Title: "5 Ways B.J. and Hawkeye Didn't Fall in Love (And One Way They Did)"
Summary: After Hawkeye moves to San Francisco, love grows in the Yellow Monstrosity.
Characters: Hawk/B.J., Erin
Genre: 50s, postwar, romance, fluff, challenge, family, friendship
Rating: PG
Timeline: 1956

A/n: An interlude in the How it Happened Arc (btwn "Walking Between Worlds" and "Big Bang Theory"). Part of the Gentleman Doctors series.

#1: "Missing Something"

They drove home from the party maintaining strict radio silence. From Market to Broadway, Hawkeye shot B.J. accusatory glares in his peripheral vision; B.J. maintained his trusty 'what's got you so hot?' Hunnicutt innocence. As if he didn't know.

In the front hall, B.J. hung his hat and offered, "Nightcap?"

Hawkeye slammed his jacket onto the banister. "What the hell was that? You said you wanted to get out there - meet datable men. So I said let's go to a party. I introduce you to people and you - you! - you hole up in the corner alone -!"

"I talked to people." B.J. retreated up the stairs.

Hawkeye trailed him like a bloodhound.

"Oh, no," Hawkeye stabbed his finger at his retreating back. "Hiding behind your lesbian security blanket is not 'meeting people.' It is the opposite of meeting people. It is, in point of fact, preventing me from meeting people. Who crowned you captain of the good ship Hawkeye Love Boat Sinker?"

B.J. tried to shut his door before the Hawkeye force of agitation followed him, but the man was too hot to be stopped by a simple wooden door. He stood at the foot of B.J.'s bed, watching him unbutton and untie.

"Well?" Hawkeye said.

"I said I'm sorry," B.J. said. "I didn't realize you were making time with the u-boat from Pasadena."

Hawkeye rocked back on his heels. He hadn't been. A little, maybe. Suede-Patch Podiatrist was an intelligent, witty, pocket-sized George Reeves lookalike who wore black glasses that framed his expressive blue eyes. Hell, he might have been Superman, but he would never find out, thanks to his personal albatross.

"That's not the point," Hawkeye said. "Since when are you a turtle at parties? I expected my right hand letch to be there with me."

B.J. brushed past Hawkeye down the hall and dropped his clothes in the hamper. Hawkeye - crow-like in his dark, poor-posture hovering - watched him as he padded barefoot and be-underweared back into the room. "I said I'm sorry. I promise I'll never be a wet blanket on your fireworks again."

Hawkeye, hands shoved into his pockets, sighed irritably as B.J. turned down his bed. He'd had been acting weird lately. Too quiet. Hawkeye just wanted to help his friend, B.J. ought to show his appreciation, show some effort, get angry or something. It was no fun to insult someone who had all the fighting power of a wet noodle.

B.J. leaned against the headboard, legs crossed at the ankles, and looked up at the ceiling. "Are you sleeping in here?"

Hawkeye's brain fizzled. "Am I -? When have I ever - note, never - slept in your room?"

B.J. shrugged. "You don't seem inclined to leave. We could engage in some more lively debate about my failure as a homosexual party provocateur."

Hawkeye paced - he didn't know where to look: this languid B.J. on the bed, or the simple escape clause provided by the door. Door or man, door or man . . . Man swung his body off the bed all sexy-long-legs, golden skin naked chest muscle arms, captured him in his personal space. Hawkeye held his ground, baffled. He gazed up at his friend's assured smile and the nervous energy in his eyes.

"You could, you know," B.J. said. "Seeing as we didn't get that much time to . . . explore all our options in Maine." One finger traced the line of Hawkeye's lapel.

"Ah." Hawkeye didn't need a map to follow where B.J.'s thoughts hand wandered. There was, in fact, a blinking sign leading him exactly down the lane his friend was gleefully skipping.

They started with a kiss, as these affairs often do. Brain shocks overloaded his speech center, rendering his mouth useless for anything except kissing in return. B.J. tasted like whiskey and his mouth was soft, inviting, caught Hawkeye's lower lip and when they parted, B.J.'s tongue did a funny-pleasant thing to his. He hadn't realized he'd opened his mouth.

"Mmmnice," Hawkeye said.

B.J.'s fingertips walked their way around Hawkeye's waist, drawing him near. "I have a problem, Doc."

"Do tell." Hawkeye was watching his lips, the white teeth behind them.

"I can't seem to keep my hands off my best friend. Got any advice?"

"Think I do." Hawkeye stood on tiptoe to kiss, arms around B.J.'s neck. "How about . . . lots of bedrest."

B.J. grinned into their kiss. "Somehow I thought you'd say that."