It was 3 o' clock in the morning. Margaret sat up in bed for what must have been the thousandth time, and ran her fingers through her hair. She felt awful; she wished that she didn't know why.

Of all the stupid things you've done in your life, Hot Lips, she thought, this one's pretty near the top of the list. She could feel the tears coming again and, this time, she didn't try to hold them back.

What a coward she was. The only man she had ever loved, ever really loved, was the only man she was afraid of. She would never have admitted that to anyone, but alone in the quiet of her tent, she could say it. "I'm afraid," Margaret whispered to the night, and a tear rolled down her cheek. "Oh God, I'm afraid of him."

It could have been such an easy question. Had she been flattered when Hawkeye had told her she was beautiful? Yes, of course. Simple. But had she been able to tell him so? No, of course not. Not so simple. She had seen the look in those big, blue eyes of his, and she had stopped cold. She had wanted to kiss him right there, to collapse into his chest, to wrap her arms around him and never let go. But instead? Instead she had lied, pulled away from his grasp, and run from the room as fast as she possibly could. And now it was three in the morning and here she was, sitting alone in this frigid little tent, crying.

You've got to stop doing this, she told herself. You've got to stop pushing people away. They reach out to you, and look what happens? You freeze up. You panic. You run.

She might've sat there all night, brooding and feeling sorry for herself, but suddenly she heard a noise. A faint, tapping noise. Somebody was knocking at her door.

"Margaret?"

She froze. It was Hawkeye.

"Margaret, I know you're in there." He spoke very softly, and she thought he sounded a little sad.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what I said to make you run away like that, but... I wish I could take it back. Really." He paused, and let out a long breath. He sounded so tired, and she wanted to let him in; but she waited. Several minutes passed, and she wondered if he had left. Finally, he started to speak again.

"Look, I'm not gonna push you. I can't make you talk to me. I know you're listening, and if you don't want to open the door, you don't have to. I just wanted to make sure you were okay." He sighed. "I'll leave you alone. Goodnight, Margaret."

She was amazed. He wasn't angry! He felt bad about what had happened, and he was worried about her! And now she was going to just let him walk away? No, no. She couldn't.

Nervously, Margaret unlatched the door and stepped out into the night. It had begun to rain, and she shivered in her pajamas. Where was he? Everything was quiet, and there was no one in sight. She started to go back into her tent, but she decided against it. Wherever Hawkeye had gone, she had to find him.

The rain was getting harder, and she had barely left her door before she was soaked. The camp seemed deserted; she felt as if she was the only person on earth. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and she quickened her pace. She wasn't alone, not really. Hawkeye was here, somewhere, and once they were together everything would be all right.

It was twenty minutes before she found him. He was standing outside the officer's club, his lanky frame leaning against the door. The rain had beaten down on him, too, and droplets of water dripped from his hair and into his eyes. He stared off into the distance, clearly lost in his thoughts, and for a split second Margaret considered sneaking away before he saw her. But she couldn't leave him like this, not after she had messed things up so badly. Slowly, she made her way to his side and leaned up against the wall next to him.

"Hawkeye," she breathed, and he muttered something that she couldn't understand. She wasn't even sure that he knew she was there. She tried again.

"Hawkeye."

He turned from whatever he had been looking at and met her gaze.

"Margaret? What are you doing out here?" He looked her up and down, and his brow furrowed with concern. "You're soaked."

She nodded. "So are you."

They stood there, silent, for a minute or two. Finally, she took a deep breath and continued.

"Hawkeye, I... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have run away from you like that, it was terrible. I just didn't know what to say. I guess I never really do, know the right thing to say, I mean. I...." She trailed off and looked down at the ground, embarrassed.

Hawkeye sighed. He stepped away from the door and turned so he was standing right in front of her.

"You just don't know how to take a compliment."

"No, I... I guess I don't." The tears were threatening to fall again, and she bit her lip. "Hawkeye, I'm so sorry."

"I know." He reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders, easily drawing her body from the wall. His hands were warm, and Margaret realized for the first time just how cold she was. She shivered. Hawkeye wrapped his arms around her.

"It's okay," he said simply, and she started to cry.

"Shh, shh, Margaret. It's okay. It's okay." He repeated it softly, gently rubbing her back. "You don't have to be so tough all the time. Everybody's gotta let go once in awhile." He paused. "I shouldn't have cornered you like that when we were in the OR. I just wanted to know what was going on. Guess I don't know when to shut up sometimes."

"No," she whispered through her tears, "it was my fault. You... you were just being nice. Damn it, Hawkeye, I'm so awful to you, I... and when you told me I was...." She couldn't finish.

He smiled. "Beautiful?"

She nodded, and cried even harder. He pulled her in closer and held her tight.

"You are beautiful, Margaret. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever known. Interestingly enough, you're also the most stubborn. You're a beautiful, intelligent, stubborn woman who can't take a compliment."

He chuckled into her hair, and she couldn't help but smile.

"Thanks."

"For calling you stubborn?" He grinned. "Anytime! And you know what else you are?"

"What?"

"Dripping wet, and so am I."

She laughed. "You're absolutely right."

"Of course I'm right, are you kidding? It's pouring out here! I say we go inside and ring ourselves out." He put his hand on her cheek, and she looked up into his eyes. "Are you okay now?"

"Yeah," she whispered, smiling. "I'm okay."

And this time, she was telling him the truth.