He let Margaret call all the shots. In the first place, he still thought the whole arrangement was too good to be true and was trying to behave himself lest he mess things up. In the second place, he knew she liked being in charge, and he thought he'd let her stay in that comfortable role for a while.

Hawkeye had not had a long-term partner for a long time. He'd forgotten how nice it was to get to know a woman's likes and dislikes and to be able to relax in her presence–not to mention not having to always deal with the formality and nervousness that invariably came with every new lover. And arguably the best benefit was not having to stick to the same, classic, expected positions all the time. (Not that there was anything wrong with them–they were classic for a reason, after all.) And Margaret was more willing to experiment than any other woman he'd ever known, about as willing as he was. Life was beautiful. Or as beautiful as it could be here in Hell anyway.

And then one day he decided Margaret had been calling the shots for long enough.

He showed up unannounced one night, giving his signature knock.

"Come in," she called.

"Hi!" he said brightly.

She sat at her desk, still dressed in her usual green fatigues. "Did we have an appointment for tonight?"

"No. I just thought I'd drop by," he said casually as he approached her. He leaned forward and put his hands on her shoulders. "What you served up last night made me crave a second helping." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

She pushed against his arms and he stood up again. "I'm a little busy," she said shortly.

"Oh, come on. We'll make it a quickie then. I'll be out of here in half an hour."

He could tell by the look on her face that she was about to go off on a tirade, and off she went.

"How dare you think that you can just waltz in here any time you want and make demands! I'm a person, you know! Not just some sexual plaything you can order around and use as you see fit!" She threw her pen down. "Did you ever stop to consider that I might have important things to do?!" She waved her hand at the paperwork on her desk as she stood up. "Well it just so happens I do!"

On second thought, maybe he'd let her get a little too comfortable in the dominant role. He was not entirely surprised by her outburst, but it stung all the same.

"Well?! Don't you have anything to say for yourself?!"

"Forgive me, Major. I guess I forgot my place. What could I have been thinking, coming in here like an equal, and making a friendly suggestion? It should have been obvious that I should just take whatever you dish out and not ask for more. Just be here at the appointed time, do the job, and get the hell out. Silly me! See ya." He turned and walked to the door.

"Wait," she said in an anguished tone.

He stopped.

"I'm... I'm sorry."

He turned back to her.

"I'm sorry for what I said and I'm sorry for–I'm sorry I–I'm sorry I made you feel like I was ordering you around. Please stay."

He walked back to her. "Apology accepted." He opened his arms. "Still friends?"

She stepped into his embrace and wrapped her arms around him as he hugged her tightly. She nodded. "Do I really order you around?" she asked as she let go of him.

"No."

She opened her mouth to protest.

"But I would have felt that way sooner or later if I don't get to be more or less an equal here."

She exhaled heavily and nodded. "Ok." She glanced back at her desk. "But you were just here yesterday. I haven't had a chance to get back in the right mood yet."

"Margaret." He shook his head. "Have you been laboring under the delusion that you need to be all ready to hit the sack when I come through the door?"

"Well..."

"Haven't you heard?! Your nurses haven't let you in on the secret? On second thought, it can't be a secret since it seems to be my firmly entrenched reputation. My powers of persuasion are legendary, Margaret! And here's you, letting them go to waste!" He grinned impishly.

She smiled, letting him jolly her out of her bad mood. Why had she been reluctant to take advantage of his complete services? "All right. So seduce me already."

"Why, Margaret! I thought you'd never ask!" he said dramatically. "Dance with me."

She felt silly dancing without music, but she went along.

And she found out that he was as good as his reputation. His secret seemed to be in making a woman anticipate what he was going to do next and then making her wait for it. Interminably.

She lay in his arms hours later, completely satisfied. "Is this about how it goes with all your conquests?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Well... more or less."

"I see why you have so much trouble getting a second date."

"What?!" he exclaimed, crestfallen. "It wasn't good?!" He looked not only incredulous, but also deeply disappointed.

"No, that's not it! It was good! It was too good! It was incredible. But on a first date... my god, Hawkeye."

He looked puzzled.

"Don't you see? They're embarrassed, ashamed."

He shook his head. "Why?"

"You're comfortable with sexuality. You can't see it. It's the double standard. Women have a notion in their head of how they're supposed to behave on a first date, and this is definitely not it! You get them to give you waaaaaay more than they wanted to."

"Margaret, I have never made a woman do anything against her will!"

"You don't have to! You seduce them into wanting it first! You seduce them into begging for it! These are good, Christian women, Hawkeye–which is not to say they're angels, but they like to think of themselves as good girls. Good girls fall in love and give themselves to a lover. But what you do to them–as fabulous as it is–I'm sure they must feel like cheap whores. Especially when they find out it meant nothing to you and you move on to their bunkmate."

He looked grave. "Do you feel like a cheap whore?"

"No, but that's me. I don't have to be a 'good girl' in order to like myself."

"I never meant to... I thought I was just showing them a good time."

"Oh, come on, you had to have known you were going too far."

