Erin did not want to go to bed. She and her dad and Hawkeye had been out in the backyard, catching fireflies and then letting them go. They'd been laughing and telling stories and wandering around the yard for the last two or three hours, but now it was nearly midnight and that was long past Erin's bedtime. Peg had retired for the night at 10, not that she'd been hanging out with the rest of them anyway. She was distant, Hawkeye noted, on this visit. When she and B.J. spoke to each other, there was almost a formality to their conversations. As if they were business partners instead of life partners.

B.J. had to physically steer his little girl into the house and then to her bedroom. Hawkeye followed to help get her settled in. She was 7 already (holy hell, she's growing up so fast!) and B.J. had told him that she was past the "tucking in" stage, but since Hawkeye was visiting, she wanted them to do the nightly ritual with her. Frankly, he loved it.

She changed into her pajamas while Hawkeye and B.J. turned their backs, and then she crawled into bed. B.J. pulled her sheets up and made a big show about tucking them around her. She gave him the pleading eyes, all innocence and sweetness, "Can I get a story?"

"No, ma'am," B.J. said sternly. "It is already way too late, there will be no more stalling. If your mom knew you were still up, I'd be in deep shi—trouble."

She giggled. She knew the word that had almost come out. Glancing up at Hawkeye, who was standing bedside, she said, "Night-night, Hawkeye."

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Goodnight, Princess Erin, ruler of this bedroom domain and all of the stuffed-animal inhabitants herein." That got her laughing more, even though there had to be a few words in that sentence that she didn't understand.

B.J. kissed her cheek. "Sweet dreams, honey." He turned out the light and they left her to her slumber (or so they hoped), ambling down the hall to the guest room.

Hawkeye was expecting B.J. to simply bid him a goodnight and continue on to his own room, but instead B.J. followed him inside. "How are you doing, Hawk? Feeling better?" he asked, leaning against the closed door as Hawkeye pulled off his sweaty T-shirt.

He considered that instead of answering with a knee-jerk "yes." He'd been at the Hunnicutts' for five days now, and certainly his spirits were lifted. But when he got back home, how was he going to feel then? Would the crushing loneliness that had sent him out here return? He let his shirt drop to the floor and he shrugged. "I feel better now, Beej, thanks to you. I'm not sure about my long-term prognosis, though."

B.J. tilted his head, looking cute in his concern as he stood there, leaning back against the door, arms crossed. A typical Hunnicutt stance. Until he'd met B.J., Hawkeye had never realized just how fascinating a man's forearms could be.

Hawkeye waved a hand, irritated with himself. "Don't worry about me, Beej. I'm tired of my own self-involved complaining."

"Hawkeye, if you're feeling sad, it doesn't make any sense to pretend otherwise. Be honest with yourself. Be honest with me."

And then this came out of Hawkeye's mouth, and since it didn't get approval from his brain first, he knew it must be something he truly believed: "Maybe I'm not meant to be in love."

B.J. moved to him swiftly and pulled him into his arms, all strength and comfort. "I don't believe that for a second," he said, words coming out muffled because his mouth was against Hawkeye's neck. "Not for a second."

Hearing the fierce belief in B.J.'s voice, Hawkeye could feel his shoulders relax. "Thanks, Beej. Thank you."

They lingered, holding onto each other, Hawkeye with his eyes shut tight. They breathed together.

Then B.J. pulled back slightly, blinked his beautiful blue eyes, and leaned in. Hawkeye could have stopped him but he didn't dare. The kiss was soft and chaste and perfect. They could have even pretended it was the kind of kiss that men give to other men friends on occasion, except that just as soon as it ended, they both went back for another. And that one wasn't quite so chaste.

So much for pretending.

Confused, maybe a little scared, but immersed in the moment, Hawkeye opened his mouth slightly. B.J. willingly offered his tongue and the kiss deepened. Hawkeye's hands moved to grip B.J. at the waist. The moment was both surreal and sublime.

Time froze. Hawkeye was aware that Peg Hunnicutt was sleeping down the hall while he was standing in the guest room kissing her husband. It was way past the point of common sense, not to mention common decency.

We need to stop. This is wrong. This is so wrong…

Hawkeye couldn't believe he was the first one to break contact. He did it gently, and took a half step back. He hated himself for the kissing and then hated himself more for stopping. His head was muddled. He looked at B.J., wondering which one of them was supposed to apologize first.

But neither apologized at all. Instead, B.J. offered a shy smile and said, "Goodnight, Hawk."

"Yeah," he tried, but had to clear his throat to get his voice working. "Yeah, Beej, goodnight."

Without another word, B.J. left the room. Hawkeye stood stock-still for a long moment, then turned out the light and fell onto the bed to try to figure out what the hell had just happened.