Hello! I own nothing, of course, all rights go to the creators of the show. I really hope you enjoy this, as this is one of my longer and more detailed stories. Please R&R if you can! No flames plz- Thanks! :)

Margaret's Prelude:

A story like mine has never been told. I don't doubt that other guys in war have had bigger, better tales of experience, of adventure. But my story is different. My story is not some extravagant, heroic soldiers ramble, for I am not a soldier. Though there was a time in my life where I longed to be one, I was a nurse. Other than Frank Burns showing me his pistol, I'd never really held a gun in my life… At least not with purpose.

I wish my story had better moments to it, because I sure as hell do not intend to tell you this to make you sad or feel sorry for me. But I can't scratch out the truth anymore than I can blot in a lie. My tale is of loss and great suffering and pain, of loneliness and the darkest emotions a human being should never have to experience. It is also of hope and faith and miracles and love, romance and raw ferocity.

This is the story of how I went from being a Major in the Korean War, to a POW, to a communist house slave, to a... Well, you get the picture. I'll just let you figure it out for yourself. Me? I'm still writing the ending.

Prologue:

She remembers the night. It was dark and hot, humid with a slight breeze coming in off the pacific. They were in that little shack of a thing, Hawkeye and her sharing a quiet bottle of gin, nothing but the sound of birds outside. Everyone at the 4077th, anyone who knew Hawkeye almost always liked him. He was charming, frighteningly brilliant, and the lady killer of all time. Handsome, strong… A wonderful prize for any woman to aim at. But he was more than that to her. She knew they cared for each other more than either of us would have liked.

Margaret had affairs with other men before. Hell, she even married Donald in a rash starry-eyed moment. These flings came and went, however, always drifting by to get her hopes up before deserting her like always.

Now she knew that she had never known the true loving of a man before Hawkeye. They went back farther than anyone else at the 4077th. He'd been there all along, she thought, my god, right there and I still kept looking.

That's why when they got lost, she was more terrified than she'd ever been in her entire life. They had been on a wild sprint from the battlefield, disoriented, hungry, cold, and seeking shelter from the regular 5 o'clock shelling. Eventually, their usual luck kicked in and they found an abandoned hut located on the outskirts of what used to be a village, leveled by the AK47s so many called 'Good Old American Achievement'.

She remembers so vividly pacing back and forth, wondering how the hell they'd get back alive from Battalion aid. I was so mad at him, she thought to herself, I was sure at the time it was all his fault. But now, the more Margaret thought about it, (and she had more times than anybody could count), she realized she didn't blame him at all. She never could. She was ineffably in love and she was too damn scared to admit it.

Eventually sleep seemed to beckon them. So, with apprehensive reluctance, Hawkeye blew out the candle and let darkness engulf the hut. Margaret laughs as she recalled how she slept with a large stick next to her in case she'd have to wake up and fight some Chinese Colonel. Hawkeye's weapon of choice would've been a cold martini, but who was keeping score?

As always, there was no rest for the weary, though. Not even five minutes after they lay down their heads, the bombs came. Loud, like bright flashes of lightning, the clamor of death in their ears. Margaret flinches as she remembers this part. They were right outside our door, I swear to god.

She started screaming, and Hawkeye crawled over with his one bad leg to help her. That was the first time Margaret, the toughest army nurse around, cried in his arms and asked him to hold her. But if I knew that was the last time I'd ever get to hold him, I'd of held him and never let go, She mauled.

And then they kissed. It was her first, real kiss, she's sure of it. It was electricity and fear and desperate passion and love and raw and beautiful all at once. She knew with every part of her being that one single moment was the best few seconds of her life.

Then there was the calm before the storm. Eventually the bombs stopped falling, and just like that, all was silent again. Hawkeye said he guessed it was North Korea's bedtime and good old GI Joe agreed to come back and play tomorrow. Margaret laughed at that.

They just sat there for a few minutes, breathing in time with each other, hearts beating together. Margaret didn't even think, not in her wild, twisted mind, that what happened next would happen. It was all surreal, like filmstrips on a movie roll. Before they could utter a word to each other, they both heard a gruff shouting of orders growing closer. And closer. And next thing she knew, they were running for their lives through some dark forest, birch trees standing tall all around them like white ghosts.

She remember hearing their cries from behind them in the distance, a foreign language that sounded like an incantation of some sort. Hawkeye's hand tensed in hers, and she prayed to every god she could think of. She swore they were going to die.

The next thing she knew, a lasso out of nowhere found it's way around her neck. From the combined force and shock of it all, she lost her footing on the rocky hill side and tumbled to the ground. The twine material was rough and scratchy, suffocating her every breath. She hit the dry earth hard with an aching jolt. Her head was fuzzy, and the sounds and sights before her were moving in slow motion. A concussion, she subconsciously self-diagnosed herself.

She remembers Hawkeye gazing upon it all in disbelief and fear, angst and hysteria as he cried her name. Hawkeye, oh, God, he was devastated. Her heart broke at the look on his face. He tried to help her, came down the ravine to untie her, but she screamed at him to run away. He looked at her like she was insane. Damn it, Pierce, why did you have to be so stubborn?

The Cavalry brigade was approaching, horses whinnying and snorting. She remembers how their breath clouded the air. He shouted to her again, and this time she screamed as loud as she could the words that would forever be branded into her memory. "If you ever cared about me, if you ever loved me at all, then you'll run away right now, Benjamin!"

To this day, she thinks Hawkeye was so shocked at her words that he complied, eyes wide in horror and heartbreak. That was the first time since they'd met each other that she called him Benjamin. She memorized his face like it was the last thing she'd ever see; those blue eyes frantic and terrified unlike she'd ever witnessed them. She would've never imagined that the joker, Hawkeye Pierce, could look so dire.

He got away, able to run faster than Margaret no matter how much he tried to get her to keep pace with him. In a blind panic he'd scrambled up the ravine, sure that Margaret was following him, before turning around to see the impossible. His body was tense, black hair ruffled by the running combined with wind.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he left. But not before wailing in grief, "Damn you!", his voice cracked and shaky with tears. His soft, baritone voice… It had an inhuman sound to it that haunted Margaret, something she just couldn't believe had come from him. She could only stare back at him with pained eyes as he literally forced himself to disappear into the trees.

She watched, not letting her head drop until she was sure that he was far away. Her vision became even more blurry as figures crowded around her- she vaguely remembers more ropes being tied around her wrists, horses clomping their hooves and shouts in Korean combined with the skeleton like shadow of rifles.

Hawkeye was the last thing she thought of as her body surrendered to exhaustion, legs quivering before she gave way to the fringes of oblivion.