"Hawkeye, I'll be fine." She forced the last word so hard that it sounded almost like she was mad at him. If anything, she was far from it. She was touched at the way he was worrying about her, especially how he kept pacing back and forth over her leaving. "It's a weekend. One weekend. I think I'll survive without the infamous Captain Pierce."

He smiled in a way only he could. "I wouldn't try it, only few have survived."

She was about to roll her eyes, but stopped at the warmth of his hand on her shoulder. "Are you sure you don't want me to ask Potter if I can go?"

This was the fifteenth time he'd asked.

Today.

She was only going to be gone for one weekend to see her father in Tokyo. After a few nights of leaning on Hawkeye's shoulder, she'd decided to deal with the consequences of her pregnancy like the woman she was. She got everything out and spent a whole night talking to Hawkeye, pouring everything out about Scully and how terrible she felt that the last thing they had done was fight. And afterwards, she felt better. She wasn't completely healed, but she felt much better.

Her first step was seeing her father. It was a chance for her to explain the whole situation in person, which would either help or hurt her chances of getting a semi-good reaction. Hawkeye, however, was not taking her R&R plans so well. "What do I have to do to convince you that I can go away for a weekend without my personal doctor?" It was true, Hawkeye had given her a physical last week.

Hawkeye loaded her bag onto the jeep, glancing around the compound before leaning so close to her any movement forward would sent her lips into his. "I have a few ideas…"

She hit him on the shoulder. "Don't you ever quit?"

His eyes took on a sincere, sweet look that nearly sent Margaret's composure running for cover. "I'm serious, alright? None of us exactly know Tokyo like the Officer's Club, and I'm worried about you. You haven't been yourself the past week, and as your doctor I have–"

With a roll of her eyes, heart thumping in her throat and a possibly too-brave mindset, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Merely to get him to stop talking. Really, only to stop him. Really. Promise.

It was much fuller, deeper, and longer than she planned, but after a few extra moments she managed to pull herself back. Opening her eyes to find him looking quite star-struck, her breathe found this the perfect opportunity to leave. "I…well, I should be going."

Hawkeye was struck silent. Margaret…kissed him? Margaret kissed him. Why? Not that he was complaining, but they hadn't kissed in while, since the hut incident. "Uh, yeah. Will you call me when you get there?"

She hopped into the jeep and nodded. He's so worried about me…it's sweet, really. "Yes, as soon as I get to the hotel, and I won't talk to any strangers," she said in a mocking tone.

"Very funny. I'll see you when you get back, alright?" He leaned over the door and gave her two quick kisses on her cheek. "Two, one for mom and one for junior."

I'm going to fall in love with him if he keeps saying things like that…

Wait, WHAT?

No. She was not going to fall in love with him. That was absurd. They'd decided that wasn't going to happen. No. No. "Uh, yeah," she stuttered out. Her driver revved up the engine, and she used the opportunity to turn away from Hawkeye. "You know where to go?"

The driver nodded without care or knowledge for Margaret's revelation/nightmare and put his boot the rusty pedal. The tires gripped the Korean dirt and took Margaret away, and left Hawkeye in a cloud of dust without a goodbye.

#

This time, Margaret's bed felt like a waterbed.

It was a mattress. A real, genuine, feather-filled mattress. It wasn't a burlap sack stretched on two metal bars. It was a bed.

Just as she was comfy in with several plush blankets wrapped around her from her shoulders to her toes, her mental reminder that she was supposed to call Hawkeye hit her like a train.

She was out of the bed like a shot.

And…then she sat back down.

The whole plane ride she had gone back and forth on her new and strange dilemma. There wasn't a shadow of a doubt that she cared very deeply for the chief surgeon. But did she love him?

I shouldn't. She ordered herself not stop having such frivolous and ridiculous thoughts like she was a corporal who was head-over-heels in love with a Colonel. Everything, and she meant everything, said she shouldn't be in love with him. He wasn't her type. Oh, and she was PREGNANT.

