Initially it was the noise that woke him but it was the mouthful of hair that prevented a blissful relapse into unconsciousness. Figuring that both the thumping in his head and the fuzz in his mouth must be symptoms of the night before and therefore, could both be remedied by a glass of lighter fluid from the still, Hawkeye forced his heavy eyes open.
Groggy with sleep and, well - grog, he struggled to comprehend the situation.
He wasn't in his tent. The pounding in his head was alcohol related; the hair in his mouth was only too real. Okay, so that wasn't much of a surprise, drinks in the officer's club almost inevitably led him to the soft arms and warm bed of a nurse. Just not this nurse.
If any woman was off-limits, he'd have bet good money it was this one.
What happened last night…how many drinks did I have… how many drinks did SHE have!
Looking down at the sleeping face of Major Margaret Houlihan, it struck him how different she looked asleep. Not different really, no… just more real. There was no façade, simply Margaret.
Margaret half opened her eyes, the gloom in her tent burned them like the noonday sun and she squinted them closed again. Greedily she embraced the inexplicable feeling of contentment that had crept through her while she tried to recall exactly why it was there. Half remembering, and realising he was no longer in the small cot, she smiled and opened her eyes again. She studied him patiently as he pulled on his tacky Hawaiian shirt. Funny, who'd have thought that of all the men in the world she would wake up next to the one who was everything she wasn't looking for and find that she was happy about it? Finished with his shirt, the tall captain gathered up his shoes and socks and headed for the door. Figuring Hawkeye hadn't wanted to wake her, Margaret pushed herself up onto one elbow and murmured his name.
"Hawkeye…?"
As he walked out the door, the name reached his ears; a low sound, barely more than a whisper, and with a slightly rising intonation that betrayed her uncertainty.
Hawkeye heard his name. He kept on walking.
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A/N: It's funny, as I was writing this, Comrades in Arms came onto the TV and I realised my story was even more like it than I originally realised. I suppose this is my own adaptation. It doesn't happen before or after Comrades in Arms but instead of it. For this reason we will assume that Margaret has already received her Dear Darlene letter from Donald (perhaps this is why she was getting drunk in the Officer's Club).
