The next morning, I found a note on my pillow.

Dear Jaclyn,

Meet me in the mess tent at nine tonight.

The handwriting was familiar, but I couldn't place it. I couldn't imagine that B.J., Colonel Potter, Charles, Klinger, or Father Mulchay would want to meet me in the mess tent, Margaret would just come over and ask, and I seriously doubted that Hawkeye would.

"The manitee is beginning!" the P.A. system blared. "Choppers are arriving, team two to the pad and one to triage."

That meant to get my rear in gear.

The load was quite "light" for the unit. I assisted Colonel Potter.

After surgery, I went to my tent. My watch said eight-forty-five, which left me fifteen minutes to get ready.

I pulled on the white cashmere sweater Klinger had admired. It smelled like Stockton, which could be good or bad. In this case, it was good.

"Your table is ready," B.J. said when he saw me coming.

"My table?" I asked, confused.

"Ah, my dining partner has arrived," said a very familiar voice.

It was Hawkeye.

"You got my note," I breathed.

"With some help from my trusty bunkmate." He shot B.J. a look.

"I'll leave you two to your discussion," said B.J.

"Why did you ask me here?" I asked.

"I hate to dine alone," said Hawkeye. "You have to have somebody with you or this food might attack you."

"Seriously."

"Because I needed to talk to you," he said. "I've been thinking about what I said, and how insensitive I sounded. You're going through a rough time and needed somebody to listen to you and not judge."

"But saying I hated my mother and not considering your feelings-"

"How would you have known my mother was dead?"

"Because Margaret told me!" I exclaimed. "I didn't talk to you about it because it would have sounded dumb to bring it up in casual conversation."

Klinger came back to the table with a bottle of something with two glassesand drew the curtain around Hawkeye and me.

"I'm sorry," we said at the same time.

I started laughing. "This is like something out of a romantic movie."

"I know," Hawkeye, chuckling. "I'm Clark Gable and you're Rita Hayworth."

"Your dinner approaches," Klinger said. "Spam in the shape of steaks. Enjoy!"

Hawkeye cut a piece, sniffed it, and took a bite. "Edible."

I took a piece. "Not bad."

We talked until midnight (again).

A/N: More to come (as always, knock wood).