She wasn't sure how long she sat crumpled on the floor or how she managed to crawl into her bedroom. In her arms was the box that held letters, pictures, notes, everything that she meant to throw away but didn't. A lifetime of memories with Frank Burns was tied up in that shoe box. Slowly she lifted the lid and removed each piece of paper, bringing it to her nose. She inhaled the masculine scent that had nearly faded away with age. But as she closed her eyes, the memories became stronger and stronger.

As the hours passed by, her tears fell anew. Unable to keep her eyes open, she crawled into bed and clutched the box in her arms. Maybe if she just laid there for a while, it wouldn't be real.

Someone was banging on the door; it was a sound that startled her awake. For a moment, she wondered if she'd dreamt it. She looked around her bedroom, trying to make sense of her surroundings. But when she looked at the box that lay on the bed, the pain and tears returned.
The banging began again, louder this time. She hadn't imagined it and she was too weak to bother finding out who it was. But something willed her out of bed.

Seconds later with trembling fingers, she lifted the chain from her door and slid it across the base until it unlatched. When she opened the door, she gasped. There he was, standing before her, looking much older than he'd ever looked. His hair was streaked with silver, making him look remarkably handsome.

His expression was one of compassion. "I came as fast as I could. I'm so sorry, Margaret. Really. I'm-."

He'd barely sat his bag onto the floor when her resolve broke and she cried harder than ever. Hawkeye kicked the door closed with his foot and engulfed her into his arms, holding her tightly. She pressed her face against him and sobbed until she was spent. And even when she'd calmed down, he continued to hold her. It was then that she realized that he was wearing the shirt. That damned blue and white Hawaiian shirt that he'd worn so much in Korea. The shirt made want to smile, but she couldn't seem to do anything but cry."

"Come on, let's go in here." The words were spoken softly and she had no idea where he was leading her. But she held onto him as he guided her into the living room.

"Have a seat."

Gently he coaxed her onto the sofa and kissed her forehead. "I'll be right back."

But she held onto him, realizing that she needed him badly. "No.. stay with me, please." She pleaded, clutching his shirt.

"All right, all right." He sat down beside her and she sank into his arms. It was so easy to press her face into his chest. As he held her, she couldn't help remembering how it felt when Frank held her all those nights alone in her tent.

"Frank…" She whimpered in a voice that seemed to belong to someone else.

He was rubbing her arm. "Shhh… Just rest, okay?"

But she couldn't rest. Not now, when the pain was still so deep. She lifted her head. "H-He's gone, Hawkeye! He's just gone!"

"I know…"

Margret wasn't certain but she thought she heard a break in the surgeon's voice.

"I'm so sorry." He said over and over. He stroked her hair and her forearm until her eyes slowly closed.