"Wake up. Come on, wake up, damn it!"

Hawkeye opened his eyes just in time to see the young boy frantically stash something in a tiny crevice between the cement floor and the wall. Hawkeye tried to sit up but his head was pounding painfully and felt like lead.

"Can you hear me?" the kid grabbed Hawkeye's head and shook it slightly. A moan slipped out between Hawkeye's lips and he nodded slightly.

"Good. You told me about that girl you were wondering about; whether or not she was in here. Well when you get out, go find her. Find her and give her the ring. Okay? Get it? Tell her it's from me." The boy's voice was completely panicked and Hawkeye couldn't tell what was going on. Everything was blurred and he couldn't focus his eyes on any one particular spot. Hawkeye managed to nod even though he hadn't a clue as to what the boy was talking about.

There was a rustling at the door and light flooded into the dank, dark room. Hawkeye closed his eyelids, masking his feverishly glazed eyes. He heard a few muffled curses, a low groan, and the sound of something scraping against the stone floors. But after a few moments everything was silent and Hawkeye fell back into a feverish sleep.

Daniel handed her a cup of coffee and Margaret accepted it gratefully. She had just woken up ten minutes before, lying in the middle of the living room floor. She had managed to get herself in a sitting position, although her head was pounding painfully. She had found Daniel unconscious, a few feet away from her, and she vaguely remembered their joint effort to forget the horrible evens of the past weeks with a bottle of whiskey.

"How did you end up on the floor?" Daniel asked with a whisper, his head aching horribly.

Margaret shook her head cautiously. "I have no idea."

She sipped cautiously from the mug as she leaned back on the couch where Daniel had sat her.

"Hey baby cakes, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Margaret stiffened as she heard Trapper's voice behind her. "No." she replied tersely.

"Daniel, can you help me out?" Daniel looked at the young man's face and realized he was only there to apologize so the old man cautiously made it to his feet and walked into the kitchen.

"So tell me Margaret," Trapper moved around to the front of the couch and sat down beside her. "What can someone say to apologize when they've acted like a complete jackass and been utterly cruel?"

"You could tell the victim that the jackass is dying, it might bring their spirits up a bit." Margaret shot Trapper a stony glare and he chuckled.

"You know it's quite convenient having you on the couch like this." He slipped an arm around her shoulders and grinned.

"Get away from me," she growled.

"No, I don't think I—OW!" Trapper scooted away from her, clutching his side where Margaret had implanted her elbow. "Jesus, Margaret, was that necessary?"

She took another sip of her coffee, and turned her head to avoid looking at him. "Absolutely."

Trapper sighed and persistently slid his arm around her shoulders again. "I guess I had it coming." To his surprise Margaret didn't pull away, she just looked up at him with a hurt expression.

"Do have any idea the hell I've been through?" she asked menacingly. "How hard it's been going to sleep at night, knowing that he died trying to help me? He was my best friend, Trapper."

Trapper shook his head and pulled her closer. "Mine too, Hot Lips."

"Call me that again and you're just asking for a broken rib."

"Then stop calling me Trapper." He grinned and squeezed her shoulder's bringing a loud yelp from Margaret. "What did I do?" he asked blankly.

"Don't touch my back," she seethed her voice barely above a whisper. At first Trapper thought it was from anger but he realized she was trying to fight her way through the pain.

"Sorry," he apologized quickly, moving his hand upward, away from her back.

"So, John, tell me, where's your wife?" Margaret asked cynically, wanting to make the man feel uncomfortable.

"Louise died last year in a car crash," he replied evenly. "Along with my two girls."

Margaret felt her face flush brightly; she hadn't meant to make him that uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry," she stammered after a moment.

"It wasn't your fault."

At this point Daniel walked back in and looked in surprise at Trapper's arm entwined around Margaret's shoulders. "Are you asking for some bruises?" he asked the man.

"I already have one."

"Good." Daniel winked at Margaret and sat down in the armchair closest to the fireplace.

"How do you do it?" Margaret asked the man, staring at him in amazement.

"Do what, hon?"

"I'm miserable. All I want to do is crawl into a nice soft bed, burry my head in the pillows and stay that way for a month or so." Margaret shook her head in confusion. "You're his father for Christ's sake, and I haven't even seen one tear from you, on the contrary you've been smiling and making jokes all day."

Daniel shrugged slightly and looked towards a picture frame on the mantel. "That's my Marie," he said with a smile, indicating the woman in the picture. "She died when Ben was only ten years old. I spent so much time wallowing in self-pity that I completely ignored my son. I know I hurt him more than I can even imagine. When I realized what I was doing I swore I would never waste one more second of my life consumed with grief."

He turned his attention back on Margaret and smiled. "Even if it kills me I'm not going to spend the rest of my life miserable."