Margaret shook her head slightly, stumbling to her feet again and looking blindly out towards the road. Hawkeye felt sick disappointment in his stomach and put his hand down. He smiled quickly to cover his feelings.

"What's that you see, Margaret?" he inquired, scrambling to his feet to stand beside her as if nothing had happened. Margaret looked back suddenly at him as if just registering his presence, leaving Hawkeye even colder. He wanted to apologise, tell her everything, how he adored her but if she never wanted to see him what can he do to change it? Margaret stepped forward a little, out of the edge of the foliage and back towards the track. Her own thoughts were racing, unknown to the dark-haired man behind her. The truth was, she was afraid; unwelcome memories of Donald and Frank had suddenly reasserted them, and she remembered how she had promised never to get into something like that again. Her army major front had snapped into play, and she was running away. Again! Could she never admit to him, would he take her heart's deepest feelings and laugh at them, the way Hawkeye Pierce always laughed? She suddenly realised he had spoken, and the silence was getting longer and stranger.

"See anything?" she repeated, trying to compose herself. "No. This is hopeless. How are we to be found if we hide from every truck?" she turned back to him accusingly, suddenly wanting to be angry at someone.

"But they might have been North Koreans!" protested Hawkeye, spreading his hands helplessly.

"Did you ever think it might have been Americans looking for us?" she half shouted. "Who knows where we are, or how long we were in that damned cupboard! If I hadn't been asleep, worried about you and your damn problems, maybe we wouldn't be in this mess!" She folded her arms and stared smouldering out at the road.

Each word hit Hawkeye like a knife. He hadn't thought about that; and he had thought that maybe she had cared about his fears. That hurt worst of all. He replied in a subdued voice, trying not to show his emotions. It obviously worked for her, cold ice queen. Why, why did he have to love her? Out of the entire nursing staff it could have been anyone. It was typical she should be the one he cared for!

"I'm sorry, Major," he said in a low tone, looking expressionlessly ahead.

"Hmph," said Margaret, still staring at the road. After a second she did an internal double take. Where was the argumentative comeback, the joke at her expense? Why was he not replying like the self-centred surgeon that was Hawkeye? But he said no more.

They stood there a while, listening to the crickets loud hums and the faint breeze rolling bits of earth along the road. Margaret looked sideways at the tall shadow beside her, his shoulders slumped and his hands shoved into his pockets. In the pale moonlight she could just tell that his bandage was slipping despite her efforts and blood was seeping out again. Suddenly overcome with remorse, Margaret started berating herself. Why did you say that? You, you know Hawkeye Pierce is never like this. And he's not like Donald, or Frank; nothing could be further than the truth. And she'd gone and made fun of his claustrophobia, and blamed him for everything. God, what a heartless bitch she had been! Her eyes suddenly filled with tears, and a small whimper escaped her lips. Hawkeye looked dully at her, his spirit so low he barely reacted. Margaret shook her head and looked back at him.  His own eyes were damp, she realised suddenly; that made her feel even worse.

"Hawkeye…" she said in a placatory tone, trying to keep the tremble out, "Please forgive me for that outburst. It was entirely inappropriate of me. I'm… I'm sorry."

Hawkeye managed a grin. "I'm the one who should be sorry, Major, I told you. I did act stupidly." Trying to break his hollow mood he bowed slightly. Margaret smiled back tremulously, and Hawkeye noticed the tears standing in her crystalline eyes. Shaking his head he carefully tried to tuck his feelings back away, where they still screamed raw. It wasn't too difficult to hide behind the stunning headache he was developing, he realised. A faint ghost of the outer Hawkeye Pierce surfaced again, and he held out his hand to Margaret. She sniffed and wiped her face with the back of her hand, leaving a black smudge of mascara across her face. Hawkeye wanted to smile; he still thought she looked beautiful, no matter what she said.

