After their shower and nap, Hawkeye suggested they go for a walk and he'd show her around town. She agreed, and Hawkeye met her in her room a few minutes later.

"Is that what you're wearing?" She was in the uniform again.

"Is there something wrong with it?" she retorted.

He was about to tell her exactly what was wrong with it, but he thought better of it. "Never mind. It's fine. You look sexy it in, in fact."

"Sexy? In my uniform?"

He shrugged. "What can I say? You wear it well."

"Why don't you want me to wear it?" she pressed.

He sighed. "It reminds me of the army, which I'd really prefer to forget. Besides, if you wear that, we'll be talking about the war all day, with everyone we meet." He looked glum.

She'd forgotten how sensitive he was about the subject. In retrospect, it surprised her he'd held together through the war as well as he had. To be put in that situation when his values were screaming how wrong it all was. Even though she disagreed with him about the need for war, she couldn't help but admire his conviction. "I see your point," she conceded. "But I travel light. I didn't bring a lot else."

He nodded. "It's fine," he said, without enthusiasm.

"I'll have my coat on..."

"Oh, right! That'll help! You're not wearing those shoes, are you?"

"Hawkeye!"

"They can't be comfortable to walk in!"

"They're the only shoes I brought! And they're not as bad as they look."

"Well maybe we can get you some proper walking shoes downtown," he suggested.

"Excuse me?! I think I can take care of my own wardrobe, thank you!"

He was taken aback. "Why are you yelling at me?"

She had to think about that a moment.

"I just want you to be comfortable," he explained. "And not to add insult to injury, but you're not exactly dressed for the weather either."

"Virginia is warmer."

"Exactly."

"I'm sorry for yelling. I guess I think my shoes and clothes are my business, and while I appreciate your concern, I'm perfect capable of dealing with them on my own."

He smiled. "I don't like being told what to wear either–as you might recall. I apologize for my presumption."

"It's ok," she said, calm again. And then she added. "I wouldn't mind if you'd point out where those stores are though, just in case."

He couldn't help hugging her. "Deal."

They went downstairs. Daniel sat in the living room, reading. "We're going for a walk. Want to join us?"

He brightened and then changed his mind. "Aw, you kids don't need me tagging along. Go on and enjoy your walk."

"No, please come!" Margaret urged.

"Yeah, come on along. We've had all morning to be alone," Hawkeye encouraged.

After a few more rounds of assurances, he agreed. And their walk was very much the richer for it. He knew the town a lot better than Hawkeye, most especially its history. He knew all the good scenic places, all the good restaurants and coffee shops. He knew which shops to go into because the shopkeeper would be fun to visit with and which ones to avoid and why. And he had wonderful stories about the why.

And he was excellent company. Hawkeye, of course, always got along great with him, but the way he hit it off with Margaret was such a treat. Daniel and Margaret had an easy camaraderie, one of those rare relationships where both parties like the other immediately and can say or ask almost anything.

Daniel asked Margaret lots of questions about her childhood and her life, her career in the military, many of them questions Hawkeye had never thought to ask himself. And the answers shed a lot of light on who she'd turned out to be. It was small wonder she had trouble reaching out to others and forming close bonds when she was constantly having to leave people behind. And not so surprising either that she'd embraced the military: as much chaos as she'd experienced in her life, the army with its discipline, schedules, well-defined rules and regulations must have provided a kind of security and stability that she had never known.

In turn, Margaret asked Daniel lots of questions, including a number of questions about his late wife, and Hawkeye realized it had been a long time since he and his dad had talked about his mom. He'd never thought about it before, but suddenly he wondered why his dad was still alone. He'd certainly dated enough during Hawkeye's teen years. A woman couldn't ask for a better man than his dad.

They stopped several times during the afternoon for a snack and a hot cup of coffee, visited a drugstore so Margaret could pick up some "personal items," and had dinner at a small café that Daniel claimed was the best in town. Neither Hawkeye nor Margaret could confirm that claim, but they didn't doubt it either; the food was excellent, the service friendly and fast, and the ambience charmingly homey.

