It was some hours later, after the first batch of wounded came in following the ordeal of the last few days. Hawkeye did not know how many hours he had to stand there after coming back to the camp, ministering to more men and children than he could count, so close behind the chase to and from Tokyo. Before long (before he knew it really), it was nightfall and then after midnight. When he was able to, he snuck out of the OR and went straight to the Officers' Club. He knew that it was open and that Igor was bartending for the late nighters, as was his orders from Colonel Potter when his duties were done. Hawkeye wanted to seek the loneliness of the cold walls that it offered him.

Besides, nobody was going to find him there immediately. If someone looked in the Swamp and he was not there, he calculated that he had some time to down at least a drink before people came to invade his personal space.

And there was time to think. After all, it was the first time he had seen anyone in a few days (save for his companions from Tokyo), especially Margaret. While everyone was up to par and getting the assembly lines going as one wounded person after another came through, the tension in the room took on a more serious tone as the war took over their minds once more. There was no time to contemplate the horrible coming and going of Major Floyd or how Nurse Winifred Curtis made an impact on their lives, whether she was dead or alive. There was no time for selfish thoughts, woe-to-me worries either.

Hawkeye was unable to see Margaret directly or work with her. As she supervised her nurses in a domineering tone again, walking around as if all was normal and nothing happened to her, all paid heed and did their duties, especially Kellye, who could not afford another mistake. He could only watch here and there as she zoomed in and out of the doors. He even studied her like a painting, hoping to get some pleasure out of the exquisiteness of her being there, but could not enjoy the moments fully. Instead, he had to listen to the babble around the OR as this or that person complained about this and that hill being invaded or how this and that made conditions impossible to work with. Even as Radar read off some report around ten o'clock that evening concerning the war news, Hawkeye was busily eying Margaret as she worked on getting more blood for the OR, hoping to see something resulting from her confinement.

Nothing. There was nothing much to show it. Margaret was strong, but did not dare show her weaknesses or the past torments she suffered. She stayed the same, like Hawkeye noticed before, bossing her nurses the same, and kept her composure to herself. Except, if Hawkeye looked a little closer, he saw some red marks on her face from fingernails, probably from getting slapped around by Floyd (with his fingernails getting into her skin). She was a little thinner, like she had not been fed much in a few days. Worse, yet, some wall had been built up in his absence, like she was hiding all of her fears, something new that frightened Hawkeye. The last time Margaret had built a wall around herself was those times when she was with Frank Burns and sometimes Donald Penobscott. And those were not the best of times with her.

Ceaselessly working until Klinger announced that Pre-Op was empty, all seemed relieved to hear that the work was over. The partying could begin perhaps, but at a later point, when there was daylight or a cooler evening. Hawkeye was only glad to run off to the Officers' Club, especially knowing that Igor was bartending until three AM and that he could be alone for a few minutes, just to think about Margaret, the last few days and what a nightmare it had all been.

"What will it be, Captain?" Igor asked politely as soon as he saw Hawkeye sit down quietly, musing for a few minutes.

"Huh?" Hawkeye stopped spacing out. "Make it the usual and make it extra dry."

"One extra dry martini, coming right up." Igor made the drink, looking over at Hawkeye on occasion as he said nothing, joked about nothing. As he handed it over to the captain, he added, "Listen, Captain, I don't like to pry, but I think you're taking this a little too seriously."

"What do you mean?" Hawkeye sipped on his drink, hearing voices from the other side of the doors already.

Dammit, they're too quick!

"Well, look at it this way, Sir. It's over. And soon, the war will be over, I'm hoping. We'll all go home and this will all be almost like a dream. Right?"

"This, a dream?! Are you kidding me?" Hawkeye was almost livid as he took a gulp, instead of a sip, of his martini. "The things I've seen since I've been in this rat hole are numerous, never mind the war. I couldn't dream these things up. I don't have an imagination big enough for it!"

"Umm, Captain…?"

"No, don't interrupt me!" Hawkeye ranted on. "This is unbelievable. The war comes along, we're in a crummy place, and someone decides to send some Nazi spy out here and she gets murdered in some plot to discredit Margaret because his father was put into jail by her father. The real murderer gets murdered and we're all holed up until it's all cleared up and Margaret Houlihan is free from a Seoul trial. Well, you know Margaret Houlihan, right? Tough, ballsy Margaret Houlihan, right?"

"Sir –"

"And the guy that murders the nurse and her new companion, cheating on her husband of some years naturally, frames the evidence, gets himself sent here and makes our lives a living hell before getting murdered himself by some jealously insane aide. As if there isn't enough murdering around here to begin with!"

"Umm, Sir –"

Pierce! The man of the hour! Just the person we want to see!" Colonel Potter entered the Officers' Club in the middle of Hawkeye's ranting, accompanied by BJ, Charles, Margaret, Father Mulcahy, Kellye and Klinger. "Private, drinks are on me tonight. Pierce can have as many as he wants."