"Come on," he said, taking her hand and walking back to the road. "We don't want not to be found, you're right. Why don't we head on back, and when we hear anyone passing, just hide a little way back to see who it is? Okay?"

"Right," nodded Margaret, wiping her face again and taking a deep breath. The pair started walking back along the road.

The Colonel and BJ drove back in silence. No sign of them in Seoul; the other jeep that had come to retrieve Jack Lynsdale had been left behind already, no offer to help look for the missing personnel. BJ hit the dashboard gently in frustration. He remembered that Hawk and Margaret had been lost before; they could take care of themselves, and they wouldn't make the same mistakes twice. And how could they seriously get lost between Ouijonbu and Seoul? He looked up, seeing but not really registering a strange movement in the scrubland ahead of them. He sat a moment longer, then suddenly spun round in his seat as they rumbled past. A faint shout was heard, and BJ smiled delightedly.

"Margaret!" he shouted, almost falling out of his seat that he was sitting in backwards as Colonel Potter slammed the brakes on. There she was, a slight figure silhouetted in the waning moonlight waving her hands in the air. As the jeep did a quick about face, BJ saw a taller figure stumble out into the road as well, before it fell to its knees unceremoniously. Margaret quickly knelt beside Hawkeye as the jeep came skidding back.

"Hawkeye?" she said anxiously.

"I'm all right, Margaret," said Hawkeye, grinning tiredly at her, blood streaked down the side of his face. His eyes were a little wild, and the nurse gripped his shoulders urgently. He smiled back a little dazed as the jeep swirled to a halt. BJ jumped out running, slowing to a halt as he reached his friends.

"Margaret, thank God you're all right," he said jubilantly, putting a hand on her shoulder. "We thought you two might have been captured or something! What's wrong with Hawkeye?" the words rushed out of the anxious captain. Hawkeye looked up.

"Hey, it's Beej!" he said, smiling faintly. Then his eyes rolled up and he would have pitched forward if his friends had not suddenly reached out to stop him. BJ shot a quizzical look at Margaret as Colonel Potter came striding over with a torch spilling bright light everywhere. The yellow light showed starkly the large red-brown smudge down the side of Hawkeye's white-pale face, the bandage sleeve of Margaret's shirt sopping in his blood and barely of any use any more.

"He's lost an awful lot of blood, I couldn't stop it bleeding so much," said Margaret pleadingly as the two men manoeuvred the unconscious Hawkeye into the back of the jeep. BJ was already rummaging in the medical bag. Margaret stood a little unsteadily by the back of the vehicle.

"Now then Margaret, stop berating yourself," said Potter kindly, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm going to start this here jeep back pdq to the 4077th, he'll be alright there. Will you be all right?" he asked, taking in her smudged face and torn sleeve.

"Yes, yes, just fine," said Margaret, shaking her head and looking back at Hawkeye. Colonel Potter briskly took her arm.

"Hunnicutt! Jump in the back there with Pierce. Me and this little lady will ride up front, and we're going home, okay?"

"No problem," said BJ, frowning in concentration as he tried to keep one hand on a dressing and clamber in at the same time.  "Colonel, can I have your jacket, please?" After getting in the captain had removed his own and bundled it around Hawkeye, being careful with the field dressing.

"Shock?" asked the Colonel, handing his own over.

"You're right, complications of blood loss," said BJ, covering Hawkeye with that one too.

"Do you want mine?" asked Margaret anxiously.

"No, you keep yours," warned the Colonel. "I don't want you getting shocky or cold either." Margaret nodded silently.

Hawkeye woke up, once more jolted in the back of a vehicle. He put a hand out feebly beside him to reassure himself he was no longer in the cupboard, but then realised that it was BJ's face he could see in front of him.

"Beej? That you?" he said, blinking a little.

"Hey, he's awake! Yes, sure, Hawk, I'm here," said the captain, grinning widely but speaking calmly.

