A/N: Hi all! Thank you for the reviews, I'm really glad to hear you like the story ;) Let's see what you say about today's update…

As always, feedback is love.

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"Hush little baby, don't say a word, mommy's gonna buy you a mocking bird..."

"And if that mocking bird don't sing—"

Margaret suppressed a scream with a great effort of will, spun on her heel and gave Hawkeye an icy glare.

"Has no one ever told you about this thing called knocking?" she hissed, desperate not to wake Kim: she only just managed to lull her into sleep, after a tiresome day full of colic. Her husband (it still seemed bizarre to think of him that way) gave her an innocent smile from where he stood, leaning against the doorframe.

"They did, but I figured it was too much of a nuisance. I came to ask if you wanted me to take Kim over to the Swamp for the night."

Margaret raised a brow, watching Hawkeye leaning over his daughter—their daughter, which was yet another bizarre expression, come to think of it—and stroking her hair with the back of his hand. "Why would I want that?" she whispered, coming closer to him. He motioned her towards her cot and sat down on an empty box at its feet.

"Margaret, you had a night shift yesterday, and then you took care of Kim because I've been operating the whole day. You should rest."

She rolled her eyes. "Be advised it's unwise to patronize me, even if you happen to be my husband."

"Sorry. I thought that was something husbands do," he answered, looking at her with a playful spark in his eye. Margaret groaned and shook her head, even though she wasn't really angry. She felt… surprised. Up till now Hawkeye had been a prefect gentleman, never as much as bringing up their so-called marriage. He was around his wife and daughter more often, obviously, helping with Kim if Margaret was too busy to do so, or simply taking the child over to the Swamp for a day or two whenever they both felt like it. Margaret paid him a couple of unannounced visits and was happy to notice the interior of surgeons' tent had become far more tidy and clean since the baby started to spend more time there. BJ was always helpful and friendly towards the Major, more than he had been before the wedding—Margaret supposed it had something to do with her helping out his crazy friend—and Charles was just Charles, which was pretty obvious, given the fact that he didn't know about their… agreement.

They didn't announce it publicly, not yet, though it's been six weeks since they got married, and their updated papers and dog-tags had already arrived from the HQ. Margaret attached her wedding ring to her set, not daring to wear it openly, and the case was dismissed from everyday conversations—she and Hawkeye never as much as mentioned their union between themselves. Margaret tried to do it, once, right after the ceremony: she asked Hawkeye whether he would like to have a private dinner with her, say, once a week, to discuss Kim's possible future and get to know each other better. There was also the underlying factor of her simply wanting to spend more time with him, which seemed completely irrelevant to him, for he told her, politely, but firmly, that they would do such thing. She tried to question him, find some reasons for his behavior, but he refused to talk about it. There were no answers given.

And so, they didn't have dinner, not once.

Nothing changed, except for the part of their lives they were now sharing because of Kim.

It was as if they weren't married at all. And, surprisingly, it hurt more than Margaret supposed it would.

Which was why Hawkeye's sudden attention and caring about her well-being caught her completely off-guard. She tried to joke her way out of the conversation, to no avail. The warm, peculiar gaze was still there, which made her feel… awkward, at the very least.

"Honestly, Hawkeye, I'm fine," she told him, firmly, and stood up. "Though I wouldn't mind some quiet time alone."

"I shall leave you to your feminine activities, then," he said with a playful smile, and stood up, too, facing her, suddenly reducing the distance between them to mere inches. "Goodnight, Margaret."

"Goodnight," she whispered, petrified, and literally jumped when his lips touched her cheek in a gentle kiss, before he took three long steps and walked out of the tent. Margaret raised a hand to her face and brushed a slightly moist spot, not quite sure whether the whole scene hasn't been but a trick of her imagination. Sighing, she took off her robe and slipped under the blanket, curling on her left side and falling asleep in an instant, despite the nasty buzz in her head.

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She shook him violently, making his head swim, dark spots flying in front of his eyes from lack of sleep, fatigue, and stress. Blinking quickly, he stood up shakily, not quite registering her agitated words, pulled on his boots and followed her outside, accepting a robe from her outstretched hand in the process.

Cool night air woke him up a little, so by the time they reached her tent he was already alert, focusing on his daughter, their daughter, crying desperately and burning up in her makeshift crib.

"How long?" he asked, not wasting any unnecessary words, his skilled hands already running over her skin.

"I don't know," Margaret answered in a shaky voice, leaning over the other side of the crib. "Her cries woke me up a moment ago, I was sleeping like a log… I'm so sorry, Hawkeye, I should have—"

"We have no time for this now," he snapped, and picked the baby up in one smooth motion. "I'm taking her to post-op. Go wake up Potter."