It was nearly 8 when they finally got back home. Margaret hadn't realized how cold she was until she got back into the warm house, settled on the couch next to Hawkeye, and shivered. He touched her, frowning. "I told you you weren't dressed for Maine weather," he scolded, putting his arm around her and pulling her closer. "You're colder than Charles' bedside manner!" He pulled down the blanket that hung over the back of the couch, unfolded it and covered her.

"Thanks," she said, somewhat contritely.

Daniel switched on the television. "Do you like Jackie Gleason?" he asked Margaret.

"Sure," she smiled. As it turned out, the laughter helped warm her.

About halfway through the show, during a musical number, Hawkeye turned to her. "Let me see those feet."

"What's wrong with my feet?" she asked suspiciously.

"Apart from being icicles? They were wearing heels all day. Come on, hand 'em over."

"What are you gonna do with 'em?"

"I'm going to make mad, passionate love to them!" he said enthusiastically, waggling his eyebrows for effect.

She laughed.

"Come on, give me your feet. One foot, how about one foot?"

"Hawkeye–"

"Let me examine your feet. Am I not your personal physician?"

"Because you took out my appendix you're my personal physician?"

"I took out your appendix, I've given you shots, I've given you complete physicals. And wasn't it me you came to when you thought you were–"

"All right!" She shifted position so her feet were in his lap. "They're sensitive, so be gentle–or you'll regret it!" she threatened in a voice he knew to take seriously.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Don't call me that. Please? Oooh, your hands are warm!"

"Yes, dear," he amended. Besides warming her feet, he wanted to iron out some of the knots. She hadn't complained, but by the end of the day, she didn't have nearly as much spring in her step as when they'd set out. She gasped as he found a tender spot in her calf. "You know, you might enjoy this more if you'd try to relax. Lie down." She began to protest. "Doctor's orders." She acquiesced, reluctantly.

Daniel smiled at the pair of them. Hawkeye had found a moment during the afternoon to let him know Margaret wasn't pregnant. Under the circumstances, he thought he ought to be glad, rather than disappointed. But disappointed was what he was.

"Speaking of doctor's orders," Margaret said, attempting to draw attention away from Hawkeye's sensual ministrations. "You said at the end of the war that you were looking forward to getting to know your patients. So what are you doing? And how's it going?"

"I've joined Dad's practice. Getting people to say 'Ahhh', just like I said," he smiled.

"And?" she prompted.

"And..." He gave extra attention to a particular knot as he tried to find the right words.

"He's miserable."

Hawkeye turned to Daniel, surprised. "Dad..." he began apologetically.

"Don't deny it. You were happy enough to be there at first, but you get more bored and frustrated by the week."

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

"Oh, it's all right. You're destined for greater things, and I'm sure it's especially dull after what you've come home from."

"I hated that though! It made me crazy!" he protested, and added, as an aside, "Literally.

"I couldn't wait to come home and do nice easy, boring things. What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing's wrong with you!" both Daniel and Margaret protested.

"You're a brilliant surgeon!" Margaret reminded him.

"You gave it a fair try and it's just not for you," Daniel reasoned.

"And your career is important to you!" Margaret went on.

"My loss will be someone else's gain," Daniel said.

"It makes complete sense you'd want to move on to something more fulfilling!" Margaret finished.

"And you'll do everyone more good, including yourself, if you're somewhere you feel you're making a difference," Daniel concluded.

They had spoken both at the same time, and yet the natural bond they seemed to share kept them from overlapping each other. Hawkeye sat for a moment, stunned, wondering how they'd done it. They couldn't have timed it better if they'd rehearsed it. He shook the thought off and returned to the subject at hand.

"Well... now that it's unanimous," he joked. "Seriously... I'm sorry it didn't work out, Dad. Truly."

