Many of you were waiting for this one...

Hawkeye stormed out of the mess tent frothing as catcalls and applause echoed behind him. Deciding the Swamp was no place to throw a tantrum (it always looked like a tornado blew through anyway), he stomped off toward the edge of camp.

"How dare she!" he ranted to no one. "Slab of liver! Electric lips! She's one to talk." He stared at the tree in front of him for a moment before laying a hand on his head. "Oh boy, I've gone cuckoo. I'm talking to a spruce." He turned and paced a few steps before whirling around and heading back for the tree. "You know, you're a really good listener. You don't mind if I bend your bark for a minute do you? I didn't think so." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and sighed.

"You know, these past few weeks have been great. The impending divorce has really changed her attitude toward life…and toward men. I mean she's always been feisty, I don't think even MacArthur would argue that. But something about her lately just…now don't tell her I told you this." He paused. "Your leaves are sealed…good.

"The thing is…my feelings for the Major aren't so minor. I think Benjamin Franklin Pierce is having what they call a 'grown up' experience. I mean sure she's bossy, but she's the head nurse. She's confident, but I'm not really a fan of flimsy floosies anyway." He chuckled to himself as he leaned against the trunk and looked up. "You don't mind, do you?

"At first I thought it was just a residual thing from our time in that hut, but ever since then we've been…I'm not even sure there's a word for what we've been. Friends, sure, but more, too. Oh not lovers – though let me tell you, her body? To die for. Believe me, I've been pretty damn close to it a few times." Hawkeye shoved himself away from the tree and took up his pacing again.

"She's just so damn frustrating sometimes! Like tonight. I thought with the arrival of Inga I could take my mind off of Margaret and prove to myself that my attraction to her was just ephemeral. But you know what? She was right. In the past, and especially lately, women have been a pleasant, entertaining way to pass the time. But Inga is different. She's assertive, proud, and extremely intelligent. She gives me a run for my money." He paused and put his hand in his hands. "I guess I did a worse job of forgetting about Margaret than I thought. In my haste to find someone to distract me, I stumbled into her Swedish copy."

He stopped pacing and looked back toward camp. There were people milling around, but most of them were still gathered in the mess tent. Even at this distance, through the dark and the netting, he could spot Margaret at their usual table. She was laughing, if her posture was any indication, and every now and then someone would pass by and pat her on the shoulder. Hawkeye scowled into the darkness and lashed out, kicking the nearest object. Unfortunately for his foot, it was the tree he'd been rambling at.

"Ow!" He hopped on his left foot and shook his right loosely. "Sorry about that. You listen to my ramblings and the way I repay you is with violence. Good thing I'm not a tree surgeon." He guffawed at his own lame joke for a second before sighing. "I've got a lot of apologizing to do, I guess. Better get started." He set his jaw and began walking back toward the camp and his big helping of humble pie.

The next evening, Margaret left the mess tent still accepting congratulations over her dressing down of Hawkeye the night before. Most of her nurses had thanked her in passing, but Margaret hadn't really done it for them. Hawkeye was a known aficionado of women; he was polite and very much a gentleman with the fairer sex, but that was the key word: sex. She knew how desperate and lonely a war could make a person, and everyone dealt with that a different way. But the ineffable Captain Pierce needed to brought down a peg or two.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized she'd been right all those weeks ago. He hid his true self behind the alcohol and the nurses and the wisecracks. Hawkeye Pierce could survive anything as long as he had those three things, but underneath it all Benjamin was as scared as the rest of them. But it seemed, despite her best efforts, it was that man under the mask she'd developed feelings for. And – as long as she was being truthful to herself – the way he threw himself at the visiting doctor was more than a little unnerving.

As she walked toward her bunk, she saw Inga emerge from the VIP tent. The other woman gave her a friendly smile, and Margaret felt compelled to wave and smile back. But as she watched her walk toward the Swamp, then enter as if invited, Margaret felt the smile fading from her face. Before anyone could see her, she darted into her tent and took deep breaths.

"This is ridiculous. It's not as if you and he are together!" She sighed and sat heavily on her bed. "Oh for heaven's sake, now I'm talking to my tent."

If she was honest, letting out her frustration at Hawkeye was a little cathartic. She'd been dealing with a jumble of confusing emotions regarding him for several weeks now and it felt good to let them out, even if it was in anger. And while she had definitely wanted to call him on his behavior, she had to admit it hadn't been the only reason she felt upset over it.

In the distance, she heard a tent door slamming, and she couldn't resist peeking outside. Inga was stalking back toward the VIP tent, a scowl etched firmly onto her face. Back in the Swamp, Margaret could see Hawkeye tossing things about in a fit. No doubt the famous Pierce ego had reared its ugly head again, but as she watched her friend struggle she genuinely felt sorry for him. It's not as if he could help it really; he was a product of his upbringing. And while women were becoming more independent, especially since the last World War, it was true that many older men still viewed them as "the weaker sex." It was probably a testament to his character that he had as much professional respect as he did.

Then again, the way Pierce spoke of his father – his sole parent since he was a boy – Margaret wondered if his attitude wasn't instilled by the elder Pierce. Still, she glared and pulled her door closed. It served him right to be not only rejected by a woman, but a woman who was his professional equal.

"Enough, Margaret," she chastised herself for spending too much time thinking about him. Getting her book, she paused only momentarily to look at the photo on her desk. She didn't remember her wedding picture being broken, but then again she had been rather drunk that night. So it was no surprise when Hawkeye showed up on her doorstep with a sheepish grin and a wrapped package. He didn't stay - citing some "company sock wash" outing – but when she opened the gift she found a framed photo of her and the doctors sitting around one of the tables in the mess tent.