"I have a killer headache. Have you been spiking the still again?" said Hawkeye with a weak but roguish laugh, struggling upright to look around. He was rewarded by the sight of Margaret peering over the back seat at him, a smile breaking through on her face.

"Really, Pierce, what an inconvenience you are!" she said lightly, unreasonable happy even though she knew it was just blood loss he was affected with. Hawkeye grinned back at her somewhat idiotically, glad to see her concerned for him. BJ tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention, before making his pal lie down again.

"Here, Hawkeye, we should be back soon. But you have to lie down.  Symptoms of shock. So remember what they taught you! I would give you some morphine for that head wound, but a) I'm not sure you have enough blood to take it everywhere," he smiled lightly, "And b) I wouldn't like to take my chances putting a hypo in your arm in this moving jeep. So will you be okay?"

"Sure, sure, BJ," replied Hawkeye, suddenly entirely grateful for his friend. He gripped BJ's forearm with what strength he could muster in a gesture of appreciation, and the other captain wholeheartedly returned it. Margaret looked back ahead and was rewarded by the faint lights of the camp ahead. The Colonel waved one hand at the gate soldiers and slewed to a halt in the middle of the compound.
"Next stop, Pre-Op!" he said, putting on the hand brake. Charles hurried out from the Post-Op ward, hastily shoving a pen in his coat pocket as he came to meet them.

"Are they all right?" he asked the Colonel anxiously, gesturing with one hand to the jeep where BJ and Margaret were helping Hawkeye out.

"No thanks to you, Winchester," called out Margaret tartly. Charles flushed.

"Margaret, I am supremely sorry," he said, following the others into the bright lights of the Pre-Op room.

"Apology accepted, Charles, just don't even think about doing it again," said Margaret, preoccupied.

"Hey, hey! That hurts!" objected Hawkeye loudly as BJ swiftly removed the rough and ready field dressing he had put on. Margaret came round the other side of the dark-haired captain and tilted her head on the side.

"What blood type are you, Pierce?" she asked briskly. He looked puzzled.

"I knew once, I think," he admitted, "but I've seen so many other people's dog-tags I don't even know my own." He moved his hand up to try and squint at the metal labels around his neck.

"Don't move your head!" said BJ peremptorily, slapping down his friend's hand lightly.

"Sorry, Doc," said Hawkeye mock humbly. Margaret picked up the dog tags herself, turning them sideways to study them.

"A . Nice and simple, for a change."

"But I thought it was B!" protested Hawkeye.

"No, A it is. You sure it's B?" said Margaret, confused.

"A B positive it is," said Hawkeye solemnly, before putting his hand down on the table to steady himself. He blinked a little.

"Oh, you!" said Margaret before striding over into the OR to find the blood fridge.

"I think your sense of humour is suffering from blood loss too, Hawk. Margaret doesn't seem too impressed." said BJ as he carefully prepared the local. Hawkeye looked aside. "I'm not much to be impressed about to her," he muttered. BJ looked up at his friend in surprise, but Hawkeye yawned and looked back at his friend with a look of resignation on his face. "Are you going to put that local in or do I have to wait in dread any longer?" he said flippantly, belying the paleness of his skin and his dazed eyes with his normal attitude. Not sure he had heard right anyway, BJ shrugged and smiled before turning to the hovering and hithertofore silent Charles.

"Did you want to get some sleep, Charles? This is only stitching, and blood replacement here. Margaret and I can handle Post-Op for now, though what time are you taking the morning shift?" Charles opened his mouth, then shut it again and nodded.

"Anything I can do, it is done. I will do all the morning shifts."

"This? Coming from you?" said BJ, mock surprised. Charles dipped his head.

"A small recompense for the aggravation and dangers I have placed upon you today." The normally snobbish Winchester smiled faintly. BJ grinned warmly in return.

"Thanks, Charles," he said truthfully.

Charles slipped out quietly, and BJ turned back to his dazed patient, narrowing his eyes as he carefully threaded a needle.

