A/N: Howdy, folks. Time for chapter 2! Thanks so much for your support on the first chapter, it meant a lot to me :)

Now, I hope you all will forgive me, but I'm going to take a moment to address an accusation made in one of the reviews. Feel free to skip right on over this if you want. I just feel compelled to say something on the matter since the accusation was made publicly and 1. I don't want this to potentially become a big deal, since I do believe it was just an honest, understandable mistake born of a couple of unfortunate coincidences and 2. On the more personal side of things, for all my flaws as a human being, honesty is the most important thing to me. It is my core principle. Despite anything else I do, I never lie, cheat, or steal. So to have been accused of dishonesty on that level is very painful to me.

So as samanddianefan10, the author in question, requested, I have sent her a PM on the matter and am currently waiting to hear back. Hopefully the issue can be resolved quickly and easily between us. In the meantime, I'd like to tell you all the gist of what I told her:

It is true that I read and followed samanddianefan10's story; however, in the past three months or so, I have honestly consumed such a large quantity of M*A*S*H fanfiction that I did not even recall hers when I went to look at it again. Also, as it happens, I started writing my story before I even read hers, but that's obviously not something I can prove to you all.

Point being, I did not in any way, shape, or form steal the concept of her story. My inspiration for this story came directly out the show itself. (Specifically-just in case anyone is interested :)-out of these facts: Firstly, that it always felt ridiculous and unbelievable to me that Trapper was not talked about more often after his departure. I wanted to fix that. Secondly, that B.J. is shown in canon to be a jealous man at times, a couple of times in regards to Peg, once towards Radar, and several times towards Trapper. Besides which, let's be real for a second, even without that, this situation lends itself perfectly to jealousy. Who in the M*A*S*H fandom hasn't wanted to explore B.J.'s feelings of jealousy towards Trapper in more depth?)

Anyways. I do agree that the similarity between the titles is an unfortunate coincidence, but I do maintain that it was only a coincidence. The cultural association between jealousy and the color green is very strong, and it frankly doesn't shock me that two people came up with (basically) the same pun (though actually I like her version better *shrug* Oh well). For my part, the title occurred to me while writing a scene-a scene in this chapter, in fact-wherein Hawkeye and B.J. discuss B.J.'s pink shirts and one of them uses the phrase "army green." I'm generally pretty horrible with titles, so when I wrote those words it was very much an "Aha! Perfect!" moment for me.

Well, that about covers it. I am genuinely sorry that samanddianefan10 was made to feel as though her work had been poached, but that is not the case, and I really hope that you all will give me the benefit of the doubt and believe what I've said. If anyone has further questions on this, please feel free to PM me. My inbox is always open.

Phew! Now that that's over with, I hope you enjoy this second installment!


Returning from a morning visit to the latrine, B.J. let the screen door swing shut behind him. Out of instinct, his eyes slid to the right, to the bed closest to the door.

Hawkeye didn't even look up, much less greet his friend as he normally would. Eyes sparkling, big smile on his face, he seemed enraptured with the letter in his hands. A hastily torn envelope lay face up on the bed. Even from several feet away, B.J. felt certain he recognized the messy penmanship.

"Ah, Hunnicutt!"

B.J. turned to his other roommate, ignoring the way his hands had become fists. Charles smiled at him.

"You missed mail call, my dear chap. I believe there is a letter from home waiting on your bunk."

Turning to look, he saw that Charles was right. He stepped past Charles's bed to his own. "Why so chipper this morning? Didn't anybody tell you we're in Korea?"

"Good news from my sister Honoria." Charles brandished the letter in his hands, a big smile still on his face.

"Soon to be the owner of a brand new, wealthy brother-in-law, Charles?"

Charles chuckled his rare, easygoing laughter. "Jest allll you like, Hunnicutt. Nothing you say can spoil this day for me."

"Oh? Well that sounds like a challenge to me! Hawk, what do you think?"

He turned towards Hawkeye, a little more fervor in his gaze than perhaps was normal. His desperate grab for acknowledgment went unanswered. Hawkeye seemed not to have heard him. So wrapped up in his letter was he that he couldn't even be bothered to take the delicious bait dangling from Charles Emerson Winchester III's latest letter from home.

To make matters worse, upon B.J.'s failure to win the attention of his best friend, Charles shot him a pitying look. As if B.J. were some poor, snubbed schoolgirl whose crush wouldn't give her the time of day. It was all B.J. could do to keep from growling like a rabid beast.

"Gentlemen," said Charles, that same pitying look in his eyes when he glanced from Hawkeye back to B.J., before leaving the tent.

B.J. watched his friend for a moment longer. Then he ground his teeth together. Why was he behaving so childishly? After all, he had his own letter from home, there was no reason to begrudge Hawkeye his.

He picked up the envelope on his bed. He read every letter and number on the envelope itself, taking comfort in Peg's delicate, feminine handwriting. So unlike Hawkeye's correspondent. Plopping down on his bunk, B.J. slid a finger beneath the lip of the envelope, ready to slice.

