by Jimaine


Missing scene to "None Like It Hot"


Pairing: Hawkeye/B.J.

Rating: Humor, PWP

Archive: mash-slash, whenever, wherever, also T'Len's & Lady Charena's place, all others just ask – I

won't say no.

Disclaimer: None of it is mine, it all belongs to 20th Century Fox, I'm just having a little fun here - in

spite of the infernal heat. And I'm not making any money of this, though I damn well ought to; that

way I could afford an ice-machine!







"Wait a second...here it comes."


The small yellow object landed next to him with a splash, bobbing wildly before he grabbed it. "Soap."

The desired item was slapped into his outstretched palm with just enough force to sting. "Ouch.

Temper, temper, Nurse..."


"More like your personal valet", B.J. scoffed. "I bet the next thing you expect me to do is scrub your



"Oh, would you?"


The other man glowered at him. "Just remember, the clock's ticking. Nine minutes and, uh, thirty

seconds, then it's my turn in liquid nirvana!"


Lazily, Hawk opened his eyes and sat up with a theatrical sigh, exaggerating his display of comfort as

he lifted the sponge over his head and squeezed. "Your words, amigo. Nine minutes twenty." Then he

sank back and closed his eyes.


B.J. couldn't help himself. "You're enjoying this far too much!" he accused the bather. "Just be glad it's

me and not Charles waiting in line here. All the patience he's got can be found in Post-Op."


"'Rolling home, rolling home, rolling home across the sea…'"


Now *this* was too much! But before he could complain, Hawkeye broke off in mid-chorus and said,

"There's one thing we haven't tested yet."


"And that would be?" Couldn't be worse than singing. B.J. decided that fanning himself with last week's

copy of 'Stars and Stripes' was too strenuous an activity in this heat – not to mention

counterproductive, as the sweat was running down his face and plastered his shirt to his chest and


Instead, he relaxed against the shelf and cast his friend a skeptical look. Water cascaded over

Hawkeye's face, down his neck, pooling in the hollows of the collarbone. Some droplets clung to the

parted lips and he licked his own as he wondered how they might taste. To distract himself from the

sudden, very intense thirst, he scanned the headlines. Old news. MacArthur enjoying his retirement,

General XY leading an assault on Hill Z. God, and nine more minutes to go...nine minutes in which he'd

try not to think of how the dark, wet strands clung to Hawk's forehead like the delicate strokes of a

Japanese ink-brushing. Eight minutes and forty-five seconds...the water would probably evaporate the

moment it hit his overheated skin.


"If this new toy of ours is big enough for two."


What? Had he really heard what he thought he'd heard Hawkeye suggest? "Hawk, ahm..." The ambient

temperature seemed to have jumped another ten degrees, if that was possible, spontaneous combustion

only seconds away.


"What are you waiting for? We need to ration the water, so we have to make certain...sacrifices. And

between us, we still have more than fifteen minutes before Charles barges in to make his Last Stand,

records and other accessories in tow."


"What if someone – be it Charles or not – comes in before it's his time?" He made it sound reluctant,

but he was already removing his shirt.


Blue eyes darkened at the sight, and now it was Hawk who licked his lips in anticipation. "We'll plead

temporary insanity due to the heat."


"And which heat are you talking about?"


Hawkeye nodded, following B.J.'s every move, never blinking once. "I see your point, Beej."


"If I'm to get in, the duck has to go, though." Folding his arms, B.J. stood next to the tub and looked

down at Hawkeye. "Two's company, three's a crowd."


Obvious challenge here. Priority-making time. Hawkeye hated those. But there were these very

important things a duck couldn't do... "Sacrifices. Don't you agree?" he asked the rubber animal just

before he sent it flying.


Wherever it landed, it gave an approving squeak.