When Margaret returned with the blood, she was touched to see the injured captain fast asleep, on one of the trolleys. BJ carefully laid his sleeping friend down on to it before swabbing his arm with iodine.

"You know, I never thought I'd be standing here looking down at Hawkeye on one of these things," he remarked.

"Thank God it's not for something worse," said Margaret fervently, attaching the bottle to an IV stand.

"Now you've got that blood, I think we can start stitching. The local is already effective, you think we should wake him for this?" BJ asked for an opinion. Margaret shook her head and stifled a yawn.

"No, being relaxed should be useful for this. Then I think we should put him in Post-Op, to sleep whilst this blood gets into his system," she said. BJ took a deep breath. For God's sake, it's only stitching, he reminded himself sternly, before getting on with it.

BJ put the needle to the side and took the proffered tape from Margaret. Carefully finishing the job, he then stood back. Margaret smiled at him.

"Good job, BJ," she said warmly.
"Surprised myself actually, you wouldn't believe how much I was trembling at the start," the good captain laughed a little. "Shall we take the patient to Post-Op?"

 "Sounds good to me," said Margaret wearily, walking over to the other end of the trolley and helping to take Hawkeye through. BJ noticed her smudged face and disarranged hair suddenly, and realised he didn't have a clue what his friends had been through. He watched as Margaret collapsed into the seat beside the slumbering Hawkeye, and sat down next to her.

"Are you all right?" he asked gently, trying to keep his own tiredness out of his voice. Margaret yawned and covered her mouth with a bloody hand. "What time is it?" she asked in reply, looking around as if she couldn't remember where the clock was.

"It's 02:30, I believe," said BJ, surprising himself. "I didn't think it had got that late." As if suddenly remembering how tired he was, he stifled a yawn. Margaret looked sadly down at Hawkeye and half held out her hand as if to touch the sleeping man. BJ was struck with a sudden desire to know what happened.

"Margaret, I know it's late, and I bet you're tired and want to clean up," said BJ, gesturing at the major, who looked up, "but if you're not, would you mind telling what happened? Me and the Colonel were worried sick about you, after we found the truck." BJ leant forward, a pleading look on his face.

"I hurt him, BJ," said Margaret softly, almost on the edge of hearing, reaching out to gently touch Hawkeye's brow.

"Pardon?"

"Oh, never mind. No, it's no problem, BJ, I can tell you what happened," she said leaning back in her chair.

"Charles told us there were caches, of military scrip, in the back of the cupboards. Hawkeye was searching faster than you could say knife, and I was watching him to see if he found any more. Then Charles pushed me in and locked the door," started Margaret, struggling to recollect what had been scant hours ago. "I started yelling and he said he'd be back in an hour. So there was me and Hawkeye, jammed in this little cupboard." She suddenly leant forward. "BJ, did you know about Hawkeye's phobia?"

"Not unless it's the still running out of gin," replied BJ, a fleeting smile on his face. Margaret looked serious.

"Hawkeye gets really bad claustrophobia. I mean real bad," she stated, glancing briefly in the latter's direction. BJ drew in a sharp breath.

"Jeez, and you were in a tiny cupboard? I would have thought you'd get all sorts of 'Hawkeye' type comments about being locked in a small space with a nurse, but if he has claustrophobia..."

Margaret nodded gravely. "I didn't even get one word about it from him. Anyway, eventually, he cried himself to sleep."

"He cried?!?" said BJ, even more amazed and then very concerned for his friend.

"I guess I must have fallen asleep too," continued Margaret, her eyes filling as she remembered what she had said to him about 'his damn problem'. "Anyway, we woke up and the cupboard was moving, and we thought Charles had come back. But instead it was Korean voices we heard, and gunfire.

"I was absolutely petrified, but suddenly the truck turned over, and we were jumbled about the cupboard. The hinges nearly broke through – thinking about it, that must have been Hawkeye's injury, bashing against those rusty hinges!"