"I know."

"I've been trying to find a way to bring it up. I hate to disappoint you."

Daniel smiled. "Son, you could never disappoint me. 'Brilliant surgeon'–I've heard you described that way before, and I couldn't be prouder of you."

They shared a look full of mutual love and understanding. "Thanks, Dad."

Margaret sniffled. Which she did so rarely, it was worthy of note. Hawkeye turned to her, inquiring silently. She smiled, dabbing at her eyes. "I love the relationship you two have," she explained. "It's so easy and caring and... natural. Daniel, you're so different from my father. He's a good man, but... stern."

Stern. Hawkeye figured he'd better hold his tongue. He didn't care too much for good old 'Howitzer' Al. And the feeling was very mutual. It suddenly struck him that Margaret's dear old dad almost certainly didn't know about their relationship–heck, he could count on his fingers the people who did know, without even needing a second hand–and he wondered just exactly how pissed off the old guy would be if he knew. And it struck him funny that the old codger would hate it.

"What are you grinning about?" Margaret asked him.

"Grinning? Who's grinning?" He laughed out loud. "All right. I was just thinking that you apparently didn't consult dear old dad before you went and fell in love with me."

She smiled in spite of herself. "Obviously not."

"What are you gonna tell him?" he asked curiously.

"Possibly nothing. That's up to you."

"Right." Ouch. Changing the subject, he said, "Why don't we go upstairs and I'll finish getting the knots out of these muscles. I get the impression I'm embarrassing you by pleasuring you in front of Dad."

"Not to mention making me jealous!" Daniel said. Hawkeye looked over at him and Daniel waggled a stockinged foot at him. "You never rub my feet!" he mock complained.

"Well the next time you wear high heel shoes, I'll be sure and offer!" Hawkeye assured him.

"I'll buy a pair first thing Monday," Daniel said, deadpan.

Margaret burst into one of her fits of the giggles, laughing harder the more she tried to stop. They couldn't resist joining her. After several minutes, she finally settled down. "Oh, I love you guys!" She got up from the couch and the guys followed suit. "Thanks so much for letting me stay here! I haven't had this much fun in ages!"

She kissed Daniel on the cheek and he pulled her into a bear hug. "You are so welcome here, my dear."

They exchanged good nights, and Hawkeye followed Margaret upstairs. She continued to her room, while he stopped in the bathroom. As she was undressing, she smiled as she reflected on the day's events: the way he'd wakened her, the food, the sex, the laughter, Daniel, more food, more laughter. And more sex to come, no doubt. She sighed happily. She couldn't even bring herself to be disappointed about Hawkeye's ambiguity. And she was struck again by the actions vs words thing. She shrugged it off; who could figure these things out?

She realized she'd forgotten her drugstore bag downstairs. She put on Hawkeye's robe and went down to get it. Hawkeye was still in the bathroom, shaving from the sound of it. She grinned. When she returned, he was waiting at the top of the stairs.

"There you are," he said unnecessarily.

She held up her bag as she climbed the last steps.

"Oh." And thinking about the drugstore, he said, "You know the bad thing about small towns?"

"Everybody knows your business?" she guessed. They walked down the hall.

"Oh, you've lived in one! We're out of condoms. Tomorrow we'll go for a drive and get some in the next town." She reached into the bag and handed him a box. He laughed in surprised delight. "Margaret!"

She shrugged. "It's not any harder than buying spermicide," she said as she pulled it from the bag. "Course they're both easier to buy when you're wearing a wedding ring. I carry mine for just such occasions."

He laughed.

"I'm not kidding. I wish I were. I've had people tell me, 'We're out!' when I'm not wearing a ring." She rolled her eyes and sighed. "So I put on the stupid ring and there's no questions asked."

They'd reached their bedroom doors and stopped. "You're a brave woman, Margaret." And for once, he wasn't joking. "You keep telling me about the double standard, and I've clearly not been paying enough attention. It's not fair. Promise me you'll put me in my place if I should treat you like less than a full person."

