Ships: Hawkeye/BJ/Margaret, Hawkeye/Margaret, Hawkeye/BJ, Hawkeye/Klinger, BJ/Klinger, Hawkeye/Charles (aka We Are A Weird Queer Found Family That Fucks)
"Dear Max, ah, perhaps you might enlighten me?"
Klinger leans back into Charles's desk so he can watch the scene behind them, his long fingers resting lightly over Charles's journal with an almost casual possessiveness. "See, the captains and major made an extra bet among the three of them that whoever ran outta money first got to... Well, y'know kinda how when it gets real hot out, somebody'll open up a fire hydrant, and it'll be spraying in the street, and all the kids play in it?"
For the life of him, Charles can never remember such...festivities occurring outside his own Boston home, but as he considers everything he's heard about the ruffians of Toledo, it makes a certain degree of sense. He can practically see Klinger's light brown skin gleaming in the sunshine. "In a way."
Klinger's lips quirk. "That. But with sex."