"Yes."

"Yes?"

"I…yes."

Why was she smiling? Why was the smile so giddy and shaky? She was…happy? Well, it was an interesting concept, if not a little odd.

But, as he stood up and met her gaze, she knew she was happy. Why else would her smile be growing? She ignored her shaking frame and the tears collecting in her eyes and asked, "Hawkeye, are you sure?"

Hawkeye nodded, a half-smile on his face as his hands found their way snug around her waist. Her breath left her in one short gasp. His lips were close enough that she could move forward just an inch and meet them. Under his breath, his eyes still on hers, he mumbled, "Thank you."

Sliding her hands up to the back of his head, she crashed his lips against hers.

The kiss immediately deepened, this time stealing breath from both of them.

Margaret fought to keep the smile away from her lips as her revelation came crashing down around her, like shells she couldn't whose meaning and intentions she couldn't quite decipher.

I love him.

She was in love with him. It was official; she was madly, passionately and deeply in love with Hawkeye. She wanted to kiss him, to hold him, to lay with him at night and wake up in his arms the next morning.

He was irritating. Annoying. Charming. Humorous. Handsome. Caring. Overbearing. Loveable. Passionate. Argumentative. Warm.

But he was offering to be kind. She was sure of it. He was offering because they were friends. He was offering because he cared about her. Was it right to accept, when she could be trapping him into a marriage that was a bit more real than he knew?

As his hands raised to her upper back, she closed her lips around his once more. She had to lean up against the walls as he kissed her, passion growing beyond what she knew.

I don't care. He's mine.

Her hands submersed themselves in his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss.

"Attention, all personnel! Incoming wounded in the compound, they're coming in fast!"

I hate this war.

Like comfort ripped from early-morning awakenings, his lips were torn from hers, leaving them cold and alone. It took her a moment to open her eyes.

"Margaret," he began, with urgency in his voice at the wounded but the patience to speak with her. "I want you to know that I'm going to show you how Donald should've treated you."

Attempting to hide the sheepish but genuine smile, she gave him a small but defined kiss. "You already have."

#

Potter walked into his office, poured himself a drink, and collapsed into his chair. Sixteen hours of operating. Too much. All he wanted to do now was sit, relax, drink his Scotch, then go to bed for some solid, unbroken twelve hours of sleep. Was that too much to ask for? No, and he was going to get it if it was–

"Uh, sir?" Klinger pushed the door open and announced in a tired but understanding voice, "There's a General Hunter to see you."

Of course there was.

Potter sat up, took his feet off the desk, and sucked in a deep breath. "Send him in."

Klinger nodded and opened the door wider, motioning the General to walk in.

Potter stood up, but even that wouldn't help him much. General Hunter stood at a whopping 6 foot 7 inches, a brick tower of a man with a build to match. He had auburn hair that flashed brighter than the sky in June, and so much brass on his uniform Potter was thinking about borrowing sunglasses. He looked to be in his early-thirties, unusual for a General.

"Well, what brings you to the 4077h?" Potter began cordially, extending his hand out to Hunter. He met the handshake with a firm grip and shining smile.

"Colonel, I'm here to see a lady of mine, fiancée, actually." Placing his hands on his hips he continued, "A Major Margaret Houlihan?"

Margaret?

Potter ran through the reels of his memory. No, no, he didn't remember anything about Margaret being engaged, and she would've told the camp something about it, right? Well, he supposed it was possible. After all, she met Donald over a trip in Tokyo. Not like that turned out great...

After a moment's recovery, Potter nodded. "Well, congratulations! Treat her right, she's family to all of us here, and we've got three doctors here who aren't afraid to defend her need be." He had to stop the smile from invading his threatening countenance. He knew Hawkeye, BJ and Charles really would defend the Major anytime, anywhere, and for any reason.

While Hunter looked taken aback from a moment, he gained the smile back within seconds. "I'll make sure they have no reason to come to her aid. May I go see her?"

"Sure, why not. She may have retired for seem well-deserved shut-eye, so you're welcome to stay in the VIP tent." What time was it, anyway? Being in surgery for hours could really play with your sense of time. A quick glance at the clock told the CO that is was nearing midnight. "Glad to have met you, let me know if there's anything I can do for you."

"Thanks, Colonel. By the way, you can call me Brandon."

Potter took a double-take. Hadn't he heard that name before? Sometime in OR? He remembered the name not being used in pleasant context, in the voice of someone muttering the name. He decided to keep his eyes on the boy. "Well, thanks for coming in, Brandon."

Brandon nodded and saluted Colonel Potter, who returned it.

He walked out and spotted Margaret immediately.

#

"Pierce, not again," Margaret complained to the chief surgeon sitting next to her. Both sat over a mug of not-so-steaming coffee in the Mess tent, nightfall hanging over them like a warm blanket.

Hawkeye struggled not to laugh, despite his exhaustion. "Come on, one last time."

"No."

"Margaret, if you won't do it for your fiancé, who will you do it for?"

Sigh. He really wasn't going to give up, was he? She finally turned to face him, eliciting a glowing look on his face. "ONE, hear me, ONE last time."

Hawkeye raised his hands up in surrender and acceptence. "That's all I ask for. Ready?"

"Ready."

"She or he?"

"He."

"Alive or dead?"

"Alive."

"Is he an actor?"

"Yes."

"Cary Grant."

Margaret's jaw unhinged. How did he do that?" You're cheating. I don't know how, but you are." She crossed her arms over her chest in defiant confidence, despite Hawkeye laughing widely beside her.

"Margaret, I know you! You love Cary Grant, it was easy!" He was still laughing through his sentence, especially at the way her lips twitched as she tried not to grin.

"You're irritating, you know that?" She meant to sound mad and annoyed, but the moment she opened her mouth, a smile shone through. The things he could do to her.

The soft glances the two were giving each other were too soon interrupted by Brandon opening the doors and announcing, "Now, there's a sight, my dear fiancée." He looked Margaret up and down approvingly. Oh, he was so unaware of how close Hawkeye was to shattering his mug with his bare hand.

Margaret didn't exactly know how to respond. Obviously, Brandon was a nice guy and meant well, but her interest in him was below the temperature in Antarctica. "Brandon," she greeted in a slow, uneasy tone.

Brandon, blissfully unaware of Hawkeye's connection to the Major, walked over to his 'fiancée'. "Hey, sweetheart." Before Hawkeye could do anything, like, oh, I don't know, punch him, Brandon pressed his lips to Margaret's in what was probably too deep for any public eye.

"Ok, time to break it up." Hawkeye tore Brandon of Margaret with a hard hand. "Listen, kid, you can't just walk in here and–"

Hawkeye would've gotten farther if it weren't for Brandon's fist colliding with his jaw.