Work Text:
“Where’s my kiss?” BJ said.
Hawkeye wasn’t sure he heard him right. The chopper blades were roaring overhead.
“You gave Margaret one,” he continued calmly, as if he was asking Hawkeye to pass the salt.
Hawkeye stared at him, mouth agape.
A grin was slowly working its way around BJ’s ridiculous mustache.
Now Hawkeye was not a real master of emotions at the best of times, but the enormity of the feelings he’d been trying to process over the last 24 hours was seriously impacting his ability to be rational.
A eyebrow quirk from BJ.
Dammit.
He was doing it before his heart and his head and his hands had even made a decision.
BJ staggered back at the force of the kiss but didn’t pull away. Instead he placed one hand on Hawkeye’s cheek and wrapped the other around his waist. The sounds of the chopper quieted for Hawkeye. There was only BJ and the dust and the dirt and the long hours in O.R. piecing broken bodies back together. The taste of a hundred drinks from the still. The sounds of the Korean countryside as they played chess for hours into the night. The feel of being so in tune with someone that they feel like an extension of your own self.
It ended too soon.
His legs wobbly beneath him, Hawkeye made it to the front of the chopper only to be met with the rather baffled face of the pilot. He had to laugh. “Please, kick me out of the army. It’s no less than I deserve.”
As they lifted off into the air and Hawkeye saw BJ’s final message, he placed a few fingers on his lips and shook his head. Never be able to shake him indeed.