The smell of sizzling bacon wafted under his nose, bringing him out of a sound sleep. He was having one of his frequent dreams. He was in his bunk in the
Swamp at the 4077. The Army decided that the food left a lot to be desired and declared that they were going to start servicing food that was fit for human
consumption decision that brought cheers throughout the camp. The smell was so profound that he could taste the french toast and smoked bacon drizzling with
maple syrup. It was absolute heaven.
"Hawkeye?"
A warm hand on his shoulder brought him awake. He found himself staring into her eyes.
"Margaret, what are you doing here?"
She laughed. "Well, I live here."
"Wait? You live here? What happened last night? Because I don't remember-."
"You're dreaming."
Reality slowly came back to him. He wasn't in Margaret's tent at all. He was in her home in Denver.
"I guess I was for a minute there. I thought I was in your tent. I can only imagine what Frank-."
Her eyes widened and she stepped back. "Frank? What about him?"
"Nothing. I'm sorry, I-."
"What were you going to say?"
"Nothing. It doesn't matter."
"The hell it doesn't matter! How dare you!" She screamed.
He was on his feet, holding her hands. "Hey, Margaret, just calm down! You're hysterical! "
"How dare you tell me to calm down! You don't know me at all!"
He sighed. "Well, that's probably true, but I know that you're hurting and-."
"It's fine, all right? I don't like you talking about him like he's some horrible person when he's-."
"I never said he was horrible!"
"Of course not! I never gave you the chance!" He reached for her hand but she forcefully puled it away.
"Look, I'm sorry."
"No you're not!"
"Margaret, when I say I'm sorry, I mean I'm sorry! Why can't you just accept my apology! Frank always-."
Damn, he'd done it again. When his eyes met hers, there was fire and anger in them-emotions that had been his fault. He began folding his blanket and laid the
pillow on top of it. He heard her shudder when he opened his bag.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm leaving. That's what you want, isn't it? It was a mistake coming here."
"What? I-."
"You're yelling at me like I'm the one who killed him! I make one little slip of the tongue and suddenly I'm the enemy! Then when I try to apologize for saying
something that I shouldn't have, you completely discount me! Well, listen lady! There are a million things that you've said to me since we met in Korea that
you've never apologized for! So don't yell at me like I'm some-."
She was sobbing now, shattering his heart. He never meant to be so cruel. He'd hurt her more than anyone ever had and hated himself for it. No words could
ever make up for his stupidity.
"Margaret, I-." The hell with it. He took her into his arms, immensely relieved when she didn't pull away. He held her close and stroked her silky blonde hair. "I'm
sorry. I'm so sorry." He repeated over and over. He kissed her cheek, her forehead, her hair. His lips moved across her face until he reached her lips. Her kisses
were like heaven and he couldn't get enough of them. Her response told him that she felt the same way. But he pulled away quicker than he intended. "I'm
sorry. Look, maybe I should just leave."
But she took his hand, preventing him from moving.
"Don't go, please…"
Another sigh as he led her out of the kitchen and onto the sofa. They sat facing one another, their hands clasped.
"I'm sorry to have to ask, but it's important. How did you find out? About Frank?"
"From his wife."
Hawkeye ran a hand through his hair. "Damn it, what happened?"
"I've already told you! I don't know!"
"You haven't told me anything! I just-I want to help, all right? Don't you get that?"
She stood and turned away, but he whirled her around. "Don't walk out on this! You need to talk about it! You can't keep doing this!"
"Doing what?"
"This! The way you keep things bottled up inside! Because one day the pressure is going to be too much and you're gong to explode! You've got to let it out!"
"I know! I know! I just-."
Neither of them spoke for several minutes and he stood dumbfound when she walked out of the room. At that point he wasn't sure if he should follow her or stay
where he was. But she was back before he could make a decision. She handed him a pink piece of paper.
"What's this?"
When she said nothing, he unfolded it, taking note of the faded handwriting and faint scent of something-cologne, perhaps. The handwriting was definitely that
of Frank Burns.
So that was it.
"His home address and phone number." Margaret explained.
"Right. And you called."
"Well, it had been so long and it was just sitting there in my wallet. Honestly I had forgotten about it until I-."
"What happened?"
"I called and-."
"She answered."
"I-I asked to speak to him. She said that it was impossible, but I thought she was lying so I demanded and then-."
"She told you that he was dead."
Her lower lip quivered and she swallowed hard.
"Did she say what happened?"
"No-I don't know. She may have. I just-."
He pulled her into his arms. "It's all right. For what it's worth, Frank may have had his faults, but he was a good guy."
She looked up sharply. "Oh God! The bacon!"
It was then that he noticed the scent of burnt bacon wafting into the living room. Margaret was out of his arms and ran into the kitchen, leaving him no choice
but to follow her. When he reached the source of the burning, he threw his head back and laughed out loud.
"Oh God, it's ruined!" She said, pulling the pan from the stove and turned off the burner. "Damn it! I can't even make bacon!"
"It looks wonderful!"
"Are you crazy? It's burnt to a crisp!"
"Well, then it will be just as though we're in Korea, having breakfast in the mess tent! Don't you miss that? The inedible oatmeal? The charred bacon and toast
that tastes like plywood? Don't even get me started on the coffee! How Radar ate so much of that food, I'll never know!"
When she laughed out loud and hugged him, he felt like flying.
"Do you want some juice?" She offered. "I don't think I screwed that up."
"I'd love some. But you haven't screwed anything up. Let me help you."
She poured him some orange juice and together they made more bacon, but kept the charred stuff. Twenty minutes later they were at the table, enjoying their
breakfast, reliving stories of their time in Korea.
Hawkeye smiled at the way the sunlight streamed into the kitchen window, against a backdrop of the Rocky Mountains. It was a beautiful place to be.