The room was swimming. Jo blinked her eyes hard in order to refocus them. All around her, people drank and danced and talked. She looked in front of her at the collection of empty glasses.

She had started the evening with a few of the other nurses, drinking a toast to Bonnie. Time had moved on, and so had the other nurses. Jo counted the glasses. One for the best friend she's ever had. One for the life her friend would never get to live. One for the wedding she wouldn't be invited to. One for the invitation she would never get to send. The last one, the one in Jo's hand, for the fact that it was supposed to be her, not Bonnie, dead right now.

Jo thought about the letter lying, half-finished, under her bed. It was the one Father Mulcahy had asked her to write to Bonnie's parents. Blinking back a thick blanket of tears from her eyes, Jo tipped the last contents of her glass into her mouth.

She stood up and swayed a bit, or else the room swayed and she stood still. All of a sudden she felt light-headed and almost giddy. Turning to leave, she found herself face-to-face with Hawkeye.

"Captain!" she exclaimed.

"Lieutenant," he drawled, "you are drunk."

"I am?"

"Yes. And I'm a doctor, I should know."

Jo blinked and examined him. "Well, so are you," she accused, her words a bit slurred.

"Not drunk enough. When I wake up tomorrow I'll still be here."

Jo's forehead wrinkled. "Where else would you be?" she asked, confused.

Hawkeye didn't answer, instead he said, "C'mon, let's get you back to your tent."

She couldn't work her feet properly, but Hawkeye gently guided her through the officer's club as though he were leading her on the dance floor. She was acutely aware of his hand on her back. Jo felt as though she were floating.

As they approached the middle of the compound, Jo stopped. She felt suddenly reckless. Hawkeye stopped alongside her.

"You coming?" he asked.

Jo didn't answer, but looked into his eyes. His hand was still on her back. Jo leaned into the warmth of Hawkeye's body. Jo put her own hand on Hawkeye's chest. Standing on tiptoe, Jo could feel Hawkeye lean down. His lips brushed hers, and Jo's heart began to race. Jo didn't want the kiss to end, but finally she pulled back to catch her breath. She swayed a bit, but Hawkeye's hand steadied her.

"Is there somewhere we can go?" she breathed.

They fell into the darkened supply tent, arms tangled in each other and their clothing.

"Why, Lieutenant, I had no idea..."

Jo didn't reply. Instead she arched her neck so that Hawkeye would continue kissing it.

"After our last conversation, I didn't think..." Hawkeye mumbled.

"What?" Jo asked. Hawkeye had untucked her shirt and she could feel his hands making their way up her stomach. Her muscles tightened, almost instinctively.

"Well," he said into her skin between kisses, "I didn't expect to find myself in here with you."

Jo stopped. "Why? Because I'm a prude? Because I was foolish enough to believe I should wait for marriage when I'm lucky to see tomorrow?"

Jo kissed Hawkeye again, but he put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her away.

"What?" said Jo angrily. "I thought this was what you wanted."

"I'll probably regret this in the morning, but I have the feeling you would regret it more if anything happened here tonight." Jo sat down on a spare mattress with a thud. "I may be drunk, but I think I can see what's going on." Hawkeye sat down next to Jo. "This is because of your friend, isn't it? The nurse who was killed?"

"What the point in saving myself for something that may never happen? For waiting for something when tomorrow isn't even for sure?"

"You've got values, ideals. I admire that, maybe I even envy it."

"Hawkeye?" slurred Jo.

"Yeah?"

"I really don't feel so well."

Hawkeye helped Jo out of the tent. She leaned over the nearest bush. Her stomach heaved, and her eyes watered. When she had finished, Hawkeye helped her to her feet.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I would be if the world would stop spinning."

"You can't go back to your tent like this," Hawkeye told her.

"I can't go back to my tent like this," Jo agreed. Her stomach lurched and she bent over the bush again. "Oh," she moaned.

"C'mon," Hawkeye said, helping her up again.

They made their way back inside the supply tent. Hawkeye helped Jo down to the spare mattress and handed her a bedpan. Jo curled up on the mattress.

Throughout the night, Jo drifted in and out of consciousness. When she awoke, it was usually to find herself leaning over the bedpan. Several times she discovered Hawkeye was holding her hair out of her face as she emptied her stomach's contents.

Even when it had been hours and Jo thought that she had nothing left in her stomach, she continued to heave over the bedpan. Half awake, Jo began to cry softly.

"It'll be okay," Hawkeye told her. "Try to get some sleep."

"It's my fault, though," Jo mumbled.

"What's your fault?" Hawkeye asked her.

"It's my fault Bonnie died. I was supposed to go, not her." She began to sob. Her whole body shook and her breath came in hiccups. She turned her face into the mattress and wept.

In the morning, Jo woke up to voices outside the supply tent door. The room stank from the bedpan sitting on the floor next to her. Her stomach flopped as she breathed in through her nose. Jo moaned. She couldn't decide whether her head or her stomach felt worse. Looking around, she realized where she was, but couldn't remember getting there. Memories from the night before were hazy and pieced together. Her head pounded as she frantically struggled to remember anything of the night before. Her clothes were dishevelled. She wished that she could remember whether or not she had come here alone. Her breathing quickened as she realized what it might mean if she had come here with someone. Jo's stomach tightened and she began to shake as she thought of her parents' disappointment and shame. There was no way to undo this. Jo wished she could leave her body.

What if, she thought, what if? Her chest was tight, making it difficult for her to breath. Her muscles had tightened, but she didn't seem to have the power to relax them. A wave of nausea washed over her, but Jo couldn't tell if it was from the hangover or from her nerves. Her mind was racing, which only seemed to make her more keenly aware of the dull ache behind her eyes, radiating through her head.

The pain in her head seemed to amplify her every sense. People were moving around outside and there was a conversation taking place just outside the supply tent. The voices on the other side of the canvas echoed inside her head.

"Hawk, you look terrible."

"If you think I look bad, wait until you see Jo."

"You were here all night?" If Jo closed her eyes and focused on the voices, she could filter through the barrage of other noises and begin to sort out the voices owners.

"It's not what you think." It was Hawkeye's voice. "She, uh, had a bit too much to drink at the officer's club last night and..."

"So far this isn't too far from what I was thinking." Jo could almost hear B.J. smiling underneath his moustache.

"It's not what you think," Hawkeye said again. "Nothing happened. I mean, she wanted...but I..." Jo blushed, filling in the blanks Hawkeye had left. It was Jo who had made the advances, and he had turned her down. Her body began to relax a little. Nothing had happened. But his comment had sparked a vague memory of Hawkeye helping her as she leaned over a bush. Jo was mortified. "She's been sick all night. Would you help me get her back to her tent?"