There was no response and Hawkeye lightly knocked again; still nothing. He quietly opened the door and found Margaret tearing through her desk, ripping apart several pieces of paper.

"Margaret?" she whirled around, a scowl on her face.

"Get out!" she screamed. She was breathing heavily and Hawkeye moved towards her in concern. "I told you to get out of my tent!"

Hawkeye did his best to paste on a smile. "Margaret, you are forcing me to stay."

Margaret stared blankly at him and then sat down on her cot. Hawkeye wisely kept his distance and watched her closely. Margaret's head was spinning; she didn't know what to do. She knew Hawkeye wasn't going to leave until he knew she was alright. But there was no way she could convince him she was alright so she simply stared straight ahead; forcing all thoughts from her mind.

Hawkeye watched Margaret for almost five minutes, wondering what she could possibly be thinking. Soon he diverted his attention to her desk. He picked up a shredded piece of paper and looked closely at it. They were Frank's notes; every tint little scrap of paper he had given her she had kept, and now they were ripped to shreds.

Hawkeye looked back at Margaret. She was still staring intently at the ground. He wanted to talk to her, console her, but he knew she would refuse herself that small comfort. So instead he crouched down, placing his face directly in her gaze, smiling slightly. Hawkeye picked up her hands, rubbing them with his thumbs.

"Good for you Margaret." He said gently.

Margaret's heart was pounding as Hawkeye knelt in front of her. She just wanted him to leave; she couldn't let him see her cry. He would have no respect for her if she did; she was convinced of it.

Margaret desperately wanted to close her eyes but her gaze was locked onto his face. He leaned forward and took her head in his hands, gently kissing her forehead. Now she was able to shut her eyes. He released her head and a few seconds later Margaret heard the door to her tent open and shut. Margaret kept her eyes tightly closed for almost another ten minutes and then she felt the tears coming.

What on earth was that? She asked herself. Captain Pierce always made a point of fighting and arguing with her. Did he actually kiss me? Margaret opened her eyes and angrily wiped away the tears streaming down her cheeks. What is wrong with me? Margaret was certainly not used to crying. She couldn't even remember the last time she had cried. Certainly it was long before she had been a part of the army.

Margaret leaned back onto her cot not bothering to undress; she was exhausted.

Hawkeye slowly walked out of Margaret's tent. He wished she had been willing to talk, he knew she was still upset about the dog. He concluded that it was his own fault that she would not talk; he had really embarrassed her in post-op. He smiled in remembrance of the young man. The Washington's had been a part of Crabapple Cove almost as long as the Pierce family. While Hawkeye had been working at a hospital in Boston he operated on their youngest daughter, Emily, who was born with a lopsided heart. Hawkeye had fallen in love with the little girl's sunny disposition and bright smile. She was an angel whose only problem was that her heart was too big; Hawkeye had often joked that she was the love of his life.

Hawkeye walked into the swamp and collapsed onto his cot. BJ, who was lying on his cot across the room, looked up in surprise.

"Where have you been?" he asked curiously.

"I was trying to talk to Hot Lips." Hawkeye replied lightly as he stood up and poured himself a drink.

"You did not have any luck did you?" BJ asked, slightly amused. Hawkeye only snorted as he finished his martini.

The next morning Margaret sleepily walked into the mess tent to receive a tray of "food". Only a few moments after she had seated herself Hawkeye and BJ entered and was followed by Frank. Margaret watched with a detached interest as the three men sat at a table and was soon joined by Colonel Potter. Klinger walked in, dressed in a silver evening gown, and to Margaret's surprise he poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down across from her. Margaret's eyes flicked over his attire in amusement and she smiled.

"Very becoming," she muttered.

Klinger's face brightened and he stood up to model the gown. "Do you really like it? I just finished it last night; my red one was beginning to look outdated."

Margaret laughed; she wasn't sure why Klinger had decided to sit across from her but she was glad he did. She needed cheering up.

"Klinger you are crazy." She stated as she shook her head and cautiously sipped her coffee. He smiled hopefully but Margaret continued.

"Your red gown looked just fine." Klinger pouted and Margaret stood up to throw away her untouched food; she really did not feel like eating.

As she scrapped off her tray Klinger walked up behind her. "You don't think it looks too old fashioned?" Margaret rolled her eyes maybe he really was crazy.

She shrugged. "Well maybe a little, but all you have to do is shorten the sleeves a bit and maybe add a few darts to the bodice and then…"

"Margaret," Frank's whining voice interrupted. "How can you speak to this low-life scum?" Margaret frowned and glanced at Klinger who was turning red with furry.

"I don't know Frank," she responded stoically. "I'm talking to you aren't I?"

Potter's muffled laughter caused Margaret to blush slightly. However, the look on Frank's face was priceless and Margaret was greedy for more. She slipped her arm through Klinger's and led him outside.

"Why don't I help you with that gown?" Klinger accepted and began droning on about several gowns he would like to alter, as Hawkeye's roaring laughter echoed after them.