” I’m not fucking up the one thing in Korea that’s good.
“You won’t be,” Beej tells him. “If this isn’t something you want…” Hawkeye can already feel him slipping away, closing in on himself, and wants to turn back the clock, wants to confess to Beej that yes, he loves him, of course he loves him even if it’s too soon and too much, because loving Beej has become second nature.
Talkative as he usually is, Hawkeye can’t find the right words in the jumbled mess of his brain. This whole conversation is a foray into uncharted territory. So he decides to be brave and reckless and fucking stupid (as if, in this situation, he could be anything else), and throws himself at Beej in some vain attempt to reassure him that whatever Beej feels, Hawkeye feels it too.
At first, it’s all wrong, and awkward, and they bump noses, and Hawk lets out a nervous giggle, which makes Beej laugh too, and they’re both laughing, and the tension between them lessens a bit. And then Beej cups Hawkeye’s face again, and even if he shouldn’t, Hawkeye leans in, and their lips meet. It’s gentle at first, and tentative, and then it turns desperate and needy, all darkness and chocolate and eager fingers mapping out stubble, Beej nipping at Hawk’s lip, and deepening the kiss, and coaxing a groan from Hawkeye when his tongue finds its way into Hawkeye’s mouth. Hawk’s hands are tangled in Beej’s hair, and he kisses him with everything he can’t afford to say. He was right: Beej is delicious. It’s too much and too little all at once, and it’s fucking beautiful. He whines softly, disappointed, when Beej pulls away all too soon, both of them panting against the backdrop of the crickets, unable to manage anything more strenuous than a shared breathless smile.
Beej licks his lips, closing his eyes, and it’s enough to make Hawk want to kiss him stupid all over again, and savor the taste of BJ’s mouth on his. Hawkeye has kissed a lot of men in his time (and a lot of women too), but he isn’t sure he’s ever enjoyed it quite this much, and now that he’s kissed Beej, he isn’t sure how he’s supposed to stop kissing Beej.
With that thought in mind, he leans in and quickly kisses Beej once more, in case he won’t get the chance again (he isn’t sure anything has ever felt as right as this, but that doesn’t mean it’s meant to last). He pulls away, opening his eyes to find Beej watching him intently, the ghost of a smile on his lips.
“Did that convince you?” Hawkeye asks eventually, when he’s gotten his breath back, his voice rough and needy.
“Yes,” Beej says at last, his voice shaky.
“Good, because I’ve wanted to do that forever.”
Beej blinks, surprised. “Forever, huh?”
“Well, at least since that first day. Kimpo even.” The words slip out before he can stop them, and Beej seems to understand that he isn’t being glib. Hawkeye can’t let Beej think this means nothing, even if there will never be a repeat performance. Because nothing is the last thing it is.
“Hawk?” Beej asks after a minute.
“Yeah Beej?”
Instead of saying something further, Beej wraps his arms around Hawkeye and pulls him into the tightest possible hug, hugging him like they’ll never see each other again, his hand against the back of Hawk’s neck. All Hawkeye can do is hug him back, hands sliding underneath Beej’s jacket, clinging to the warmth that is Beej. He rests his head on Beej’s shoulder, mashing his face into Beej’s neck and inhaling, because Beej smells like army soap and sunshine and everything Hawk has ever wanted.
He presses a kiss to Beej’s neck and is rewarded with a choked noise of need from Beej that he definitely wouldn’t mind hearing again, before lifting his head and nibbling at BJ’s jaw in a way that makes Beej whine and squirm in Hawk’s embrace. It can’t go further than this (it probably never will, even under better circumstances), but instead of complaining, Beej just pulls him in tight.
Hawkeye wants nothing more than to huddle on this cot with Beej forever, and stay here together until the war ends, safe from artillery and wounded men and pain, and wants nothing more than to protect Beej from everything that seeks to destroy them.
“You should get some sleep,” he says at last, reluctantly pulling himself away from Beej. “We both should.”
“Hawk?” Beej asks, and the fear in his voice sends a bolt of answering fear right down Hawkeye’s spine. He isn’t sure he’s ever heard Beej sound this unsteady, even on his first night in Korea. “Are we okay?”
“Yeah, Beej. We’re better than okay,” he tells him, before taking Beej’s hand in his own, lifting it to his mouth and pressing a kiss to it. Beej leans in again, so his forehead is pressed against Hawkeye’s. “We’re so okay like you wouldn’t believe.”
“I wish you didn’t have to go,” BJ tells him, and their eyes meet.
“I’m not going anywhere, Beej,” Hawkeye says. “I’m right here, as long as you need me.”
He’s never meant it more. But in the short time he’s known Beej, Hawk has already realised that he would do just about anything for him, even if that meant staying in Korea (a thought that doesn’t shake him as much as it should).
“Promise?” Beej asks, and the ache in Hawk’s throat is back, because Beej sounds so young, so scared, and he’s more innocent than Hawkeye ever remembers being (even at twenty-eight), so Hawk uses his free hand to brush the hair back from Beej’s face, and kisses him again, gently, once, twice.
He pulls away, and smiles. “I promise.”
He’s an idiot. This is a war; the last thing he should be doing is making promises, especially ones he can’t keep. There are no guarantees that either of them will live to see the end of this war, and odds are that there will be a day when Hawkeye won’t be at BJ’s side. But this isn’t that day, and this is Beej, who maybe really does need Hawkeye as much as Hawkeye needs him, and Hawkeye will do just about anything for him.
His will to go back to his own bunk is steadily evaporating, and Hawkeye will have to move eventually, but for now, he nestles back into Beej’s side, the two of them curled up on the canvas bunk. It’s the first time in a long time that he’s felt safe, wrapped in Beej’s arms. Beej kisses the top of Hawkeye’s head, murmuring something that Hawk doesn’t catch. He moves a hand to stroke Hawk’s hair, Hawk melting under his gentle touch.
“So tell me about your first love,” Beej whispers into the darkness, and Hawk smothers a laugh in Beej’s fatigues.
“He doesn’t hold a candle to you,” Hawkeye whispers back, and is rewarded with a laugh.
“Tell me anyway,” Beej says.
And Hawkeye does.