She ran, as fast as she could, cursing her stupid pride that made her insist on taking care of Kim, even though she knew she was in fact drop-dead tired, and end up with a feverish child for whom she is but a foster parent. Of course, Hawkeye wasn't really her father, too, but if they were to compare their feelings towards Kim—was it even comparable, on this stage? Margaret shook the swarm of chaotic thoughts away, banging her fist against Potter's doors, telling him in a high-pitched voice the child was burning up… moments later, running on his heels towards the post-op.

The Colonel opened the door with a loud crack, and pushed Hawkeye away from the little girl, still crying on top of her lungs. "Damn it, Pierce, what the hell were you thinking?!"

Margaret winced with her head hung down, her body shivering from cold sweat, waiting for her husband to admit it wasn't his fault, but hers—but as the words didn't come, she looked up to see him (brow furrowed, biting on his lower lip) standing politely away from the table on which Potter was examining Kim, not even trying to speak in his own sake.

It was too much. He was just too good to her. Margaret clasped her hands over her mouth to muffle a whimper, but it didn't go unnoticed.

"Take your wife out of here, Pierce," Potter snapped, still leaning over Kim, his old, skillful hands probing the child's abdomen. Margaret was vaguely aware of Kellye's shocked gaze and some gasps on the side of night-shift nurses, but couldn't find any strength to protest as Hawkeye's arm wrapped around her shoulders, warm, heavy, and protective.

He walked her outside, to the same bench on which they sat when he showed her the ring, and took her hands in one of his, the other stroking her hair, and incidentally running across her cheek. "It's alright now," he whispered, and pulled her close, seeing the way her lips quivered uncontrollably. She clung to his robe-clad chest and sobbed, fisting the material, forcing him to hold her even tighter, her head in the crook of his neck, tears moistening the skin over his clavicle. She felt awful, she was a bad person, selfish, arrogant and stubborn, the worst mother imaginable—and still, he was here, with her, holding and comforting her as if she was the most important person in the world…

"Stop winding yourself up," he spoke against her hair, and for a moment she thought that she felt him plant the smallest of kisses there. "It wasn't your fault, Margaret. You were tired, you fell asleep, you didn't hear her until she cried. It could happen to anybody, me or you, doesn't matter. Stop accusing yourself."

She raised her head, looking at him with puffy eyes, and bit her lip. "You… don't blame me for what happened?"

Hawkeye rolled his eyes and cupped her face in his hand. "It was a fatal coincidence, Margaret. I know you wouldn't deliberately hurt Kim—and therefore, I don't blame you."

"I should have let you take her—"

''—and I probably should have forced it upon you. Whose fault is it now? No one's."

"You're too good to me," she said, and gasped, scared of her openness and easiness with which she confessed most private of her thoughts to him.

"Don't say that," Hawkeye smiled sadly, and was about to say something else, when the doors opened to reveal Colonel Potter, scratching his brow with a far more relaxed expression on his face than the one from mere minutes earlier.

"She's got a cold, and a bad colic, so I'd like her to stay here for the night," he explained, more to Hawkeye than to Margaret, which she noted instantly. "You can go and see her now."

Margaret made a move to rush into the building, but Hawkeye's hand placed firmly on her elbow stopped her dead in her tracks. "You're not going anywhere," he protested firmly, but without any hints of anger in his voice. "I want you to rest before you go and see her. And I will not take 'no' for an answer," he added, casually slipping one arm around her waist. "Come on, I'll walk you to your tent."

Eventually, Margaret agreed, too tired to argue with him, his logic unwavering. She let herself be led to her quarters, and tugged under the covers, savoring Hawkeye's touch through the thin fabric. He gave her a faint, fleeting smile—his mind undoubtedly on Kim—and turned to leave, but she grabbed his hand before he could go.

"What is it, Major?" he asked her softly, the title meaning nothing, just an expression on his lips. She swallowed hard.

"Would you kiss me?" she spat, her heart pounding franticly in her chest.

Hawkeye gave her a long, disbelieving look. "Margaret, I really don't think—"

"Kiss me," she interrupted, gently pulling on his hand. "You're my husband, right? Kiss me, Hawkeye."

He leaned down, his face close to hers, and dropped a kiss on her forehead. "I will not take advantage of you now. And I need to go and check on our daughter," he said, his voice somewhat stiff, wooden. Margaret tried to pull him closer, force some more intimacy onto him, but he was stronger, and she was exhausted—the outcome of their quasi-sparring was inevitably his being the victor, and leaving her tent in a quickened pace, which made her heart break just a bit more.

TBC…