"They were rusty?" said BJ, suddenly getting up. Margaret flushed as she suddenly realised by not saying that she had put Hawkeye in danger of infection. BJ came striding back from the office with a personal record.

"Pierce, Captain B.F. Ha, Klinger never even woke up," he said, flipping through the pages. He smiled up in relief. "It's okay, Margaret, he's up to date on tetanus." BJ snapped the file closed and looked up at the head nurse. She smiled tremulously.

"I'm so sorry, I never even thought about that, I'm terribly thoughtless, I mean..." she stammered, half apologising to BJ and half to the sleeping Hawkeye. BJ took hold of her arm.

"Whoa there Margaret. I got that you're sorry. It was an honest mistake, okay? I guess it's been pretty scary for you these past few hours. Don't blame yourself. Do you want to catch some sleep, or keep talking? What happened after the truck turned over?"

"That was one of the worst bits," replied Margaret, her eyes focussed somewhere else. "It wasn't as bad as the shelling I've been in, but the knowledge that one wrong move and we were POWs or worse for the rest of the war was pretty terrifying. And the worst thing was, I wasn't between Hawkeye and the broken door any more. I knew that he would want to be out of there no matter what, so I just managed to make him wait till the noises had died away." She took a deep breath, and BJ realised he was leaning forward with baited breath, so he forced himself to relax. They were both still alive and here, nothing happened that was fatal. He tilted his head as the head nurse continued. "When the Koreans had left, Hawkeye broke down the door where it was hanging from the hinges."

"I saw the broken cupboard," remarked BJ, his mind seeing that gaping dark hole in the black wood and the fear that his friends were still in there.

"We had no idea how long we'd been in the truck and therefore how far we were to Seoul, so we decided to head back along the track."

"But why didn't you see me and the Colonel driving past?" interjected BJ.

"I was getting to that. I guess that must have been the vehicle we heard going past that we hid from. And I realised Hawkeye was hurt, and used my sleeve to try and staunch the bleeding." Margaret stopped for a while, her eyes taking on an ineffable sadness and momentarily flickering towards the sleeping man beside her. BJ didn't miss it, and he carefully filed it away, to ask Hawk later. Clearly Margaret hadn't said everything, what with all these comments he had half heard.

"And then?" he prompted. Margaret shook herself back with an effort.

"Then we just kept walking until I saw you  - I recognised that mustache of yours, Hunnicutt, even in the dark! – and I waved. You know the rest."

BJ nodded in silent acquiescence. Margaret smiled briefly and passed a weary hand over her eyes.

"Look, Margaret, I really think you should rest now. I mean, you and Hawkeye were in a near death experience! You must be longing for about twelve hours sleep and some coffee. Though of course you may just have to deal with what the mess tent offers," said BJ, standing up and pulling the head nurse to her feet, despite her feeble protestations. "Hawkeye will be fine, don't worry. I'm going to hang around here for a while longer," the captain continued, half pushing her towards the door, with a friendly but no-nonsense expression on his face.

"But – "

"But nothing, Margaret, I care as much about your health as I do his! And as a doctor I order you to get some rest!" said BJ, putting his hands on his hips and assuming a stern expression.

"And just who wears the oak leaves around here, Hunnicutt?" Margaret drew herself up, frowning at him. They locked eyes for a second. It was broken when Margaret yawned. BJ rolled his eyes.

"Out! Now!" he smiled, opening the door. Margaret threw a hand up in the air as she stumbled out with tiredness in her step.

"There's just no reasoning with you," her fading complaint came faintly across the compound. BJ sighed and went back to the chair beside his buddy. He checked that the blood was running through properly, and then sat and watched him, the anxiousness and panic he had been feeling over the last few hours slowly dissipating.