As the group settled onto stools or on tables, Hawkeye shook his head with disgust. "No, no, I'm good. I'm good on reality, real or imagined."

"Oh, come on, Hawk," BJ slurred as he sat next to Hawkeye. "You're the man of the hour! You've rescued us from the dragon!"

Hawkeye, sober after only taking few sips from his martini, sniffed BJ. "You're drunk," he accused. "You went to the Lady Still of the Swamp behind my back!"

"No, I'm just intoxicated." BJ smiled.

"Same difference." Hawkeye downed the last of his martini and got up from his stool as Kellye and Klinger crowded behind him. "Look, I know everyone wants to celebrate from being free, but we're not all free. Something like this could happen again."

"Pray to God it doesn't," Father Mulcahy said, crossing himself.

"Are you trying to set a Lebanese curse on us, Captain?" Klinger asked frantically.

"Yeah, well, there might not be a next time, no Sergeant Pyle or Gaines, no general who can save us from harm because he was investigating too," Hawkeye ranted on. "And there might not be a me, if there ever was one to begin with."

"Hawkeye –" Margaret started gently.

"Now, now, Margaret, we know better, don't we?" Hawkeye started walking away, dramatically stopping at the doors and turning to face the group. "We can't all imagine the impossible here, can do? We do enough impossible things, going from one thing to another and thinking nothing about it, maybe pretending it never happened, like that enlisted nut over there, making drinks. What was one more, one more little thing that disturbed our abnormal lives? Are we that dense that we have to forget something like that, a place like this that holds too many lives and deaths, all in one? I think not!"

With that, Hawkeye left the Officers' Club, leaving the group confused. Kellye and Klinger soon took over where Hawkeye was and requested drinks. Afterward, it was silent until BJ spoke his own peace. Even drunk, his words were a little garbled, but even he was sober enough to understand how frustrated Hawkeye really was.

"What happened over there?" BJ asked, then requesting from Igor a beer.

"I don't know, but he seems over his rocker," Igor replied, handing BJ his beer.

"What do you mean, Private?" Colonel Potter was immediately handed his usual from Igor, the latter starting to clean up glasses.

"Well, Sir," Igor began, "I told him to start forgetting about what happened. I didn't mean to tell Captain Pierce to make sure it didn't happen. You know what I mean?"

"He's taking this too hard on himself," Father Mulcahy observed.

"How much has he heard?" Margaret asked, her face becoming flushed quickly. Even she did not know exactly what the camp had heard concerning those who had been kept in captivity and those who were told to mind their own business.

"I don't know, but there have been more whispers of conspiracy," Charles added in with a smug smile, taking his turn in adding fuel to a gossipy fire.

"I know he heard about Major Floyd being shot by his aide there," BJ said morosely. "I know I did. I didn't know whether to rejoice or mourn. A dead body is a dead body."

"Even if the Lord told us to love our enemies, I think he would understand and hopefully take care of Major Floyd's family," Father Mulcahy replied.

"But it doesn't answer the question," Colonel Potter pushed. "What is making Pierce tick? Why is he so wound up?"

"I can tell you that he's been that way since the beginning, Colonel," Margaret ranted herself, Regular Army for a moment. "Unmilitary, undisciplined and unprofessional."

"I think anyone reading his personnel file would know that, Major," Charles remarked. "However, it is of my interest as to why you seem so concerned about Pierce. I mean, if you think he is that childish, and of course he is, then why be so anxious about his welfare?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Major," Margaret defended with a straight face, without a flush or smirk that showed her thoughts.

"It's all right, Winchester. Margaret and the previous surgeon that was here were always seemingly fascinated with what Pierce and Hunnicutt here were doing." Colonel Potter stretched his legs. "It's about oh one hundred, everyone. Drinks are me until happy hour is over and we hit the sack. Who's on duty later on in the morning?"

"The duty rooster is in Post-Op," Margaret volunteered, already feeling like she could not afford to get drunk. While she ordered a drink and barely sipped on it (just before Hawkeye left), she was more interested to know what had happened to Hawkeye, what had motivated him to get to the bottom of the barrel and, most certainly, what got him to think out of impossible situations.

"I'm sure that nobody here is going to be on duty later in the morning," Klinger added, seeing that Margaret had other plans in mind and was willing to foil them. "If you need to know who is going to be in Post-Op later, I can get it for you, Sir."

"No need to, Klinger," Margaret interrupted, forgoing her drink. "I'll get it. I need to take a walk anyway."

"Be back before the hour is over," Colonel Potter called out, unsuspected as the rest of the group, as Margaret headed out the door. "I want to know who is on what schedule before you all go horsing around and I'm sleeping on the job."

"Oh, don't worry, Sir," Margaret yelled back. "I won't forget."