A/N: Hey! So, just wanted to let anyone who cares know, after this story is over (whenever that's going to be) I'm uploading a new HM story, A Murder in Tokyo (I know, I know. This is what happens when I read Sherlock Holmes).

"Beej, that's all there was. We fought, she threatened to take the ring off, I wouldn't tell her what bothered me, and she broke it off."

The tone, the lack of emotion and embellishment on his friend's voice was what worried BJ, not the speech itself, which was concerning enough.

Something was not right here. For weeks, all Hawkeye had done was talk, think, breathe for Margaret. He got out of post-op and went to her tent. He woke up in the morning from dreams of her. He spoke of her in poetic words in his sleep.

The inflection of his voice, the way he gripped his Scotch, the angry glint his eyes, any man who had a death wish should have walked up to Hawkeye that night.

"Are you telling me that you're fine with it?" BJ forced the word so hard his teeth hurt. He was angry; of course he was. While he had to be waist-deep in the trenches of the war, pleading with every prayer he had in him to go home to his loving wife's arms, this fool was pretending he didn't care about his own fiancée!

Hawkeye turned, drops of sweat across his forehead, from what, BJ did not know. "I don't care." The words were followed by a harsh, burning swish of Scotch down his throat.

"Alright, come on." Grabbing his friend by the upper arms, he started to drag him from the bar. "You've had enough Novocain for one night."

Hawkeye would have slugged the man taking him away from his precious numbing material if it had been anyone else. "It's her fault, y'know." He struggled to keep his balance, the floor was bouncing up and down in a soft, curving wave.

Curving.

The word made him think of Margaret. The night before last she had been telling him how, with the baby bump, she no longer had a small, petite waist. He had told her that was ridiculous. To prove it, he had slipped his arm around her waist, gracing her neck with light kisses. "Alright," she had laughed. "I believe you. Now shut up and kiss me."

"It's my fault," Hawkeye murmured. "It's my own fault!"

They had hardly reached the Swamp when Hawkeye thrashed from BJ's grip. "It's my fault! I lost her, don't you get it?!"

"Why?"

Staring at his friend, Hawkeye bit back his bitterness for the moment. "What?"

"Why wouldn't you set a date?"

A few seconds passed, the two surgeons waiting for one to crack. Hawkeye couldn't tell BJ, could he? No. He would tell Margaret, that was the type of guy he was. He would tell Margaret everything, and that would only ruin what little chance he had left. "I didn't think I could stay, y'know, I didn't think I could commit."

"Liar."

BJ's boot cracked the small rocks on the dusty, concrete-hard Korean dirt as he took a step towards a shaking, quivering Hawkeye. "What was it?"

"You'd tell her."

"I won't."

Giving his best friend a classic, 'I don't believe that lie for one second' smirks, Hawkeye stepped back. "Oh, really? So, if I tell you exactly what's bothering me, you're telling me you won't run right to her so we can work this whole thing out?"

BJ shook his head. "Nope."

"Liar."

BJ, the challenger of Hawkeye's mountain of fear, lies and falsehoods, walked again towards him. "Hawk, are you going to let her be this stubborn? She's not hurting you, she's hurting herself and the kid. The kid needs a father, and you were going to be that–"

"Don't talk about the kid!"

The kid.

"It's the kid?" BJ stared straight into his friend's eyes, trying to pry the information out of him by harsh, murderous glares alone. "Are you backing out because she has a kid?"

Finally looking like his sober self, Hawkeye shook his head with a tilt. "I'm not that shallow, Beej."

"Then what is it?"

"I can't."

Again, with the avoidance, BJ had to shovel past the insecurities his friend had buried himself under. "What can't you do?"

Margaret walked right o BJ, ignoring the chief surgeon whose eyes were practically bulging at the sight of her. "BJ, your shift in post-op."

BJ nodded. "Great, and while I'm in there, I want you two to talk."

"No."

"No."