Charles sat up on his cot as he checked his watch. Why on earth had he woken himself so early? he wondered, about to turn back over. Glancing over at the other side of the room he realised that both the other bunks were empty. Then he remembered everything suddenly. Pierce was still in Post-Op; but where was Hunnicutt? Getting changed quickly, he staggered out into the compound. As he passed the bulletin board, he paused, sighed, pulled down the photograph, screwed it up and went onwards.

Kellye was sitting at one end of the ward, writing something. Charles scanned the room. Ah, there was Hawkeye, bundled in those blankets. He strode over and was about to say something when he was shushed by an almost inaudible voice. The chief surgeon of the 4077th grinned up at him and pointed to the chair beside him, where BJ was slumped and snoring gently.

"Don't wake the doctor now, will you, Chuck?" said Hawkeye quietly, grinning up at the tall major. Charles gave one of his small smiles that could have been a grimace.

"I'm glad to see you are feeling – better now, Pierce," said Charles, sitting on the edge of the bed and flipping over the chart. "Let's see now – "

"One and a half units whole blood so far," interrupted Hawkeye weakly, pointing at the IV stand beside him. "I got Kellye to change bottles first thing, but I don't think I should take much more." Charles tutted reprovingly.

"Now, Pierce, don't forget – you are the patient now, let us be the doctors, eh?" Hawkeye rolled his eyes. "If you say, Charles."

The doors opened again and Margaret hurried in, concern written on her face as she headed for the group near the office end of the ward. At the noise Hawkeye looked up, glad that she had come in so early, but she just walked over to the IV stand and checked it before going to stare at the board on Charles' lap.

 Just then beside them BJ blinked awake, then grimaced and winced as he realised he had slept in a chair all night.

"Now, Margaret, see what you've done! BJ was perfectly happy ruining his vertebrae there, and you had to spoil it," said Hawkeye.

"You let me sleep, you rat!" said BJ, staggering to his feet and yawning hugely. "Hey – you're awake!"

"Oh no. I always talk in my sleep, did you notice?"

"Talking of sleep, that's where you should be," reprimanded Margaret, looking at the unrepentant Hawkeye.

"I could say ditto to you too, Margaret," said BJ, coming to peer over Charles' shoulder.

"And what about you, Hunnicutt! What happened to the morning shift I was supposed to be doing? It's only 6:00!" said Charles, flipping back the paper and rehanging it on the end of the bed and smiling good-naturedly. BJ shrugged.

"I guess we all turned up."

"And it's only stitches!" said Hawkeye, fingering his temple.

"Right! That's it, too many people are here!" said the Colonel, striding in from the direction of his office. "I can't have all my best doctors – and nurse- out of commission through tiredness! Major Houlihan, Captain Hunnicutt, about face! Get some more sleep. And Pierce - "

Hawkeye leant back and closed his eyes.

"I can't hear you, Colonel, I'm asleep," he said faintly.

"Good!" said Potter, grinning and moderating his tone to a near whisper. He turned and looked hard at Margaret and BJ, who hurriedly stopped looking in and closed the door behind them.

BJ suddenly checked his walk about five steps after the door. Margaret turned round and looked at him quizzically.

"What's up?"

BJ turned to look at her seriously. "Margaret, I don't think we should tell anyone about Hawkeye's claustrophobia. Not unless he says so."

Margaret thought a moment. "What about Colonel Potter? Oughtn't he to know?"

"Maybe, I suppose. Anyway, I also think we should grab what sleep we can. Charles is on duty."

"Well let's not forget that it was he who put us into this mess in the first place," said Margaret darkly.

"Aw, give the man a break, Margaret, you saw him. He volunteered to do the whole morning shift for us! And this is Charles we're talking about here. The man to whom 'volunteer' is a dirty word. I think he's sorry now."

"Well." said Margaret, shrugging before going back towards her tent. Suddenly BJ called after her. She turned and observed him quizzically.

