A/N: ALMOST OVER! This is going to contain quite the time-skip, then just another chapter or two. I'm really not that happy with how this came to, honestly, but I hope someone enjoyed it. My next HM fanfic will hopefully be better, please forgive me for this crazy thing XD. THANKS!

The war hurt, even from a distance.

Margaret knew that.

From here, from the States, she knew how terrible the war was. She read statistics, she read figures, she listened to the radio, she read the newspaper, she knew what was happening beyond the 4077th in Korea, and that gave a vile rise in her throat. Every time she heard of something happening in Korea, she thought of Hawkeye, whose chances of being 'ok' seemed slimmer and slimmer by the minute.

When she was there, at M*A*S*H, sitting with her friends in the O-Club, she was closer to the danger than she knew. The North Koreans could practically invade at any moment, shells and gunfire could pour on them, and they would be unprepared.

But they hardly cared. They drank, laughed, loved, ignoring the horror and fear. She supposed that was how they got by.

Now, with someone she loved, with several people she loved, in that same terror, she could see how close to death and destruction they really were. It was like being right in front of a volcano. Too close and you don't know how much danger you're in, while people farther back yell at you to run because they can see the tip of the volcano, the edge of destruction.

She missed him.

The sad, shameful thing was, she missed him more than she worried about him. She missed his smile, his voice, his eyes, the way he held her, his touch, his jokes, everything that she loved and everything that bugged her about him. She wanted it all.

A cry, a wailing, sounded from upstairs.

"Mommy's coming."

She put down her novel, the one she had sat down to read over three hours ago, and only got through four pages, and pushed herself off the couch.

She walked into the nursery, and there, lay her little Benjamin, a little over a year old. His blonde hair framed his face, she had already gotten him two haircuts, his hair grew faster than she knew a baby's hair could grow.

"Shush, Ben, Mommy's here." Her voice, soft and quiet, surprised the tougher side of her. She scooped up her tiny baby in her arms, supported his head like Daniel had reminded her so often in the beginning, and his crying ceased like the end of a piece of piano music. Not abrupt, but not so slow it faded, but calmly and sweetly.

Ben cooed up at her, waving his chubby arms up towards her face and smiling. She smiled as he grabbed at her hair. "Your daddy misses you." She tried to talk to her son about Hawkeye every day, even if he had no idea who she spoke of, she needed to know she was doing something right. "Daddy said he can't wait to meet you."

"Mama." The word, no longer new, still fluttered her heart.

"That's right. Can you say 'dada?'" Hope lingered on her lips. If Ben could say dad, that meant she instilled the name enough that he knew to say it.

"Da…aah…" It appeared like her child made a real effort to say the word his mother requested, his lips even pouted after failing.

Smiling, Margaret rocked her child back and forth in a slow melody. "Don't worry about it."

Just as she sat down in the rocking chair (a gift from Mrs. Parker, a sweet librarian who had babysat Hawkeye years prior, and took an immediate liking to Margaret), the doorbell chimed and smashed the peace of her evening. "Guess Mommy has to get up now, huh?" Ben mirrored her disgusted expression as she lay him back down on the sky-striped sheets.

She walked out the nursery and down the hall, various tasks and to-dos bombarding her mind. She had to do the dishes, reply to Hawkeye's letter, finish that novel, what was that last thing? Something to do with work…no, it was about the garden.

By the time she opened the door, the thought dissolved, and she couldn't have cared less as the Western Union boy stared her down like death.

"Wh-what is it?" Her throat shut. She grabbed the doorway to force her lungs open. Her mind fled to every terrible outcome one could conceive. He's dead. He was killed at an aid station. BJ couldn't tell me over the phone. He's gone. Dead.

Ignoring her question, the young man asked, "Are you Margaret Houlihan?"

Her breath hitched and labored as her vision went in and out, unsure of how it wanted to stand. "Yes, just tell me."

"Here ya go." He handed her the telegram.

Margaret,

I'm sorry to tell you this. We didn't want you to find out from the Army. Hawkeye is in a mental hospital with Sidney Freedman. We don't know what's wrong yet. Call when you get this. We all love you.

Colonel Sherman T. Potter

No. No, no, no! She didn't want to believe it. She wanted to lie to herself. She wanted it to be a cruel, sick, terrible joke. What happened? Did he just snap, or was this building while she had known him? Had she said something in her last letter? Was it something she did, said, or told him? She needed to see him. She needed to fix him. If she was in Korea, if she was there with him, she could fix him.

No, she couldn't. She was here, he was there, and she just had to hope that Sidney Freedman knew how to help the love of her life, because she couldn't anymore.

