A/N: Thank you for all the reviews, PMs and wonderful support you gave me. I hope you're going to like this chapter—I feel like I'm slowly coming to and ending of this story, but there's still plenty to write, so stay tuned!

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BJ walked into the mess tent the following morning, rubbing his eyes in a fruitless attempt to clear his head off. He'd spend the better part of the night trying to calm Hawkeye down, or force him to quit drinking, preferably both. He'd lied if he said he succeeded. When the Chief Surgeon finally collapsed at three in the morning, it was because of physical exhaustion, not thanks to his best friend's persuasive skills. BJ didn't sleep well through the rest of the night, worried that Hawkeye might wake up, go and do something stupid to himself or whoever was responsible for his state. In the morning, when he was due on post-op duty, he checked on his sleeping friend one last time and left, heavyhearted, to check whether the food has by any chance improved through the night.

It hasn't.

BJ groaned at the sight of powdered eggs and half-raw, greasy bacon, took his tray with an unhappy look on his face, and went to sit across from Colonel Potter, who nodded briefly at him, not wanting to lose focus on his food. Losing focus might mean actually starting to register the taste and smell.

They sat together in silence for a while, until the doors opened and a plump, friendly-looking man with General's insignia came through. He looked around, spotted the Colonel and came over, smiling broadly, the wrinkles around his eyes giving him the look of a 'dear ol' uncle'.

"Colonel Potter?" he asked cordially and drew out his hand. "I'm Ackman, General Richard Ackman, and I'm here to see my girl."

"Nice to meet you, General, Sherman Potter is the name," the CO answered, shaking the proffered hand. "Pardon my asking, but… Whom are you referring to as 'your girl'?"

General Ackman beamed at him with the most un-generally expression BJ had ever seen—the one of a small boy on Christmas morning.

"Why, Colonel, I've only had one girl in my whole life: my dear little Maggie!"

"But you sure had many women, sir," Margaret interrupted, approaching them with two mugs of coffee and taking a seat next to the General, who put a hand over hers in a protective gesture. BJ noticed Margaret looked pale and tired, but her eyes were bright, and she was smiling, so he dropped the thought.

He noted, on the other hand, the possible reason for Hawkeye's behavior.

"Shut up, young lady! You're not too old for being put across my knee and taught the proper way in which a sublime woman like yourself should behave," Ackman said, watching Margaret closely. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Yes, sir, thank you, it was nothing—just a small headache."

"Poor thing came to my tent right after her shift," the General informed both men, stroking Margaret's hair in a fatherly manner. "We haven't seen each other for… How long, Maggie?"

"Thirteen years, sir."

"Thirteen years…" the old man mused, his hand on Margaret's shoulder. She nodded, and proceeded to explain.

"General Ackman, while still a Major, had been stationed in a military base together with my father. We came there when I was three, moved away five years later, and during that time I've grown accustomed to calling him 'Uncle', or 'Grandpa'. He practically raised me up, what with my parents being so busy, father having his assignments, mother working as a secretary for one General, since she'd been discharged when she had me… We haven't seen together since I went to high school; before that we sometimes managed to meet at the Thanksgiving, or Christmas, or my birthday. I had no idea the General was inspecting the MASHes in Korea, and almost had a stroke when I saw him here last night," she finished, smiling brightly at the old man, who answered her with the same expression.

"We've talked all morning. Seems my Maggie has grown, and no longer is this small, skinny girl who'd climb the tallest tress, tear up her dresses and bruise her knees, huh? But it's great to see her all the same."

"Thank you, sir," she blushed, obviously ashamed of her childhood reminiscences, and turned to Colonel Potter. "Sir, permission to take two days of R&R next weekend? I'd like to spend some time with the General in Tokyo, please."

"Permission granted," Potter smiled at her. "As long as we get to hear some more stories of your bold escapades, Major."

"Sir!" she shook her head in mock shock, but the expression faded quickly, replaced by sudden paleness, and glassiness in her eyes. The general took her hands, his face full of concern.

"Are you alright, Maggie?" he asked, wiping some perspiration off her brow. Margaret nodded, still pale, and took a couple of shaky breaths.

"I'm fine, sir… just a little dizzy."

"You should go and get some rest, child. I'm leaving in a couple of hours anyway, and I need to talk to your CO before that. We'll see each other next week. Now go, sleep—that's an order!"

As Margaret left the tent, grumbling under her breath about being treated like a child all over again, General Ackman stood up from his bench and adjusted the belt on his generous belly.

"I'd say it's time for some grownups talk, Colonel. I'll meet you in your office in a moment, but first let me use at illustrious facility of yours. Gentlemen," he made a small bow and strolled away towards the latrine in a jolly fashion. Potter followed him with an approving gaze.