"Margaret, I never asked. How are you holding up?" said BJ, coming over and looking at her concernedly. Margaret gave a tiny smile and shrugged before closing her door. BJ looked at the sign a minute before heading over to the Swamp, more than just a little confused. Just before he sat down, he pulled another photograph out of his pocket. He looked at it for a long moment, then shoved it in the stove and went to bed, as the morning light started to hit the camp.

Hawkeye sat up in his bed and looked out across the ward, before calling over BJ. He gestured at the early evening sun as it turned the room a pale shade of pink.

"I'm so bored, Beej, can I not at least go back to the Swamp?" he said pleadingly. BJ grinned and went round to check the stand and the flip chart.

"Aw, how could I resist a face like that," he said, tossing Hawkeye's robe on to the bed before carefully unhooking the tube from his arm. The captain eagerly followed his friend back to the Swamp, sitting down on his own cot and sighing with relief.

"Ah, that's better," he said, swinging his legs on to the bunk. "I was getting fed up with being a patient! At least I won't have you all hanging over me now."

"Hey, we're just concerned for you, Hawkeye," said BJ, standing up and putting both hands behind his head. "Now, lie there like a good boy or I'll regret letting you out," he warned. "I'm still on duty," I'll be back later. Holler if you need something."

"I think I'll be fine," replied Hawkeye, settling back in his own bunk. "After all, theoretically I should be releasable tomorrow morning."

"Yeah, and meanwhile you get to laze around all day!" said BJ with mock annoyance. "Well, seeya Hawk. Maybe after dinner." BJ pushed the door closed behind him and sauntered back over to his duty in Post-Op.

About half an hour later Margaret came in with damp hair, a little late for her shift change with Baker. She sat down at the desk after nodding to BJ, who was lounging against a wall reading someone's chart. Suddenly she realised that Hawkeye's bed was empty.

"BJ, where's Pierce?" she said, quickly standing up again and looking around. BJ waved a hand Swampwards, seeming not to look up from his chart but in reality watching the major carefully.

"I sent him back to the Swamp. You know Hawkeye – he's too impatient to be a patient."

Margaret looked indecisively back in that direction, but then shook her head and sat back down. Just then Colonel Potter wandered in. He tapped BJ's shoulder with a pencil.

"You can go and take a chow break now, Hunnicutt. Shift's over."

"Thanks, Colonel," said BJ, handing over the chart and stifling a yawn.

"What! Didn't you get enough sleep this morning?" asked Potter cheerfully. BJ laughed. He took off his white coat and started walking towards the door when he was suddenly called back.

Potter sat on Hawkeye's empty bunk and looked at the two in front of him.

"Margaret, I'm guessing you've already told BJ here the story. Now's my turn. I was out there looking for you two as well, you know," he said quietly.

Margaret sighed and shared a glance with BJ.

"To cut a long story short Colonel, Charles locked us in the cupboard. We fell asleep and only woke up just before the truck overturned. We heard gunfire, and Korean voices. Luckily when the truck turned over, the cupboard hinges weakened. Hawkeye was so desperate to get out despite the North Koreans that – "

"Whoa, hold your horses there a little, Major! We're going a little too fast for my liking. And why was Pierce so desperate to get out of the cupboard? Did you have an argument?"

"Not then, no. The trouble is, Colonel - " Margaret lowered her voice. BJ's head had snapped round to stare at her when she'd mentioned arguing. The major didn't seem to notice. BJ's quick mind started putting some pieces together.

"-the trouble is, Hawkeye has claustrophobia."

The Colonel looked thoughtful and grave.

"A case of the old closet phobia, huh? No wonder he wanted to get out so bad. Is that where he cut his head?"

"I'm guessing so, Colonel. He never told me and I didn't notice till we'd been walking a while. Then I used my sleeve to bandage it up."

BJ clapped a hand on Margaret's shoulder.

"I'm sure you want to talk some more, but personally I'm starving, and unless I'm mistaken, my shift is over. I'll see you later, Colonel, Major," he said, backing out of Post-Op and then walking not unhurriedly back towards the Swamp.