She didn't know who was behind the camera, but whoever it was had captured a rare moment of joviality among the senior officers. They were all smiling or – in the case of her and Hawkeye – laughing joyfully at something that had just occurred. Even Charles was smiling, his posture and expression open and honest as he joined his comrades in laughter. Potter was grinning like a fool and it appeared as if BJ had just taken a bite and was trying to contain his ear to ear smile.

But the section she adored the most was the other side of the table. She and Hawkeye were alight with laughter, and she was leaning against him slightly for support as his bright eyes danced with merriment. As she thought back, she couldn't remember exactly what had happened, but she remembered feeling free and easy for the first time in months as they relaxed and just enjoyed each other's company.

Realizing she wasn't getting anywhere in her book tonight, Margaret just changed into her nightclothes and lay down to sleep. Unsurprisingly, her dreams were pleasant and filled with a blue eyed surgeon.

The next morning, Margaret heard the camp gossip mill at it again. The word about Pierce's second strikeout with the Swedish doctor was floating around. He looked miserable as he sat at the breakfast table with BJ, and if she hadn't promised her nurses she'd eat breakfast with them she knew she would be over there trying to cheer him up. He'd had a wake-up call – mostly thanks to her – and it seemed like he was genuinely trying to change. As she sat down next to Bigelow, Hawkeye stood up and left the mess tent. She watched him go for a moment before turning her attention back to her nurses.

Wounded in the compound ruined the end of a nearly perfect day in Korea. Even Klinger had been on top of his work today, and finished every report early. Margaret folded the last of her laundry as the choppers poured in. She caught a brief glimpse of Hawkeye rushing from the VIP tent with Dr. Halverson close behind him. They looked annoyed, but not with each other.

"Figures," he grumbled as she knelt next to a chest wound with him. "The minute I actually start getting anywhere, the war interrupts." He was gone in a flash, but Margaret could guess what he'd been griping about.

OR went as smoothly as the day had gone – especially with an extra doctor to help out – so it was no surprise when they finished in almost record time. Potter congratulated them all and offered to buy a round of drinks in the mess tent, but no one was awake enough to join him. Inga retreated to her tent to pack and get a few hours' sleep before her jeep left in the morning, and Hawkeye dragged himself back to the Swamp in a gloomy daze.

"Poor guy," BJ commented as he and Margaret cleaned up the scrub room the next day. She tossed the last of the towels into the autoclave and hummed a non-committal response. "Just when Hawkeye finally put his ego aside and really started to open up to her, she has to go. It's a shame." Another grunt from Margaret was all he received, so he turned around from his cleaning to look at her.

"Everything alright, Margaret?"

"Hmm?" her head snapped around, "Oh yes, Captain, everything is fine." BJ stared at her a moment longer then returned to his cleaning.

"You know," he said offhandedly, "you really got him thinking with your rant the other day."

"Well, it was about time someone deflated that big head of his," she retorted sharply.

BJ chuckled and held his hands up defensively. "I'm not saying he didn't deserve it. I just think it's funny how any of us can tell him till we're blue in the face, but it's you he listens to."

Her shoulders tensed and though her back was to him, he could imagine the hard expression on her face.

"Perhaps he's finally got it through his head that I'm a superior officer." She was all "Major Houlihan" now and BJ sighed.

"Look, Margaret, I didn't mean to make you upset."

"Upset?" her voice raised an octave. "Why would I be upset that Pierce is finally down here with the rest of us? He needed a dose of reality and I gave it to him." BJ knew he wouldn't get anything more out of her when she was like this, so he just tossed his wash rag into the laundry and stretched.

"Well, we're all done here. I hear we got a movie starting up in an hour. Casablanca." Her face softened at the news and he laid a hand on her shoulder. "Why don't you go grab a shower, I'll grab Hawkeye, and we can all go see it?" She almost refused out of instinct, but something inside of her made her reconsider.

"Sounds good, BJ." He squeezed her shoulder and darted out the door before she could change her mind.

An hour later, she walked into the mess tent-turned-movie theater and looked around. BJ was sitting in their usual row on the right hand side, but he was alone. She sat next to him and raised an eyebrow in question.

"He said he had some paperwork to finish in post-op and that he'd catch it the next time." Even through BJ, she could tell that Hawkeye had been lying, and she didn't have to be a genius to figure out why. As the reel started she nodded and dashed outside, determined to get Hawkeye out of his funk.

She found him just where BJ said he would be – in post op reading a book. He looked up as she knelt by his chair.

"Didn't you know the movie just went on in the mess tent?" She tried to convey through her tone just how sorry she was about the whole situation.

"Yeah, Casablanca," he replied flatly.

"With Humphrey Bogart," she smiled.

"And Ingrid Bergman," he added pointedly. "I don't think I'm strong enough to hear a Swedish accent for a while."

She felt bad for him, and reached out to lay her hand on his arm. "It was kind of rough for you, wasn't it?"

He closed his book and looked away from her. "'Of all the gin joints in all the world she had to walk into mine,'" he quoted.

She squeezed his arm in sympathy. "Come on, see the movie," she coaxed; it didn't do him any good to sit and wallow.

But he just shook his head and gave her a half-hearted smile. "No, I'm alright." He opened his book again but she tugged on his arm almost pleadingly.

"I'll buy you popcorn."

He looked at her for a long minute then smiled. Closing his book, he stood up and draped an arm over her shoulders.

"You're going to pull me through this in spite of myself, aren't you?" She slipped her arm around his waist as he pulled her against him affectionately. He was half-surprised she allowed it in full view of the wounded and one of her nurses, but the smile on her face heartened him.

"Why not?" she returned happily, glad that he seemed to be getting back to his old self – well, his new old self. When he adopted an accent and rattled off yet another quote, she knew things would be back to normal in no time.

Next up: "Hot Lips is Back in Town"