"I suppose. But I didn't know it was as bad as this. Maybe I should apologize."

She shook her head. "I wouldn't."

He looked at her questioningly, not understanding the apparent contradiction.

"Someday in the distant future, in their boring married lives, they'll look back on their night with you and cherish it."

"What?! You just completed invalidated everything you said before!"

She shook her head, smiling. "No. The point is, they're not ready for it now. But some day the shame will fade away and they'll remember the excitement and it'll get them through some cold nights."

He shook his head, baffled.

"Don't apologize. Just respect them! What's wrong with getting to know a woman before you try to get her into bed?"

He averted his eyes and sighed greatly. After a very long pause, he said quietly, "Maybe I want to love 'em and leave 'em before they get a chance to do the same to me."

She nuzzled closer to him and kissed him softly on the neck, wondering who had hurt him so badly.

He turned back to her and kissed her gently on the lips. "Thank you."

"Any time." Though she wasn't sure what exactly he was thanking her for.

"Actually–you had work to do. And this took a lot longer than the half hour I promised. I guess I got carried away. Sorry."

"Well, so did I. There's no reason whatsoever to apologize. This was just what I needed."

"You always say that."

"What can I say? I come by that awful nickname of mine honestly."

They both laughed.

He inclined his head in the direction of her desk. "So what's the paperwork about?"

She sighed tiredly. "It's... work... stuff."

"Confidential?"

"Not exactly."

"It might help if you talk about it."

She thought about it for a moment. It wasn't like her to burden anyone else with her problems. But he was asking directly. It would be rude not to answer. "Lt. Kincaid. Her tour is over and I don't know what to write on her evaluation. I should have transferred her long before now, but she was really trying and I gave her more second chances than I should have because I've been in such a damn good mood lately." She glared at him.

"Oh, that's what your warm hello was about!"

"You definitely came in at a bad moment. Anyway, my dilemma is that if I'm honest on her report, it'll raise questions about why I kept her this long."

"Maybe you just need to be a little creative."

"I can't lie!"

"Who said anything about lying? You could say that you saw potential. You did, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"And you could stress her good qualities. She may be a disaster in OR, but her bedside manner is lovely."

"That's true."

"And then maybe just avoid mentioning the medication mixup altogether. It turned out all right in the end."

Margaret began to laugh. And laugh. And laugh, completely out of proportion to what he'd said. When she finally caught her breath, she said, "I don't know whether that's the worst suppository joke I've ever heard, or the best." In any case the laughter, once begun, had felt too wonderful to stop. "Thanks, Hawkeye."

Laughter turned out to be one of the most beneficial aspects of the relationship for Margaret. She had been aware that there wasn't enough laughter in her life, but considering the place and the situation, she felt hard pressed to do anything about it. Hawkeye changed all that.

In the interest of fun, she tried to get him to role-play with her, as she used to do with Frank. It tended to spice things up a bit. It was obvious he didn't want to, but he said he'd try. He wound up giving such an over-the-top performance that Margaret found herself rolling around on her cot laughing. They had so much fun they never even got around to the sex.

That same evening Hawkeye asked Margaret if she liked it in the morning, was positively thrilled when she replied in the affirmative ("Margaret, I love you!"), and promised to bring her a big surprise some morning. Which he did the very next day.

Margaret suggested the role playing on one other occasion a few weeks later. It degenerated into similar hysterics in short order. Oh well. So Frank was good at role playing. Hawkeye was good at other things, not the least of which was making her laugh. And somewhat belatedly, it occurred to Margaret that there was plenty enough spice with Hawkeye without playing games.

"Did anyone see you?" she whispered as he came in.

"I don't think so."

She got up and peeked out the window. "You heard the rumor floating around camp? I hear you denied it. Thanks. How did people find out we're sleeping together?"

"That's not the rumor I heard."

"Oh?" She turned to him in surprise.

"No. The rumor I heard is that I'm 'screwing' you," he said angrily. "Of course I denied it!"

She was taken a little aback and it showed.

"Margaret, when a woman does me the honor of inviting me to her bed, I make love to her. With all the attention and care and feeling that I'm capable of. How dare they insinuate such a thing about either of us!"

She smiled, amused that it was the semantics of the allegation that bothered him. "You are a very attentive and generous lover," she affirmed. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her temple. He began to kiss his way down her cheek to her neck, but Margaret interrupted. "Hawkeye... I got my period today. I feel rotten."

He nodded, released her, and left. That was abrupt, she thought, and not at all like him. She shrugged her shoulders and starting getting ready for bed. A few minutes later, he returned with an ice pack.

"Wh–"

"Lie down."

"What are–"

"It'll help, trust me. If you don't like it, I'll never suggest it again."

What did she have to lose? She lay down. She had removed her pants and still wore her panties and a tshirt. Hawkeye pulled the tshirt down a bit and reshaped the ice pack so it would cover as much of her pelvic region as possible. "Ugh."

"It gets better. Wait." He put slight pressure on the ice pack and held it there a few minutes. It didn't feel any worse anyway. Then he moved his cold fingers to her lower back.

