Title: Salvation
Pairing: BJ/Hawkeye
Rating: Captain (T)
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, and the only profit I make from writing this is my own increased happiness.
Note: For the mash-slash yahoo group thing's 10-min. prompt "sweltering." Took longer than 10 minutes but who's counting?

- Salvation -

I lay sprawled on my cot in the sweltering, unbearable heat of South Korean summer. I thought about lifting my hand to fan my face, but that would mean moving, which would undoubtedly result in wasted energy and another layer of sweat. And that was about the last thing I wanted.

So, I lay there, sweating, and longing for an ice cream cone.

The door opened—a faint, brief breeze, warm, but better than nothing. I sighed, kept my eyes closed—opening them would waste precious energy. Shuffling feet, debris kicked aside, knees popping softly, and a gentle weight on my arm. Only then did I crack an eye open, to see Hawkeye crouched at the side of my bunk, hand on my arm, hair dripping, eyes sparkling, and a secretive little smile on his face. I didn't think it was sweat that dampened his head and clothes—Hawkeye did sweat a lot, but not that much. "Have you been swimming in the cesspool again?" I murmured, closing my eye.

"Even better," he said, and I could hear the childish glee in his voice. "C'mon."

"C'mon what?"

"Come on."

"Hawk, if I move, I'll explode. Spontaneous combustion. It's not pretty—trust me, it's happened to me before."

"Beej…" he wheedled, tugging at my arm.

I sighed, asked tiredly, "Where?" It was pointless to argue with Hawkeye. He always got what he wanted.

"It's a secret."

"A secret?" I repeated, opening my eye again.

"Yup."

"The last time I followed you to 'a secret', I ended up naked in Margaret's tent."

"And you remember how much fun that was? C'mon, this is even better."

I heaved a sigh, and slowly pushed myself up. He sprung to his feet and fidgeted while I stood up. It really wasn't fair—how the hell did he have so much energy? He was always moving, twitching a foot, drumming his fingers, twisting his hands together—one of the dozens of idiosyncrasies I found so comforting, so natural. So I followed Hawkeye's bouncing feet and flapping hands, trying to move as little as possible while Hawkeye, not seeming to even notice the heat, skipped along next to me, humming a tune I couldn't recognize. He was leading me straight towards the showers and, raising my eyebrows, I felt the need to remind him, "The showers are broken."

"I know," he said cheerfully, with a rakish grin.

I shook my head, smiling slightly. One learned not to question Hawkeye, especially not when he had that mischievous gleam in his eyes.

The door to the shower had been boarded up, to prevent we overheated officers from trying to glean the smallest amount of moisture from the broken plumbing; but Hawkeye was undeterred, leading me around to the back and lifting up the edge of the tent. Wiggling his eyebrows, he motioned for me to go under. Taking a deep breath and praying for the best, I ducked under the lifted tent.

I'd been expecting something…well, something. There was nothing even remotely different about the showers, no change in their usual appearance. I was a little disappointed. Hawkeye's head bumped against my rear as he ducked in after me, and shoved me to the side. He was grinning from ear to ear as he asked, "Well?"

"Well what?" I demanded. "It's the shower tent—we've been in here millions of times before!"

"Shh, keep your voice down! Do you want the whole camp to hear?"

"Hear what?!"

Hawkeye sighed patiently and opened the door of one of the stalls, emerging with a bucket. My eyes widened and my jaw dropped as I saw what the bucket held.

Ice.

Cold, wet, dripping ice.

"How…?"

His grin widened, if that was even possible. "Family secret. I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you, and that would really ruin all the fun." His face became abruptly serious, in one of those unique mood-shifts of his, and he commanded, "Strip."

I was out of my clothes almost before he finished talking, and he smirked at me, eyes roving critically up and down my body. I braced my arm against one of the support beams and struck a pose, unashamedly flaunting myself; he grinned, and walked slowly behind me, the ice clattering softly in the bucket with each painfully slow step. By the time he finally stopped, my whole body was quivering as I waited…waited…

A small pressure at that base of my neck, blessed coldness; I moaned softly, my fingers tightening around the support beam, as he ran the ice cube down my spine. It melted quickly against my hot skin, and his fingers rested lightly at the small of my back, cold and wet; and then his hand shifted, holding onto my hip, pulling me back against him; I leaned my head back, laying it against his shoulder, and smiled up at him. He reached around my stomach to grab a handful of ice from the bucket, and I moaned again as he pressed the ice against my chest, wonderfully cold water running in streams down my stomach and legs, and he turned his face against my neck, muffling his soft laughter.

"I told you it was a good secret," he murmured, his dripping hand sliding down my chest, over my stomach, down farther… And the sweltering, unbearable heat of South Korean summer no longer mattered, no longer dominated my thoughts, because all that mattered now was the cold, wet ice and the cold, wet hand that held it—and, of course, the owner of the hand, the comfortable, solid presence at my back, laughing and teasing, and then moaning when I pried the bucket from his fingers and gave back what had been given, laughing as he writhed under the cold touch of the ice. And after the last of the ice had melted and I'd dumped the remaining water over his head, we lay curled together on the floor, wet with water and not sweat, panting with pleasure rather than heat, and for a brief moment everything—Korea, the 4077th, the heat—faded away, and all that remained was us, together, peaceful.