Margaret tossed fretfully in her bed that night. Every half hour she got up and began to pace the small tent anxiously while thousands of questions flew through her head.
Why did he ask me if I love him? Isn't it obvious that I do? Why was he so angry? Why didn't he say anything after I answered him?
At almost three in the morning Margaret sat down at her desk, completely exhausted. She unenthusiastically picked up her brush and began to tug it through her knotted hair. The brush caught on her tangled ends and she through it down despairingly, looking at her hair in disgust. She remembered when it still felt so silky smooth when she would run her fingers through. Now it was quickly beginning to resemble straw.
She pulled it back and picked up a hand mirror, pondering what she would look like with a shorter, trendier cut. Impulsively she stood up and grabbed her jacket. She was so tired of everything in her life; she desperately needed something to change. She jerked open the door of her tent and headed for post-op, hoping she could sneak into the lab.
Margaret hurried across the compound shivering in the biting night air. When she reached the building she opened the door hesitantly and walked inside, looking about the room for a nurse. Much to her relief there was no one but sleeping patients and she quickly made her way into the lab and began gathering what she needed.
At a little past three Hawkeye walked slowly past Margaret's tent for what seemed like the millionth time. He glanced inside, noticing that her light was off for the first time in hours. She must have finally gone to sleep. The thought troubled him slightly and he walked up to her door, preparing to knock. Just as his fist was about to make contact with the door, his brain kicked in and he backed up. The same thing had been happening since he had walked away from the tent, almost seven hours before.
Hawkeye crossed his arms over his chest and felt like screaming in frustration. More than anything he wanted to rip off the wooden door, pick Margaret up and never let go. But every time he stepped near her tent he chickened out and then went walking aimlessly around the compound.
"What are you doing?" her voice quietly called from behind him.
Hawkeye laughed cynically, wondering how she had managed to slip out of her tent without him noticing. Hawkeye slowly turned around gasping slightly in shock.
"What happened?" he walked close to her and grabbed at a lock of her hair. "You cut your hair," he said in disbelief. "and it's red?"
"It's three in the morning," her normal tone of voice returning. "What are you doing outside my tent?"
Hawkeye looked down at her as she stared up at him defiantly. "I was just headed for the latrine and I thought I heard you still up." His voice was cold and harsh and he wondered why he couldn't just tell her the truth. "Goodnight Major." He nodded curtly and headed for the swamp, kicking himself for being such a coward.
Margaret brushed passed Radar as she headed into Colonel Potter's office early the next morning. "Colonel, I need a pass for Tokyo." She pleaded urgently.
"Not a chance, Major." He replied firmly without looking up from his paperwork. Margaret stomped over to his desk, placing both hands onto his desk.
"Colonel, please. I need to talk to Donald." Potter looked up, suprised at the sight of her ahir, but he thought it best not to mention it.
"Donald?" Margaret nodded frantically and the old man sighed. "I'm sorry Major, I can't spare you both."
"Both?" Margaret stared at him blankly, on the verge of despair. "Colonel, if there's any chance for me to save my marriage I have to get to Tokyo."
"Oh," Potter realized what Margaret was talking about. "I thought… well, never mind. I'll give you the pass but is there anything you want to talk about?"
The compassion in his voice was a welcome sound and Margaret smiled gently. "No, not right now anyway."
Potter nodded in understanding. "Go pack, Margaret. I'll give you five days."
Margaret walked wearily into a large hotel in Tokyo, oblivious to her rich surroundings. She had called Donald a few hours before and he had agreed to meet her; now she was constantly rehearsing what she was going to say to him. She carted her heavy suitcase into the elevator, and sighing in impatience as the elevator operator held the door for a man running in from the lobby.
"Oh, well maybe I'll take the next one." A man's voice jerked Margaret into reality and she gasped as she recognized the voice.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she shrieked.
Hawkeye smiled cynically as he stepped into the elevator. "I needed a break, I asked Potter for a pass and he gave it to me." He turned his attention to the man beside him. "Level three please."
Margaret looked at the floor in embarrassment, realizing what the Colonel must have thought when she had asked for a pass. She looked back up at Hawkeye, shooting an icy glare his way. "Just stay away from me and my husband."
Hawkeye met her gaze with an equally penetrating stare. "I'd be all too happy to oblige." The doors slid open and Hawkeye walked across the narrow hallway, opening the door directly across from the elevator. "Hurry up Margaret, your prince charming is waiting." With that he quickly closed the door to his room and Margaret wearily leaned against the wall and stared down at her perfectly shined dress shoes.
"Ma'm which floor?" Margaret sighed and lifted her eyes. "I'm getting off here," she told him reluctantly. He nodded and the doors slid open once again. Margaret stepped off the elevator and walked past three doors to her left and knocked hesitantly.
Donald opened the door and stood aside to let her in the room, without even the smallest word of greeting. Margaret set her suitcase aside and looked at Donald expectantly.
"I don't even get a kiss anymore?" she asked, trying to smile.
"You're late," he said curtly, sitting down in the only seat in the room. Margaret smiled again, trying not to let her emotions get the best of her.
"Well, you said you needed to talk to me," he said sharply. "What is it?"
Margaret took a letter out of her pocket, the one she had written with the intent to send to Donald. "I got a letter from you a few days ago," she began cautiously. "It upset me and I sat down and wrote a letter back to you."
"I haven't gotten any letters from you."
Margaret handed him the sheet of paper she was clutching nervously. "I never sent it."
Donald quickly scanned the letter before crumpling it up and throwing it in the corner. Margaret stooped down and picked it up. "You don't know anyone named Hank," he said dismissively.
Margaret took a deep breath. "And I'm sure you don't know anyone named Darlene."