She smiled. "That's a promise I'm sure I can keep." She turned to her room.

"Where you going?"

She held up the spermicide again.

He took it away from her. "You know, sometimes I wish you wouldn't be in such a hurry with that. There might be things I'd like to do without benefit of chemicals."

She melted into his arms, and he steered her into his bedroom.

Hawkeye lay awake in the early hours of Sunday morning, reviewing the previous day's events contentedly. Except for two minor–or maybe not so minor–things. First, there was the unresolved matter of his feelings.

He wanted to continue their relationship, but how exactly? They had a lot of fun together and were good for one another, despite their many differences, but Margaret deserved some kind of answer. It wasn't fair to leave her adrift in a sea of his ambivalence. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, he cared for her deeply. He loved her. But he didn't know if it was the right kind of love. With Carlye and Kyoong-Soon, he'd felt completely out of control–but there was magic in that loss of control. Sure, he loved Margaret, but did it count without that special magic? And how was he supposed to find that out? He certainly didn't want to commit himself–or her–to something that was doomed to failure.

And even if he could find it out, and it was all good, what kind of commitment was he ready for? Certainly not marriage. What could he offer her? He owed her a lot more than just keeping her around as his playmate. That probably left a lot of middle ground, but he wasn't sure what was in it, or what circumstances could possibly work for them.

And before you head down that path, he told himself, consider this: as wonderful as it is to have her here, she's a visitor. This isn't real life. Could they get along in real life? When they had problems and normal, boring, everyday stuff to deal with? Really there was only one way to find out. And what if they tried and failed? He sighed.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

He turned to her and couldn't help smiling. "Morning." He had more thinking to do on that subject and wasn't ready to discuss it, so he turned instead to the second matter that was on his mind.

"Yesterday morning..." he said. "You could have pretended not to remember."

She shook her head. "Remember what?"

"When I forgot the condoms. A lesser woman might have taken advantage of the situation. Do you know how much I respect you?"

She half smiled. "Hawkeye, should there ever come a day when you and I decide to get married, it'll be because we both want to. If the only reason you'd marry me is because I was pregnant, forget it!"

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You'd rather be an unwed mother than get married?!"

"If it meant I'd have a resentful husband who'd be cheating on me every chance he got?! You bet I would, buster!"

He paused a moment, surprised. "But... what about the stigma of–"

"Oh, stigma, schmigma. You move to a new town and say you're divorced. Problem solved."

Her attitude was her to a tee–no self-pity, just make a decision, take charge and get on with it. Clearly, she'd given some thought to this eventuality. Considering the efficacy of the available contraceptives and given her mostly deserved reputation, that made perfect sense. And if anyone could be successful raising a child alone, it was Margaret. So why did her attitude shock him?

He'd spent so much time dwelling on being coerced into marriage that he'd never even considered the possibility of her not wanting to get married if she were in the family way. And he wondered suddenly if he'd forgotten condoms on purpose, in some subconscious way, to make sure she'd stay. He made a mental note to be extra cautious about that from now on. The idea of never seeing an accidental child they'd made together–unless he could be a fit husband–was sobering, even considering how extremely unready he was for marriage, much less fatherhood. He could hear 'not all fun and games' in BJ's voice.

"What?" she asked him after he'd been staring at her for at least a full minute.

"You're a remarkable woman," he said sincerely.

"Thanks. I think," she said uncertainly. He continued to gaze at her intently rather than pursuing their preferred early-morning activity, so she took matters–and a favorite body part–into her own hands. He closed his eyes and released a deep breath, relaxing into her touch and opening his mouth to her kiss, letting his hands wander where they would. After a few minutes worth of kisses, cuddles, and caresses, she grabbed a condom from the box on the bedside table, pushed him onto his back, opened it, applied it and climbed on.