She gasped, but once past the shock, she said, "You know, that's not bad."

He beamed at her. "Huh? What'd I tell ya?"

"Thank you, Dr. Pierce," she smiled.

"If you turn over, I'll rub your back."

"You don't have to do that."

"I know I don't have to. Turn over."

She did. He rubbed her lower back and gluts with his delightfully cold fingers. Once they warmed up, he moved them higher, massaging either side of her spine and up to her shoulders and neck, finishing with a light scalp massage. He kissed her temple and covered her. "Good night."

"You're not leaving?!"

"I'm not?"

"After all that, you don't want anything in return?"

"I can take a rain check. Go to sleep. You don't feel good."

"I feel better than I did..."

"How much better?"

"Enough. Just be gentle with me."

He smiled.

And then there was the time when Hawkeye quit drinking and alienated almost everyone in camp with his sour mood and sanctimony. Margaret admired him for it though and defended him even though he was just as rude to her as he was to everyone else. After he continued his pursuit of sobriety even after the North Korean with the grenade had almost killed them all, she forgave his bad behavior. Under the circumstances, she didn't want to invite him over after she had been drinking, so she made an early night of it and went to wake him in the wee hours of the following morning.

"Hawkeye," she whispered through the screen of the tent, even as he was already turning to face her. "Are you busy?"

"Do I look busy?" he asked sarcastically.

She counted to three before replying. "Do you want to come over or not?"

He got up, slipped on his boots and robe, and followed her across the road. They undressed without words. His sullen mood persisted; he avoided her gaze. Margaret hugged him tightly. After a few moments he took a deep breath and when he let it out, he released a good share of his troubled mood along with it.

He was grateful to her for this, and he made a point of showing her how much. Her touch seemed especially tender, and he was grateful for this too. As their union reached its culmination, he found himself very near tears. He held her close long after they'd finished, bodies still joined, grateful as well that she'd used the diaphragm–ordinarily she preferred not to in the morning.

"I needed you," he whispered sincerely, near her ear.

"You needed this," she corrected.

"I needed this. With you," he clarified.

"Any woman would have done," she suggested.

"No." He pulled back to meet her eyes. "With you I can be myself. I don't have to be on my best behavior. I don't have to keep you entertained. I don't have to be hyper-vigilant about whether you're having a good time. Because half the time I know what you want, and the other half you tell me. I don't even have to be in a good mood." He hugged her closer in gratitude. "You take me as I am. You're a good friend, Margaret. Thank you." He buried his head in her neck.

She realized she wasn't the only one who had trouble showing vulnerability and reaching out to others. She kissed his temple. "You've had a rough few days."

He held her more tightly.

"I thought you could use a little nurturing."

"Thank–" His voice broke.

"It's ok. Let it out."

Little by little, they grew closer and began to take one another for granted. Hawkeye more and more often just showed up in Margaret's tent, often without bothering to knock, and climbed into her bed. The periodic shelling was as difficult as ever for Margaret, but she came to know she could wake Hawkeye at any hour of the night to come hold her.

It was just such a night when Hawkeye noticed that Margaret's entire aspect had shifted. As they lay together afterward–and after the shelling had mercifully ceased–he confronted her about it.

"We haven't discussed it in some time, but I thought we still had an understanding here?"

She looked at him, but remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

"I've heard that version of 'Oh, Hawkeye' before and it always means the same thing. We said no falling in love, Margaret."

She sighed. "Actually, you said that."

"And you agreed!"

"Would it be so horrible? What is so wrong with having a woman fall in love with you?"

"We're in a war! Not soon enough, but eventually, it's going to end! You and I will go back to our separate lives and probably never see one another again. Don't you think it's gonna be hard enough to say goodbye to all of the friends we've come to know and love without having to also say goodbye to a... a..."

"A lover? That's what you were gonna say. I've got news for ya: that's what we are. It didn't start out that way, but that's what we've become. We talk together, we laugh together, we seek solace in one another's arms, we make love. What else would you call it?"

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. Ignoring her question, he replied, "Margaret, I care for you. You're one of the best friends I've ever had, and... oh, what the hell, I do love you–as a friend. And I don't want you to get hurt. I never wanted that. All those months ago I thought this was too good to be true. I should have trusted my instincts."

She laughed out loud. "You did! Sex with no commitments–it's what you've been looking for since the first day I met you!" She paused, as he looked not amused, but dismayed. "Hawkeye, who did this to you? Who made you never want to fall in love again?"

He sighed greatly and shook his head. "Let's not go there. There's no point." He kissed her temple and then sat up and started to dress. As he was putting on his boots, to Margaret's great surprise, he continued. "Actually, you know her. Lt. Carlye Breslin. Um... Wolton... I think it was."

"Wolton... oh, I remember her. She was only here a few weeks. Did she really–"

"We'd met before. She left me–twice now–because she said my work will always be more important to me than any woman." He walked to the door. "She's right, you know. Don't fall in love with me."

"Hawkeye–"

But he was gone.