A burst of laughter stopped him.

Stomach tied in knots, he glanced up. Hawkeye was beaming down at his letter, eyes twinkling in that special way they did. The way that always caused B.J. a flurry of emotions he could never seem to put a name to.

Except, of course, when that twinkle was directed at a certain Trapper John. Then the flurry of emotions became a hurricane that shredded his insides. As much as B.J. hated himself for it, this particular emotion was easy to name: jealousy.

The smile on Hawkeye's face softened, became something gentler, sweeter, and B.J.'s gut tightened even more. His fingers dug into his still unopened envelope.

"Love letter?" he said.

"Hmm?" Hawkeye's gaze didn't shift one inch as he took the necessary second to process B.J.'s question. "Oh. No, it's from Trapper."

"That's what I said, isn't it?" B.J. stood from the bed, shoving his mail unceremoniously into his pocket.

Hawkeye blinked. Looked up. "Come again?"

"Nothing." B.J. crossed to the tent door. Plastering a casual smile on his face, he asked, "Coming to breakfast?"

"Go on without me," Hawkeye said, waving a hand. He returned every ounce of his attention to the letter. "I'll catch up in a minute."

Without another word, B.J. pushed open the door. He stomped across the camp to the mess tent, the sound of Hawkeye's laughter chasing behind him.


"So what's with the pink shirts?"

B.J. looked up from his book. Well, not a book per say. A pamphlet. An instruction manual on motorcycle mechanics, to be specific. Reading material was scarce in Korea.

Hawkeye met his gaze nonchalantly from where he was seated on the edge of his bunk, nestled in his red robe. His skilled fingers continued to knit. The object between his needles had yet to take a shape, but its color was a deep maroon.

"What do you mean?" B.J. asked.

"One day out of the blue, all your greens turned pink," said Hawkeye. One needle dipped under the other. "No reason, no explanation. What gives?"

B.J. turned back to his pamphlet. "You said you didn't like green." There was a noticeable pause in the clicking of needles. "And red is too vibrant of a color to wear every day. Better for the little things."

"Like suspenders?" Hawkeye said, the sound of epiphany in his voice.

"Like suspenders," B.J. agreed. His eyes shifted to the next page of the pamphlet. The author had included a lovely illustration of an engine, how nice. "Pink is the way to go with shirts."

A creaking, followed by two thumps, and suddenly the bed was dipping. B.J. looked his fellow surgeon in the eyes and raised his eyebrows, as though to ask, Do you have a permit to park there?

Hawkeye ignored the look, leaning close to his friend. "You mean you changed your entire wardrobe because I said I was sick of army green?" he said intently, incredulously.

"Actually, it was because I thought the pink better suited my mustache."

Lips pursed, Hawkeye shook his head. A smile crinkled at the corners of his eyes. "You know what you are, B.J. Hunnicutt? Besides a terrible liar."

"Do I get twenty guesses?"

"You're a softie," said Hawk, grinning full and large. He dug a finger teasingly into B.J.'s chest, right over his heart. "A big ol', sentimental softie."

B.J. made a tsk noise and shook his head. "Rats! And here I thought the war was going to keep me in shape." He made a show of returning to his reading.

The finger in his chest relaxed, became a hand. A hand that did not move away. A hand that, in fact, rested comfortably, tenderly, where it lay. B.J. cursed himself as he felt his heart race a little faster, and hoped to God that Hawkeye couldn't tell.

He looked up again just in time to see the utter sincerity in Hawk's eyes as he said, "Thanks, Beej."

"Ah, don't be silly, Hawk."

"No, I mean it," he said, leaning closer, trapping B.J. in his blue gaze. B.J. wished he wouldn't lean quite so close.

He wished he would lean closer.

"Thank you," Hawkeye said again. "You make this unbearable hellhole an unbearable purgatory-hole."

The hand slipped away, and B.J. could breathe again.

All at once everything was back to normal. Hawkeye was Hawkeye, and B.J. was B.J., and they were best friends who could talk and tease and touch without those actions begetting any more-complicated emotions.

B.J. smiled. He reached out and grasped Hawkeye's left shoulder. "Yeah, you too."

Hawkeye laid his own hand on top of B.J.'s and squeezed. After a moment they let go. Hawkeye returned to his bunk and his knitting, and B.J. continued his third-time-through perusal of the motorcycle maintenance manual. There was no trace of awkwardness between them after this moment of physical and emotional intimacy.

A fact for which B.J. was unendingly grateful. At times B.J. felt... confused, in regards to his feelings towards Hawkeye. A certain look or word from Hawkeye could set his mind reeling, his heart racing. Quite inexplicably. Bafflingly.

But those moments were few and far between. This, the easy, comfortable, unassuming camaraderie between them was what B.J. treasured. Never in his life had he felt so at ease with another human being, so happy merely to be in their presence.

Oh, Peg was wonderful, of course. But she was wife first, friend second. Hawkeye was friend first and foremost, always. It was so easy to ignore the occasional odd thought or skipped heartbeat. Because, in comparison to this, what did they matter?