BJ shot hard glances between the two of them. If they weren't ready to talk together yet, he would have to work on them separately. "Fine. But you're only hurting yourselves, and the kid." He walked off, leaving the pair angry, alone, and separate.

"Goodnight," Margaret said, already marching to her tent when BJ had gone. The anger was ripe, and forgiveness was out of the question until he got down on his knees and begged forgiveness with a full apology. Knowing Hawkeye, she could be waiting until her child was in college.

"Margaret, wait." As per her expectation, he followed her steps and grabbed the tip of her fingers. She didn't pull back.

He had her attention, for the time being. What was he supposed to say? How could he make her take him back without tell her why he...couldn't?

"Yes?" She prodded him to go on, alerting him that her patience was withering.

She was right there. The only women he had ever really felt the love in fairy tales for. Carlye was the Fool's Gold of his life, everyone after had been cheap rock, and Margaret was his diamond. "Margaret, I still love you."

Her head shot up. While, in the back of her head, she knew that he still loved her, hearing it come from his lips was like hearing it for the first time. "Pierce, don't."

Their eyes locked, and in one swift move, they crash their lips against each other's.

She didn't pull away.

In the moment, she could only think of their farewell. She could not say goodbye to him, to the relationship, to his lips, without the most passionate kiss she could give him. If she was to lose him, she would give him a spectacular goodbye.

She kissed him harder, barely able to get close enough to him to quell the longing in her heart for him. His arms around her waist, soon pressing against her back, she wanted him. No other man had her heart.

And she could never take it back from him.

He pulled back, his breath heavy in his throat. "Margaret, I love you." Following his words, he kissed her lips several times, repeatedly and passionately.

"I love you too," she admitted under her breath, kissing him back.

Only in the instant the words left her lips did she realize what they were doing.

She was falling for him – again. If he could only just tell her why, they could work through it, and she could forgive him! If he wasn't so stubborn, so hard-headed, so...him! She loved him, that was the problem. She loved everything about him, even the things that drove her crazy.

"Hawkeye," she broke the kiss, no matter how loud her mind was screeching at her to kiss him again and never let him leave. "I can't do this. Just...tell me why. Why can't we get married?"

"You'll hate me," he replied in a soft, weary tone. His eyes searched her desperate, longing countenance for some sign of surrender. "I won't let that happen."

"I won't hate you. Did you..." she gulped, tears rising in her throat. "...cheat on me?"

"No."

By tone and voice alone, she knew he was telling the truth. If he had stayed loyal, what could he have done? "Then what is it?"

"I can't tell you."

Those words – those words! They were keeping him from her, whatever lie, wrongdoing, thought, whatever it was, it was keeping him away from her! It was building a wall, brick by brick, between them, and she was helpless!

She tore herself from his arms, not having to put an ounce of effort into the natural glare on her face. "Goodnight, Captain."

She walked to her tent in three short steps, slamming the door in his face.

Hawkeye stared at the door. "I won't let you hate me."

#

Choppers. The constant, steady water-whirl of blades slicing through the air like knives racketed through Margaret's ears. "The war," she muttered.

Margaret had a new love-hate relationship with the war that she didn't care much for. The war brought her here, which was bad. The war hurt so many people, which was really bad. Then the war gave her Hawkeye, which was really good. The war made her pregnant, which turned out to be really good. The war took away Scully, bad, but lead to something good. But, Hawkeye, who she met through the war, was breaking her heart, which was bad. It was the war's fault.

She got dressed in her usual quick, efficient manner, but her thoughts raced in a different dimension. The sobbing she had done the night before left tear stains in the morning, only reminding her of Hawkeye.

Hawkeye.

The name, she could hardly think of it without her heart having momentary attacks.

"ATTENTION, ALL PERSONNEL! WOUNDED IN THE COMPOUND, GRAB A PARTNER!"

Honestly, did the day have it out for her?

She ran out and went to the first patient she saw. "Kellye, plasma and get Charles."

"Margaret!"

She heard her name yelled across the compound, and, in the chaos, she did not discern whose voice was hollering. She ran to it, not giving the voice a second though.