Margaret. Such enthusiasm. It was nice to feel so blatantly wanted. And such a spectacular view! How much he would miss her if... never mind. He watched emotions play across her face as she emitted soft sighs and moans. Maybe they shouldn't be doing this. She was falling more in love with him every time. 'And you're falling more in love with her every time.' The thought caught him completely off guard. He tried to set it aside, but he couldn't shake it. And with that thought at the front of his mind, his feelings for her came to the front of his heart, and he couldn't shake them either.

This experience had suddenly become... something more than it usually was. She was projecting feelings toward him which he imagined he could feel–or maybe he really could–and he projected his own feelings back to her. Or was it their shared feelings they were sending back and forth? Certainly it felt like a force that had a life of its own. In one way it was exhilarating and in another, terrifying. He really didn't think they should be doing this. But there was no way to stop at this point, not without both hurting and humiliating her, and besides, stopping now would feel like a copout. What was he afraid of anyway?

Her movements had slowed. She leaned forward over him, and he slid his hands from their place on her thighs around her bottom and up her back. She pressed her cheek to his, moaning softly. He continued holding her close, overwhelmed by his feelings. "Trade places with me?" she murmured.

Of course. He hadn't been paying attention. Ordinarily she wouldn't have to ask. He rolled them over, not so distracted that he wasn't momentarily delighted at being able to do so. The energy between them grew stronger. They were closer now, face to face. Part of him said he should break the eye contact with her, but he couldn't do it. Something about it was too compelling, and he couldn't look away. Too late, he realized orgasm was upon him. His mind screamed in protest! He'd been more or less on autopilot, so preoccupied that he had no idea how close she was. He prided himself on not coming first. What a muddle he'd made of this!

So it came as a complete shock to him when Margaret climaxed right along with him. It was bewildering to him that it had happened without his even trying! And it was so powerful that he felt for just a moment as if they'd become one being. "I love you," he heard himself say.

She was crying, and he was so out of touch with his usual sense of these things that he didn't know if it was good crying or bad. The prescribed response was the same either way: be there; hold her. But he would have preferred to know. As his mind raced, he found himself shifting position and withdrawing. Apparently he could do that on autopilot as well. In one sense it was comforting to know he could do these things without conscious thought or effort; at the same time he found it extremely disconcerting.

She cuddled close and he held her the way he always did. Their bodies had come to know one another so well. He'd never been more in tune with a lover. Carlye's inexperience when they'd met had made their intimate path together tentative and gradual. Even when they'd renewed their relationship in Korea, she remained a bit reserved; she had never been as comfortable with sexuality as Margaret was. Probably never would, he mused.

Margaret. What had he done to her? He couldn't stand himself just now. He had to get away. But he couldn't leave her now, wouldn't. He would wait until she went to sleep. And he did, stroking her gently in remorse as he waited.

He got dressed and went out for a walk. He'd never been much into leisure walking before the war, but his long confinement within the very small perimeter surrounding the MASH compound had made walking anywhere he wanted, anytime he wanted seem like an incredible luxury. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed this freedom until he got home and had it back.

After half an hour's walk and no new insights into his feelings, he realized that what he really needed was advice. He didn't think he could wait until tonight to talk to BJ. What would he do with Margaret in the meantime? And how was he supposed to have a private conversation with her right there?

He walked a bit more, into the neighborhood of his father's office. Maybe he'd stop into the office to rest and warm up a bit. He sat in his dad's chair, staring at the phone, and it suddenly occurred to him that he didn't have to wait for tonight to call BJ; he could call him right now! He was just about to pick up the receiver when he glanced at the clock. 8:20. Oh yeah, BJ'd be thrilled to hear from him at 5 am.

He got up and paced a bit, then wandered the office looking for little things he could do. Agnes, his dad's nurse, was pretty efficient–he didn't find much. He filed a few charts. Then he decided he may as well leave his dad some notes about the patients whose charts remained on his desk for followup. He did a very thorough job, to pass the time.