Jo sat on the side of her cot. The letter from her sister had taken her by surprise. The letters came every week, despite the fact that she hadn't sent one letter in reply. Occasionally there were letters tucked inside from her mother as well, but most often it was just Victoria reporting the news from home.

Jo set the paper on her lap and began her reply.

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Victoria, I don't believe that Carol Ann didn't tell me she was going to have a baby! Did she tell you when she was planning on telling me? Don't worry, I won't tell anyone that I know. Not that it really matters, since no one here knows our family and I don't write to anyone but you.

It is hard to imagine Carol Ann and Edward with a baby. Mother must be ecstatic. I know how much she has wanted a grandchild. How is Daddy taking it? I know that he doesn't like Edward, but Carol Ann has always been his favourite.

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Jo set down her pen. She wanted to say that it was hard to imagine new life in a place so filled with death. She picked up the pen again, trying to think of something light for her reply.

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I wonder who the baby will look like. If he is lucky, he won't look anything like Edward. Don't tell Carol Ann I said that, though. I know he's a good man. He's just a bit of a bore. Of course, there is something about the chaos here that makes boring seem more appealing. Maybe when I come home I will like him more...

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Jo set down her pen again. If she came home, she thought. She sighed and tucked the letter she was writing under her cot. She lay on her back and closed her eyes. Her eyelids were just beginning to flutter with the suggestion of a dream when the P.A. broke through the normal camp noises. Jo's eyes flew open.

"All personnel, we've got incoming wounded! All shifts report for duty."

In an instant, Jo was on the edge of her cot, slipping her feet into boots she wouldn't bother to tie. Her feet slipped in and out of them with each stride as she ran to take her place in pre-op.

After the first four hours, Jo fell into a routine in the O.R. The floor was slick with blood in places, and used sponges littered the ground. Carefully she avoided them, moving as the doctors needed or directed her to. She handed over the requested instruments quickly, efficiently, not even bothering to mutter "Yes Doctor," anymore.

"Hold that."

Jo reached in with one hand and put a finger over the hole. She could feel the blood pump past her finger, travelling from the heart to the rest of the soldier's body, but it was no longer pouring out.

"Why wasn't this kid brought in here sooner?" And in the next breath, "Retraction!"

Jo carefully pulled back the skin with the retractor so that the doctor could get a better look.

"I'm going to need to do an arterial graft. Nurse!" Jo began to move, but a hand caught her arm.

Blue eyes met hers with an intensity that shocked her. "Not you. I need you to keep your finger on that hole. Margaret, I need another nurse over here."

Jo remembered the rhythmic beating just beneath her finger. The soldier's life was literally in her hands. His pulse was strangely comforting to feel, a constant reminder that the patient was still alive.

After six hours Jo's back and neck ached so badly she didn't think she could continue standing. But she did. She had worked on several patients since the arterial graft. For the past hour her job mainly consisted of providing suction when necessary and wiping the doctor's forehead. Her eyes were getting bleary. If it was possible, Jo felt she might sleep standing right there.

"Scratch my nose," the doctor instructed her. His gloved hands were carefully stitching, mending the damage done by shrapnel.

"Ah," the doctor sighed. "That's it, right there. Don't stop."

From behind her surgical mask, Jo blushed. The blue eyes behind the other surgical mask grinned back at her.

After eight hours Jo's back and neck no longer ached, but then she couldn't feel them. At times her hands were numb too, making it difficult to hand over the surgical tools. She fumbled a couple of times, hoping the doctor and other nurses working at the table didn't notice.

Fortunately the wounded were trickling in, and the only soldiers left were those whose injuries weren't as severe. They had gone into surgery before sunset. An hour ago, the day shift had retired to their tents for a few hours sleep before they took over again.

Jo's head began to drop and she struggled to keep her eyes open.

"You think you can close?" the doctor across from her asked.

Jo's eyes were wide open and her head snapped up. She moaned and moved her head from side to side.

"I can help you take care of that kink in your neck later. Do you think you can close?"

Jo nodded gently and took in a deep breath. Carefully began to work on closing up the patient's incision.

Glad to have the day off, Jo lay down on her cot. There was one other nurse in the tent, breathing softly and regularly in sleep. Her eyes ached. She had been awake for over twenty-four hours, if you didn't count the ten-minute nap she took after dinner. She was exhausted, but even after half an hour she couldn't fall asleep. Her stomach grumbled as her nose caught the scent of something similar to food coming from the mess tent.

She gave a frustrated sigh and tried to push herself up off of the cot. Searing pain shot through her arms and shoulders and she yelped. She grunted and carefully rolled herself off of the cot.

She knocked softly on the door to the Swamp, as it was called. She was prepared to walk away; its occupants were probably deep in sleep.

"Go away, I'm sleeping," a groggy voice mumbled from inside.

"I'm sorry," Jo called, beginning to turn around.

"Just a minute," the voice answered. A few moments later a lanky man in a red robe opened the door.

"I'm sorry," Jo repeated. "I wanted to take you up on your offer."

"Offer?" Hawkeye asked.

"My neck. I can barely move. But, I'll come back later."

"No," Hawkeye said, rubbing his eyes. "Now is fine."

He opened the door and let her walk in. She stood, wooden and uncomfortable, in the middle of the tent. The space seemed divided into two. Jo wasn't quite sure where she should sit.

Hawkeye dropped himself onto the middle of the cot, and gestured for her to sit next to him. Jo obliged, her stomach tensing.

"Something to drink?" Hawkeye asked, motioning to the homemade still.

"No!" Jo exclaimed. "It's not even noo..." her voice trailed off as Hawkeye picked up a glass and took a drink.

He put his glass down and pushed her dark hair aside and began to rub her shoulders. Jo grimaced at the added weight on her sore muscles. Yet even through her shirt, she could feel his strong hands. Her heart beat quickly and her stomach flopped. It left her with a strangely hollow feeling inside.

His hands were warm, and Jo could feel her muscles relaxing as he kneaded them. His hands moved up, and pushed aside her shirt collar. Jo's shoulders instinctively lifted, as though it tickled, when his hands found her bare neck. She winced, as pain shot through her muscles once again, but gentle hands carefully relaxed her.

He moved in closer. Jo could feel his warm breath on her neck. She hadn't thought it possible for her heart to beat any faster, but when his lips touched her skin she felt as though her chest might explode. Her whole body froze.

"You know," he mumbled into her neck, not noticing her tension, "this would be a lot easier if you took off your shirt."

"Hawkeye!" Jo pulled away. "I didn't think... I - I can't... I'm sorry," she stammered, now on her feet.

"Jo, I..." Hawkeye began, but Jo was already at the door.

"I'm sorry," she said again, before leaving the Swamp.