Margaret took a deep breath. The scotch had tasted bitter and divine at the same time. It was getting harder and harder to find any decent alcohol around here. The last time decent glass she'd enjoyed was a sip from Charles's brandy, a bottle he'd imported from Boston. It hadn't been that long ago, and yet the alcohol was already having its desired effect. Her body felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Her chest burned from the drink but that would pass momentarily.

Thankfully she'd saved this little treat. She might have been a little inebriated, but she wanted to get drunk, completely drunk. There had to be a way to escape the memory of him, the taste of his kisses, and the warmth of his touch. Tonight she wanted to forget all about Hawkeye Pierce.

Just the night before Margaret had found herself stranded in an abandoned hut alongside the dark-haired surgeon. She'd been in an emotional state of denial due to her husband Donald's callous act of infidelity. She didn't know how long it had been going on, and she didn't really care. All she knew was that she had found herself on the receiving end of a love letter addressed to some bimbo named Darlene. She was all too aware that his affections had been waning; this letter only confirmed her deepest fears. Adding insult to injury she hadn't even been in the privacy of her own tent when she read the letter. Hawkeye had been driving them to mission at an aid station when she decided to open the fateful envelope. How he grated on her nerves with his witty remarks and self-congratulatory rounds of laughter. But it was better than being alone.

Only when they arrived at their destination did they realize that their mission had been changed. They were now in the direct line of fire, and had to take shelter. Thankfully, they had found an abandoned hut and pulled over to take refuge.

Hawkeye was surprisingly sensitive to her mood. He asked her about the letter, and she shared with him the contents. He listened and offered her his proverbial shoulder to cry on. Little did she know….

And then night came, and the shots rang out. And she was terrified.

"I'm scared." She called out to Hawkeye. "Hold me! Hold me."

And so he did. He gently wrapped his arms around her in order to shield her from the events around them. She caught her breath as he answered her cries. And without saying a word a grateful Margaret looked Hawkeye in the eyes. Nothing prepared them for the emotions that ran through their bodies, and they joined in a kiss. She placed her arms around his neck and welcomed his kiss. Her tongue welcomed his as it explored the taste of alcohol. Her body arched up against his, all too willing to explore the moment. One of his hands massaged her hair and the other arm remained firm against her back. For a brief moment she opened her eyes to watch as Hawkeye kissed her. It was strange to observe this, as she had only briefly imagined what this would be like. Now here they were, seeking solace from each other.

His hands moved down toward her chest, and she let out a soft cry. How easily she could tremble at his touch. Chills of pleasure ran through her body as she shifted positions, not wanting to be released from his embrace. Hawkeye feverishly kissed her again, this time her cheek and her forehead and her neck.

"I…Hawkeye…" she whispered as she pulled back to look at him.

"What's wrong? What is it? Did I hurt you?" he asked with concern.

"No…I..I just.. I want to know something." She pulled back. "Does this feel wrong to you?"

"No..does it to you?"

She shook her head before leaning in for another kiss. "No." she pressed in. "Not at all."

As the kisses grew deeper Margret became more certain that she would never regret what was happening. He was so good…the way he tasted, the way he touched her, the way he held her. Everything that they were doing felt so natural. He had placed his hand underneath her shirt, sending chills down her spine. She massaged his fine chest with her hand, careful not to scratch him with her fingernail. With one quick movement he brought her around to where her body was now lying on top of his. Surprised, she sighed in pleasure at the overt use of masculinity as he slowly moved his body against hers. She knew she couldn't wait much longer to consummate their passion. Finally she lay down and allowed him access to all of her. The intimacy lasted as neither of them were willing to end the moment.

Back to the moment of reality…..

Margaret set the bottle down. She was nervous, not knowing what to expect from tonight's meeting. Maybe, just maybe….She'd started to pour her second glass of scotch, and she knew she needed to wait for Hawkeye. It wasn't good to drink alone. Especially after last night.