notes: Thanks for the feedback. It's nice to know there are a few other C/M 'shippers out there. Not enough, I say! Enjoy this next part.


A veil of darkness had fully descended upon them now. Occasionally, a rumble--of gunfire or land mines--would disrupt their already unpleasant journey, sending tendrils of worry up the back of their neck like an unwanted chill, which also enveloped them.

Charles was still fairly comfortable, though a shiver would permeate through his barrier of warm clothing every now and then. He glanced at Margaret, content as he saw that her shivering was now minimal. He couldn't help but think, in addition, that she looked fairly adorable in his sweater--what with his sleeves too long for her arms, forcing her hands to curl within the edges.

"Warmer now?"

"Very," she said thickly, multiple meanings to her answer.

They'd been walking for more than two hours, and Margaret had lost track of the distance still required of them. When they'd started out, she had estimated how long it might take, but the chill, and the company, distracted her mind slightly from practicalities. She thought at some point she might regret it, but for now, she was content to bask in the chivalry of a man she'd, for so long, harbored a burgeoning attraction to. Maybe...even...love. The thought sent a violent chill through her and she rubbed her arms quickly up and down her sides. Not because it was a bad idea, but rather, it was a hopeless desire, she thought.

"Margaret," he tread softly, "in your dream, why did you consider it your duty to be apprised of the flatness of earth?"

When she didn't respond, he continued, "Is it that you feel responsible? Others around you were perishing and you couldn't stop it. You feel you need to take care of everyone else, at the expense of your own physical and mental well-being?"

She moved closer, so he could feel the heat of her body encased in his thick sweater, against him.

"Dr. Winchester, I had no idea you moonlighted as a psychiatrist as well. Is there no end to your expertise?"

"Margaret."

"I don't know why I felt that way in my dream, Charles. Isn't that part of the frustration of dreams? They're so damn mysterious. You dream about a baby elephant and it means good fortune," she gave a confused expression at that, briefly throwing her hands up.

"So our head nurse is also a dream analyst. Very interesting, Dr. Freud," Charles said, amusement tinging his voice.

"Charles, you know what I mean. Who knows why I dreamt that, or felt that way. I certainly don't think I need to take care of everyone. I mean, I have a hard enough time taking care of myself, everyone does."

"I'll drink to that."

"Mmm. Now that would be good right now. A nice glass of scotch. Warm. Familiar."


"I'll admit I was quite partial to A Christmas Carol, in my younger days. No doubt Hunnicutt and Pierce garner endless hours of self-satisfaction and amusement by drawing parallels between myself and Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge," he mumbled with disdain.

"Oh, Charles, we all--we've all got dirt on the stoop. The important thing is what's inside the front door."

"Well, Margaret, I must say, either it's the incommodious surroundings we presently find ourselves in, or the oppressive chill, but you are, so suddenly, quite the philosopher."

"Maybe it's the company," she winked, curling the ends of the sweater sleeves more tightly around her fingers.

"Nevertheless, I do appreciate your quiet, yet occasionally fervent praise and defense. Perhaps it's because you truly know...me."

"I'd like to think I'm getting there."

Charles was now shivering more intensely, not unnoticed by Margaret, who once again looped her arm through his, trying to share what little warmth she could offer. By now, it was quite dark, and simply walking without obstacle was trying enough. As if on cue, Charles missed a moderately sized rock and went tumbling down, pulling Margaret with him. She quickly recovered and stood, then knelt back down when she noticed he wasn't moving.

"Charles, Charles! Are you all right? Please, are you all right?" she yelled as she shook him.

He slowly turned over, a slight grimace on his face.

"Fine, but for the wind being knocked out of me," he murmured.

She helped him to sit up and hunch forward as he took a few deep breaths to regain composure and restore normal breathing. His hand moved to his ankle, which he massaged.

"Twisted it. It's not too bad, but I'm afraid we might have to take a break, to avert further injury to it."

She nodded, complying without hesitation.

"I'm getting tired anyway, Charles, and it is pretty late. There's an overgrowth of bushes; we can burrow in there and head out again in the morning."

He nodded, putting his shoe back on, content that swelling would be minimal. She helped him to stand and forcefully draped his arm over her shoulders, which he initially tried to resist.

"Now who's being stubborn? It's just over there, let me help you."

He gave in, and in a few short paces they had reached the bushes. She knelt down slowly, depositing him on the ground. Dropping their bags, she spent a few seconds looking at them intensely.

"Admiring the stitching?" he asked of her.

"I'm just wondering if we can--we can rip the seams and make two blankets. But we've got stuff inside."

"Which could easily be replaced. Thankfully, it won't get much colder than this, and we're fairly well insulated now, but I'd prefer going to sleep knowing we have an added layer of protection."

Margaret opened her bag, sorting through the contents, and gasping when she came to the bottom, pulling a large blanket out with her.

"Charles, I--I don't know how I didn't realize this was even in here. How could I forget that?"

He propped himself up on one elbow, gently pulling the blanket from her grasp.

"It wouldn't have been much use earlier, anyway. The only good use for it applies to our current predicament, and here, we have it," he soothed.

Margaret nodded her head, eyes unfocused on him, still frustrated with herself. Charles had sat up, unzipping his coat.

"Major, at the risk of sounding like an overeager adolescent, I'd like to suggest we...get significantly intimate tonight, to generate and trap as much body heat as possible."

Margaret had been rubbing her chilled hands together, but at his statement, abruptly stopped, giving him a pointed, slightly bewildered look.

"Winchester, are you suggesting--"

"Hardly, Major. I merely meant it would be wise for you to burrow into me, and I could wrap my coat around you. The blanket would completely envelope us, and that should be sufficient warmth."

She smiled, a blush creeping onto her cheeks, though he wouldn't have noticed, given the darkness and the already pinkish hue to them, side effect of their surroundings. She pulled the blanket around her shoulder and laid her head on Charles's chest. His sweater wasn't at all how she'd imagined it would feel; rather, it was soft and infinitely warm and the rhythmic beating of his heart lulled her into relaxation. She wasn't sure how it would feel to get this close to him, given the thoughts that had been permeating her head all day, and the past week, but it felt, somehow, safe and just...right.

Charles pulled his coat over her shoulders and took her hands in both of his, stroking the icy skin gently. He surprised her by blowing hot air across the tips of her fingers, then continuing the gentle massage. He brought her hands to his lips, kissing the fingers gently, slowly, relishing the gesture. Then moved her hands below the blanket, where they would be warm.

"Charles," she started softly, looking up at him intensely. She snuggled closer to him, burrowing her head against his neck, and her cheek into his sweater.

"Charles, that dream--it scared me because you were the last one left, and you were calling out for me. I wanted to--needed to save you. I couldn't."

"Margaret," he rumbled beneath her ear, "it was just a dream. There's nothing portentous about it. I'm fairly certain the world isn't flat, and if it were, I do not think Winston Churchill would be standing at the crevasse berating you for not knowing."

She seemed ready to concede and relax, but still hesitated. So, he pulled her closer, and kissed her cheek.

"I have a surprise for you, when we get back. At least, I hope it's arrived by now," she mumbled, eager to change the subject.

"Oh?"

"No hints. Think of it as an added incentive to make it home as soon as possible."

He turned the word home over in his head, which he'd many times thought of referring to the 4077th as. And yet, it had never felt quite, quite right until this instance: when that very home he would be returning to promised the company of the woman now cradled within his arms.

TBC...