"He's in bad shape, we needed to operate five minutes ago."

Margaret looked up, and Hawkeye's sapphire eyes, clear as a lake and sapphire as one, shot straight through her glance and into her heart. "You're right. Go prep, I'll meet you in a minute." It was not the time for their petty arguments, no matter the questions she had for him jumping around in her mind.

Nodding without a word, he ran off to pre-op.

Margaret looked down at the mangled boy, too awake for his own good. "Don't worry, you've got the best doctor."

He let out a whimper, his consciousness slipping in and out of his body. He gripped Margaret's hand and covered hers with blood, but she gripped back just as hard. "You'll be fine," she promised. The boy looked seventeen, he shouldn't have even been out of high school yet. "Corpsmen, bring this boy into OR!"

She gave the boy's hand one last squeeze, shuddering at his pulse; it was the weakest she had ever heard. She raced to pre-op, but Potter stopped her. "Hawk told me the situation, wash and get in there. No time for getting on scrubs."

She did as she was told, meeting Hawkeye in the room with the patient. He didn't have scrubs on either, just a hastily tied mask. Kellye put on her mask for her as she muttered to Hawkeye, "How's he doing?"

He shook his head, eyes bloodshot and jittery. "Not good. Suction."

She jumped in, grabbing an instrument and preforming an action before he even asked. Doctors and patients rolled in and out for hours as they operated in silence, albeit the occasional request for an instrument.

"Clamp, hold that bleeder."

"I've got it."

"Pressure?"

Kellye looked up to Hawkeye. "80 over 60, We're losing him."

Hawkeye swore under his breath. "Margaret, I'm going to try something. When I say, I want you to let go of that bleeder and hold that one instead, but keep your eye on that one." The idea was risky, she knew that, but with his pressure dropping by the second, they didn't have a choice.

"Alright."

He made a few quick motions. "Now!"

She let go, clamped the next, kept her eye on one, while his hands buzzed in every which way like a cartoon.

All of OR was silent as they worked.

"Pressure?"

Kellye paused.

They could see the smile beneath her mask. "100 over 60, pulse is rising."

Hawkeye let go of the breath that had been caught in his chest. "He'll make it."

"He will."

Margaret looked up, meeting his eyes. "Good work, Doctor. That was amazing." She had to give credit where credit was due, no matter their issues outside the operating room.

Hawkeye nodded. "You too. I think you would've made a pretty good doctor."

The compliment when straight to her heart, mind, and ego, all working together to battle her willpower to let her smile.

"Thank you, D-Doctor." She stuttered, the choice of titles weighing on her like bricks.

He smiled, but it held things she didn't like; he wanted her forgiveness. She couldn't forgive him, and that's what he wanted. He wanted her to forget about it and just go along with him and his secret, but she couldn't. She needed him, whatever that included, even if he wouldn't give it to her. And, until he did, she couldn't have him.

Ignoring Hawkeye's smile, she looked over her shoulder to Potter. "Are there anymore?"

Potter tore off his mask. "Nope, you two are free to go." He started walked towards the door, but Margaret stopped him.

"Sir?" She was practicing the fine art of avoiding Hawkeye's eyes at all costs, her back to him like a brick wall. "I was wondering if I could get a pass to Tokyo before I have to leave. Alone." Tempting as it was, she continued to shun Hawkeye, knowing how mad she was driving him.

If Margaret thought that her commanding officer was pretty blind to the situation, she was dead wrong. "Lover's spat?" He switched his glance between bewildered Margaret in front of him and emotionless Pierce a few paces behind. "Alright, might give you a chance to cool off."

"Thank you, sir." She followed him out, without a word, look, or farewell to Hawkeye. The door glided shut behind them, and Hawkeye was left, rejected at the sidelines.

Never before had it dawned on him how lost he was without her. Her indifference – that was what hurt. Let her be mad, angry, and upset with him, but he couldn't stand her not caring about him. If she no longer cared, if she was really over him within the day, then there was nothing more to do.