Tokyo

"If you wanna go resting and recreating with geishas, don't let me stop you," B.J. said. "I'll go for a walk on the Ginza. I'll be fine on my own."

"No," Hawkeye replied, leaning against the doorframe, managing to look tousled and suave all at the same time. "I'm not in the mood for geishas."

Their first R&R together in Tokyo, and B.J. had fully expected to be flying solo for most of the three days, so he was surprised to hear that Hawkeye wasn't interested in carnal pursuits. He wasn't just being a pal, either, when he said he'd be fine on his own. He would've been perfectly content to wander aimlessly around the city and while away the days; any time out from the war was more than welcome, whether you spent it in the company of your best friend or not.

"C'mon, let's go find someplace to eat," Hawkeye suggested then, and B.J. smiled and said sure. They left his hotel room, found a fancy restaurant down the street and spent three hours eating, talking, laughing, and forgetting they were in the middle of a war.

When they got back to the hotel, it was well after midnight. There'd been very little drinking; it was laughter and fun they'd gotten drunk on, for a change. Everything felt good. No need to think about the 4077th for a few days, with its seemingly endless supply of casualties and nearly 'round the clock OR sessions. B.J. felt lighter than he'd felt in many months.

He unlocked the door to his room and they both entered, Hawkeye's arm around B.J.'s shoulders, their bodies brushing against each other, laughter lingering and spirits high. Hawkeye flung himself onto the bed, finishing his story about the night he and Trapper concocted an imaginary soldier named Capt. Tuttle. B.J. just sat there beside him on the bed, watching his bright eyes, thinking it was a shame he hadn't met Hawkeye under other circumstances, before the war… in med school maybe. This carefree Hawkeye—joyful, boyish—was such a delight.

His tale told, his laughter dying down, Hawkeye sighed and said, "This is just what the doctor ordered." He sat up then, and looked B.J. squarely in the eye, "Tokyo's a beautiful city, isn't it?"

"It's OK with me if we never go back to the war." B.J. wished he had a drink in his hands, just for something to fiddle with. For some reason—he wasn't sure why—he was feeling nervous. Maybe it was the fact that it was just him and Hawkeye alone in the room; back at camp, there were always people around. Even on the occasions they had the Swamp to themselves, there were still people right outside the door, milling in the compound. Or maybe it was the silence of this room. No ambient noise, only distant, muffled sounds coming from the city outside the window. Or maybe it was the intense blue eyes looking at him now, practically burning a hole through him. He couldn't help it, he had to look away, first at his empty hands, then across the room, before realizing how ridiculously uncomfortable he must appear, casting his eyes every which way. He gave up and his eyes landed back on Hawkeye's. He tried to sound casual as he said, "Y'know, you surprised me—not that I'm complaining, mind you. But I thought for sure you'd want to spend your R&R with a woman… or women."

"Nah. You're the only person I wanted to spend R&R with," Hawkeye replied, his gaze unwavering and his voice soft, innuendo crystallizing in the air between them. B.J. froze as the penny finally dropped. His heart fluttered; he could feel his face flush and his mouth go dry. Jesus, I'm dense, he thought.

A brief mental picture of his wife was followed by a vivid vision of male bodies entangled… their bodies… B.J. took a breath and tried to focus. At first his brain got defensive on him: where'd that image come from? But he had to admit it wasn't the first time he'd thought about Hawk in that way. Just a time or two before, his thoughts had strayed to the sexual, but never seriously… until now, when the possibility was suddenly so real.

The silence was spinning out. He couldn't imagine what to say. But Hawkeye never had that problem. As he shifted closer to B.J. on the bed, he said, very deliberately, "We each have a room. You can send me to mine right now if you want to. Just tell me to leave."

But B.J. shook his head. "No. Stay."

Hawkeye moved again. Personal space invaded. What else was new? B.J. resisted the knee-jerk reaction to scoot away. He was a little uneasy, his mind was reeling, but what he was feeling mostly was desire. Longing.

It seemed, actually, like a natural progression. Strangers became friends became inseparable best friends. Closer than brothers. From there, it was only the tiniest of steps to intimacy. B.J. had been physically attracted to Hawkeye from the get-go—he wasn't going to lie to himself. There was a definite sexual tension to their relationship. There'd been countless glances and stares, touches and hugs, jokes and double entendres. They both had played the games. The suggestion had been there all along. Now the pretense was lifting.

Hawkeye leaned into him, excruciatingly slowly. B.J. finally broke his paralysis and moved to meet him. The kiss was tentative, and far too quick for B.J.'s liking. His heart pounding, he reached out and connected with Hawkeye's chest. Hawk took hold of that hand and gently maneuvered them both on the bed, so that B.J. wound up lying on his back with Hawkeye sprawled over him. B.J. felt light-headed with the sudden turn the night had taken. It was happening so fast. He wanted this, yes, but he was also scared. Then Hawkeye's mouth was back on his, tentative no more, and rational thought went AWOL.

Electric kisses, fingers gently exploring, warmth traveling between and through their bodies. B.J.'s breath caught as Hawkeye blindly began to unbutton his shirt. Because there was a small part of him struggling with the idea that this—two men, deviant behavior, Sodom and Gomorrah—was wrong, a tear spilled from one eye and fell down his face. Hawkeye was immediately aware of it. He pulled back a little, wiped the tear away with his thumb, and whispered, "We can stop."

"No. Don't stop."

"Beej—"

"Don't stop." B.J. punctuated his point by pulling Hawkeye's T-shirt off in one swift motion.

Surprisingly, that didn't distract Hawkeye as much as B.J. had hoped. "You're not sure about this," he said, his expression a peculiar mix of lust and concern.

"I am," B.J. insisted with a nod. He pulled Hawkeye back down to him.

Finally he could feel Hawkeye let go of his uncertainty and give in to the desire, as their kisses grew deeper and their breath came out in ragged rhythm. B.J. felt his own shirt being tugged off. This can't be wrong. It doesn't feel wrong. It feels more right than anything has since the day I left Mill Valley.

Mill Valley seemed like another planet now. Outside the window, Tokyo pulsed with bright lights, busy streets, and vibrant people. In no time at all, he and Hawkeye would be back in Korea, standing in blood and trying to stitch up broken kids. In this place and time, in the insanity that had become B.J.'s life, ending up in Hawkeye's arms was the only thing that made sense.

On their last morning of R&R, they lingered in bed, wrapped around each other, savoring every second until they'd have to head back to camp. Back to the war. "Do you regret this?" Hawkeye asked, running a finger lightly up B.J.'s side.

"Never."

"Next R&R, we won't bother with two rooms."

"That would be a waste of the Army's money," B.J. agreed.

"Beej?"

"Mmmm hmmm?"

"You're not just another notch on the bedpost, you know." B.J. moved to look him in the eye but didn't say anything, so Hawkeye went on. "I wouldn't want you to think you were just some conquest, like this was a challenge or something." He paused. "This is real."

That was as close as Hawkeye was going to get to saying those other three little words, and B.J. knew it. He smiled, touched. "I love you too, Hawk."