"Seems like a nice guy, despite being a general," he noted, finishing off his coffee. BJ sighed and shook his head tiredly.

"Nice he is, but he sure sent our Chief Surgeon into jeopardy."

"What do you mean?"

"Hawkeye came in last night awfully sour, and acted as if he was more dehydrated than our milk. He didn't tell me what happened, but my best guess is he must have seen some affectionate greeting Margaret gave to the General, and before she could give him any explanations he assumed it was yet another—let's hope Margaret never finds out I said that—'Hotlips deal'."

"Oh, dear," Potter furrowed his brow. "Where is he now?"

"Sleeping off the re-hydration."

"Oh. Try talking to him when he wakes up, won't you?"

BJ shook his head. "I'm due on post-op."

"Well, let's just hope they won't run into each other before the General leaves the camp."

With this they parted, worried looks upon their faces.

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The said Chief Surgeon woke up around noon, head pounding, his mouth a desert filled with vile taste, and for a blessed minute or two he had no idea what had caused all this. Then, in a painful bliss, it dawned on him, and he groaned, rubbing his eyes with his fists. He fell back, and fixed his gaze on a worn-out canvas.

He didn't like to admit it, but he had to—he was hurt.

After all that happened between them, he had hoped there would be no more generals claiming their rights to Margaret. No more 'friends of old', dropping in for a nightcap in her tent, no more R&Rs spent with men other than himself. Seeing her in the arms of another man, smiling at him, letting him kiss her, nearly made him have a fit.

Was there no chance for him having all of her? Why was her past always getting in between them?

Blindly he banged his fist against the rant of his bunk and hissed through his teeth.

"Be careful, you'll need those for work later today."

He moved his gaze from the ceiling and met her eyes. She was standing in the doorway, looking pale and weary, her hair pulled back in a ponytal, warm zipped-up blazer gently hugging her curvacious body—he was even more angry at her now, mesmerized by the way she still managed to look stunning after a sleepless night… and worried, for he knew one night shift couldn't have done her so much harm.

He voiced only the first feeling, sarcasm dripping off his every word. "Since when are you so caring?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Where did you go yesterday? I wanted to—"

"What, introduce me to your friend, the General?" he snapped, closing his eyes in a manner of a stubborn child. It hurt him to see her so weak, but some mean part of his soul wanted to cause her pain, to make her feel as miserable as he was, instead of giving in to compassion. He didn't hear anything for a long while, and thought she'd gone away—when her voice sounded out again, much closer, he almost jumped off the cot.

"As a matter of fact, I did. General Ackman was like a second father to me for a long part of my childhood, and I wanted him to meet you as much as I cared for you to meet him. You are an important part of my life, or at least I thought you were until last night, so his opinion about you was quite vital to me. Well, too bad."

Hawkeye's eyes snapped open—Margaret was standing next to his bunk, arms folded, looking down at him without much anger, only sadness and disappointment. He no longer felt angry at her, but at himself, acting childlishly and never listening to her explanations in the first place—though his wounded male pridewould never let him admit it.

"Well, excuse me, Margaret, but how could I know that your relationship with this particular general wasn't anything but fatherly-like? You surely didn't expect me to—"

"Accept me, with all my past experiences?" she interrupted with unexpected calmness in her voice. "Take me for what I am? You're right, I didn't expect that, even if I did exactly that for you, which you obviously haven't noticed."

He sat up, cursing his headache, and gave her a heavy look. "What do you want me to do, Margaret? Stand still and watch, while you throw yourself at some guy? Don't blame me for being jealous; he could have been anybody!"

"That's true. But I'm me, and I thought it was me you wanted. Do you want me, Hawkeye? Are you willing to take the risk?"

He looked at her and knew the answer right away, no point to hide it even if that little, envious boy in him kept on crying and kicking around.

"I do."

She smiled at him, sadly, and touched his cheek, stroking her thumb across the stubble on his chin. "I'm happy to hear that. But it doesn't mean we're alright. Not by a long shot."

She sat down on his bunk, wrinkling her nose at the stench of indigested alcohol, and pressed her temples with her fingers, trying to suppress her headache. "Next week I'm going to go to Tokyo with General Ackman, and until then I'd like you to stay away from me. I have something on my mind I need to think over, and with your recent behavior… you're not making it any easier for me."

Hawkeye shivered at the unusual calm and determination in her voice, trying to read her intensions from her face. She smiled weakily at him, and blushed a little, finally returning to her normal skin tone.

"I'm going to have some medical tests done while I'm in Tokyo. And I would really appreciate it if you thought the whole 'thing' we're having over. Because if the results turn out the way I think they will… we're going to have far more in common than we do now."

With this, she left, hugging herself with her arms, head bowed down. Hawkeye fell back on his back and bit his lip, not really believing what he heard.

She couldn't have meant…

She didn't!

Did she?...

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