Just thinking about the pregnancy sent a ripple of emotion (and a headache) passing over her. Let's face it. She stood up and began to pace, her steps growing angrier, harder, and more desperate for a solution. Even if I do love him, he won't love me. I'm pregnant with another man's child, for goodness sakes! We have no future. I'm basically stuck being single forever until some sap decides to pull me out of my gutter-apartment and marry me. Was this the end? Was this really how it was going to be?

She decided to get her mind off it. That was the only logical choice, if she ignored it, she could pretend the issue wasn't even there. She put a gentle hand over her stomach and smiled. "What do you say to getting a little unpacking done, huh?" She smiled to herself. Talking to her unborn child was…nice. A little friend she hadn't even met yet.

She went over to her bag and unzipped it, revealing various clothes, feminine products, miscellaneous items that she would probably not need.

There was one item she found that she definitely did not pack. With a curious and almost excited smile she pulled out a once-folded, loose-leaf paper.

Dear Margaret,

Yes, it's Hawkeye. I slipped this into your bag sometime between when I asked you to inventory supplies with me and when you left. I don't know how to say these types of things in person, so I guess this is the next best option.

I know you're scared. You haven't cried in front of me in days, since the night Scully passed. Margaret, you may not know this, but I care about you. A lot. No matter what you're feeling, I'm going to be here for you. Now, and when you leave.

As long as you'll have me,

Hawkeye Pierce.

She didn't realize until after reading it how good it felt to have someone care about her like that.

#

"Why hasn't she called?" Hawkeye exploded with a wild kick to the middle post of the Swamp.

BJ and Charles merely smirked at each other before throwing a mildly amused glance at Hawkeye. "What if she didn't make it there?" Hawkeye's face fell like a five hundred-pound weight. His frustration melted away into fear and panic as he collapsed onto his cot. "What if her plane never took off? What if she's lost? What if she never even got to the airport, and she has no way of getting help?"

BJ watched with a concoction of amusement and concern. His best friend's hands shook as the poured a martini, barely noticing that it had nearly nothing in the glass. "Hawk, are you listening to yourself?"

His head shot up at his friend. "Why, do I need a hearing test?"

"I'm afraid so," Charles quipped. He sipped his wine and looked to Pierce with a philosophical edge that made Hawkeye somewhat nervous. "Pierce, I don't believe I've never seen you quite this worried. Are your feelings for the Major perhaps deeper than you know?"

Hawkeye laughed. He had to, or else he would let on that he possibly-maybe-sort-of-kinda liked Margaret as more than a friend. Maybe even more than more-than-a-friend. "Are you crazy?" Hawkeye forced. "Margaret and I are friends. We have nothing in common. She's one of my best friends, I could never feel anything for her beyond friendship. Never. Not in a million wars. No."

"Well, as long as you're sure," BJ said with a smile. "Hawk, there's no shame with being in love."

"In love? Beej, I am not...what are you doing?" Hawkeye could only watch as BJ stood up, walked over to him, picked up a folded picture from the side of his cot, and dropped it into his hands. "BJ, what's your point? It's a picture!"

BJ pointed, looking a bit too much like Sidney for Hawkeye's taste. "Look, Hawkeye. Look at the picture."

BJ was kidding, wasn't he? What could a picture prove? Hawkeye unfolded the square paper and looked at it. And…nothing. What was BJ's point? "I don't get it. It's a picture of me and Margaret. What's this supposed to prove?"

The picture wasn't anything special in most people's eyes. It was a snapshot of Margaret leaning against the doorframe of the O-Club on some late Tuesday night, Hawkeye next to her. She had on a soft smile, looking up at the chief surgeon in amusement as he gave her a half-smile, leaning close enough to almost kiss her. Hawkeye couldn't even remember who took the picture.

Charles decided to take the ball, since his bunkmate was obviously still clueless. "Pierce, for the past week you have kept that picture in your jacket. Which, by the way, you have worn to accompany Margaret to the Mess Tent, the Officer's Club, Rosie's, and her tent. You have looked at that picture every night before you go to sleep, and every time you got back from seeing Margaret you looked at it." He paused, letting his revelation sink in. "That, Pierce, is what BJ is trying to prove."

Hawkeye stared right back at his best friends. With a sigh, he tucked the picture into his jacket. "I'm in love with Margaret."