Operation Friendship and More

(Author's Note: Immediately follows "Operation Friendship," and is one big, fat spoiler for the whole episode.)

----

That arrogant ass Traeger just left, and Charles is on post-op duty for the night. Hawkeye's sitting next to me on my cot, but we haven't actually said anything for a few minutes now. I look into his eyes and I see something there I've never seen before. Caring? Concern? No, he's shown me those colors before. This seems deeper than that. I tilt my head a little, trying to read him, wondering why I don't just ask him what's on his mind….

And then he takes my right hand, the bandaged one, and holds it very gently. His thumb rolls over my fingers. He's looking at the hand, not into my eyes, but I'm watching his face and catching some of the emotions running across it. The love in his expression doesn't scare me, but the intensity of it does.

Look, Beej, I'm really sorry about this.
Don't worry about it. It's all right. I just got a hell of a whack on the arm.

He looks up suddenly and our eyes lock. The thump of my heart might have been heard all the way across camp. Slowly, I'm starting to realize this goes beyond a hurt arm, a compartment hemorrhage, a close call, and an interloper named Traeger.

Sometimes I can get lost in the blue of his eyes. They're so intelligent, those eyes, and stark. Sometimes I can't look away from them, even if I should. Our stare intensifies, if that's even possible. I'm about to say something—I'm not even sure what—when he breaks the eye contact, shifts on the bed, and carefully lies down next to me. His arms go around me, still handling me as though I were glass, and I turn so we're face to face. I reach up with my right hand—it really doesn't hurt much—and lightly run a finger down his cheek. I'm so relieved to be able to feel sensation in this hand, in these fingers.

Beej, don't be stupid. You may have something wrong with that arm.

His skin feels warm, his face looks serene. I love it when there isn't anger or pain or insanity in his expression. When I see him looking peaceful, I feel like I've taken him out of the war, out of his own head, for a little while. I smile at him, certain he can see the clear adoration on my own face, and not caring.

He kisses me then, and it's so sudden and surprising that it takes my breath away. Very light, very quick, but a kiss on the mouth nevertheless. It was practically nothing, but my heart hammers and my face feels hot. We stare at each other again—this is getting ridiculous, but I can't look away and I can't speak, and every thought I ever had about Hawkeye is barreling through my head as if a dam has burst.

When I first met him: he's a scamp, he'll be fun. When I first operated by his side: he's the most talented surgeon I've ever seen, I can learn from him. The first time we pulled a practical joke on Frank: he's ruthless, don't ever get on his bad side. The first time we sat at Rosie's and ran out of conversation, felt the silence descending on us but didn't feel any awkwardness: he's like the brother I never had, he understands me. The first time I cried on his shoulder after I lost a patient: he's exactly what I needed in this godforsaken place, he's the best friend I'll ever have.

Now: he's become everything to me over here, he'll still be everything to me after I leave here.

What a crazy thought. I'd shake it out of my head if I weren't held motionless by his gaze.

Excuse me. I'm B.J.'s doctor. I don't like you going behind my back.

Slowly, Hawkeye closes the gap between us, and I watch, fascinated, as his eyes get closer… and then fall shut. This time the kiss is deep, passionate, and thoroughly satisfying. I start to wonder how this has happened, and why, and why I'm letting it, but then I realize it's what I've wanted, on some level, for some time now. There's no point in denying the truth. And there's no stopping what's inevitable.

His tongue slides into my mouth and meets mine. He tastes of the gin we had a little while ago, before Traeger came in. The entire camp has gone quiet and time seems to be at a standstill as we lie against each other, kissing. At some point, Hawkeye pulls my T-shirt over my head, taking extra care not to bump my bandaged hand, and drops it to the floor. My pulse kicks into high gear. His fingers move to my pants and he slowly unzips them, but his mouth is distracting me with tiny kisses on my neck and shoulder. My eyes are closed but I feel my pants being yanked down and I lift my hips to help Hawkeye along. Soon they're on the floor too, and my boxers follow.

That hand needs to be operated on immediately or he's going to lose the use of it.

I've been naked in front of Hawkeye many times before but I feel his eyes on me this time, studying me. His hand runs over my chest, his lips settle on my collarbone. I reach with my good hand to start undressing him, but he grabs my wrist and stops me. "No," he says softly. And he shakes his head to reinforce the word. He does pull off his jacket and tosses it onto the floor, but otherwise he stays dressed.

He gently puts his body partially on mine, constantly mindful of my injury, and he kisses me again—wet, hungry, sweet kisses—while his left hand makes lazy circles on my stomach. His touch ignites a fire in my groin. I'm trembling with nervousness and anticipation. Eventually he moves that hand lower, and his fingers begin to stroke my erection. I gasp, and his mouth drinks in my moans and sighs.

His hand works expertly, rubbing, stroking, taking me nearly to the edge, then pulling me back… nearly to the edge again, backing off again… over and over. I would ask him—beg him?—to let me come, but his mouth doesn't relinquish mine. I'm breathless and trying to dig my fingers into his shirt, wanting to get at his skin. Finally he skillfully takes me to climax, and I cling to him as I come, half-whispering, half-moaning his name in between his persistent kisses.

Panting, drifting down from an indescribable high, I just lie still and revel in the sensations and sounds. His body, albeit clothed, warm against mine… his mouth finally at rest, at my neck… his steady breathing, so comforting… his hand once again cradling my injured one.

Christ, I would say, if I had the power of speech, you sure know how to make a guy feel better.

There will be time for talking later.

You're a lucky man. Seems your friend here has finally decided who's the best man for the job.
Better watch what you say, Traeger. I've still got one good hand.

I think about everything that's happened over the last couple days. His worry as I stubbornly refused to admit there was something wrong with me… his panicked look when we diagnosed a compartment hemorrhage in the OR… his possessiveness until he realized that he needed to defer to the specialist because it was in the patient's best interest. In my best interest.

Well I'm feeling possessive, too. This is my doctor in my arms. Traeger may have saved my hand, but Hawkeye saved my soul. Too many times to count.

He pulls the blanket over us. We curl against each other, me naked and him fully clothed. He carefully lifts my bandaged hand, brushes his lips over my fingertips, before placing it gently on his hip. I close my eyes and smile. I'm already halfway toward sleep.

I've never felt more loved in my life.