The moment the door shut, she broke down on the floor and sobbed like her little, innocent Ben.

#

Hawkeye stared up at the house. The shutters, exactly as Margaret described, reflected calm cerulean and specks of mud, assumingly from Ben playing.

Playing catch. Taking him to school. Teaching him to ride a bike. Giving him advice. He would do it all.

However, doubts plagued his mind constantly, sometimes so terribly all he wanted to do was run and never look back. Never face the kid, never become a father, and never have to look at the responsibility he couldn't handle.

Sidney had told him it would help. Sidney told him that it was a sensitivity thing, and once he held Ben, a good deal of his fears would seem like specks of dirt falling into the Grand Canyon.

Hawkeye sucked in a breath, his hand cradled the cool, metallic doorknob of his home, and paused. He looked out behind him. The temptation lingered before him; of driving off, not facing the responsibility, not facing his fears, and starting a new life. He could be comfortable, and he would never worry about raising a child who wasn't his own. No one would know him, no reputation followed him, nothing.

Then, he thought of Margaret.

The door slipped open, and, for the first time in years, he breathed in the scent of home.

"Daniel? I thought you weren't coming until–"

The clanking of a metal pan against the floor nearly made Hawkeye flinch.

Her hair dangled and curled around her shoulders, and though she wore plain, comfortable clothes, they hugged her figure and gave her a feminine glow she hardly needed. Tears melded and fought with mascara as she stared at him, unmoving and silent. Her breath hitched in her throat and she leaned her hand on the wall. "Ha-Hawk?"

He shut the door behind him, unaware of how star-struck he really was until his feet stumbled beneath him. For once, though he could hardly recall the last time, he didn't know what to say. He believed he could speak, if he could only think of the words, the best thing to say to the woman he had not seen in well over a year.

"You're…you're home?" She shook her head as the words left her lips. "The war is over…but you're…it's really over, right? You…"

He walked over to her as she stuttered and attempted to crudely mend her battered optimism, a small smile on his lips and tears in his eyes. "Missed me?"

Margaret lunged forward, grabbed him by the shirt and pulled her husband's lips against hers.

She nearly gasped through the kiss, but he held her fast against him, his hands traveling up to her hair. The alarming fact was that she felt the same; her hair, her lips, her tight grip against him, it all remained the same as when he had left, and he only kissed her again, as if thanking her for not changing.

Just before things hit a point neither could return from, Margaret pulled away, tears mixing with makeup and streaming down her face. "I love you."

He kissed her again, softly and gently. "I love you too."

"Hawk," She quietly laughed into his lips. "You have someone else who would like to meet you."

She could feel the tense defenses rise in him as his arms tightened around her waist. "Margaret, I don't know if I'm ready." Would he ever be ready? What if the baby looked like Scully? He couldn't handle that. He wouldn't be the father the kid deserved, or the husband Margaret always wanted. The husband she needed.

Her hands slipped into his, warm and familiar, in contrast to everything new and strange that had happened in the last few days. "Don't worry, you'll be fine, I promise."

No matter his objections, she dragged him up the stairs, a sick thunder in his stomach with each step. That child was Margaret's, and no matter what he did, Ben would always hold a tighter bond to Margaret than him.

Silence echoed through the hallways as she opened the door, careful not to make a sound in case her baby was asleep, only to find the almost-toddler awake, smiling, and sitting up in bed. Her two favorite people in the world were in the same room, with her, happy and healthy, and in that moment, she could want for nothing else in life. Nothing else would give her the satisfaction.

"Daddy, I think Ben has been waiting to meet you." Carefully, she lifted her son out of the crib, and turned to Hawkeye, eyes teary and star struck. She nearly asked him if he was alright, for he looked as though he had never seen such a small human before, and wondered what he was supposed to do with him. "Hawkeye," she whispered, snapping his attention back to her. He showed some dulled, muted response, and she took it and ran. "It's ok, we both love you."

Nodding, Hawkeye extended his arms, and Margaret handed Ben into his embrace.

Shamefully, she realized she held her breath as the room waited for the boy's response.

"Daa…da…" Ben smiled up at Hawkeye, waved his arms around, and repeated, "Dada!"

The last ounce of stubborn pride melted away, and Hawkeye let himself cry before the baby and his fiancée. "Has he ever done that before?"

Margaret shook her head. Tears streamed down her face, she raised a hand to her lips, covering the damp smile. "No, never, it's the first time."

Reaching over, she gave her husband a quick kiss on the cheek. "I love you."

He met her kiss, wrapped an arm around her waist, and mumbled into her hair, "I love you too."