The situation seemed to reach a standstill after that. Everybody felt that they'd done everything they could, and, really, what more was there to do after that? Hawkeye seemed to have all but given up on fixing the busted relationship, no matter how miserable it clearly made him; Margaret was still stuck in a hospital bed, too separate from the world outside of post-op to have much of an impact on it; and Colonel Potter, BJ and Radar had decided that it was no longer their place to interfere. Besides, they were fresh out of ideas. An air of hopelessness settled over the camp, but with Hawkeye, their unofficial (usually) morale officer, being the centre of said hopelessness, there seemed to be no way out of it.

This was the world Margaret found when BJ, Charles and Colonel Potter had finally decided amongst themselves that she was well enough to return to her own tent. She had other things on her mind though, worrying as she was about her first meeting with Hawkeye. The camp was a small place, and realistically she knew she couldn't avoid him for long. She hadn't seen him since sending him away, bar that short stretch of eye contact through the door. He must have been working night shifts all week, but whether by choice or not, she didn't know. Maybe he'd been actively avoiding her. Maybe that would continue. Or maybe when they finally managed to both be in the same room, everything would fall back into place, and she could tell him how sorry she was and how much she loved him. It really all depended on one thing: did Hawkeye still want to be with her?

A similar question had been playing on Hawkeye's mind as he sat in the mess tent nursing a cup of now-cold coffee. Did Margaret still want to be with him? 'No', was the obvious answer. 'No' was the answer she'd given him. And yet some stubborn, naïve, childish streak in him refused to believe it. There was a chance, part of him insisted, that she still loved him. Ok, the other half humoured, let's say that's true. Did he still want to be with her? Yes, with all his heart. So the ball was in her court; he'd take his lead from her.

The decision made, he rose from the table, abandoning his undrinkable coffee, and strode towards the exit. His movement was stopped suddenly when, as he reached the doorway, he found himself chin to forehead with another body.

"Hey, will you mind where you- Oh."

Margaret sighed. She wasn't getting anywhere lying in her bed. The question still went unanswered – not, she supposed, that she could ever answer it by herself. She checked the clock on her bedside table. She wasn't sure she'd prepared herself enough to see Hawkeye yet…but lunch was being served in the mess, and she had strict orders from three doctors to eat. She sat up slowly, wincing as she felt her stitches pull slightly, and then equally slowly got to her feet. She very, very carefully pulled on her pink robe over her pyjamas and left her tent, making slow and careful progress across the compound. This provided something of a distraction – she was sick of everything taking twice as long as usual! She glared at the ground, as if it was somehow responsible for the whole thing, and didn't look up until her forehead made contact with something rather solid.

"Hey, will you mind where you- Oh."

"Oh." She repeated as she looked up at the object of her thoughts for the last week.

"Margaret… How-how are you? You look good." Internally she cringed at how awkward Hawkeye seemed, but she couldn't help the small smile that formed at the compliment.

"Liar," she disagreed softly. He returned the smile.

"No, I mean it. Definitely better than…than last time I…" He trailed off, and they both looked away. A thick silence fell over them. "So…" Hawkeye began, and she looked up at him again hopefully. "I guess you're here for lunch? Be careful, the, uh…the meatloaf is, uh…uh…extra drippy, today." It was a Friday. Meatloaf wasn't served on a Friday and they both knew it, but Margaret didn't comment on it.

"I'll be sure to look out for it." The silence returned, full force.

"Well, uh…I'll see you around." She nodded once in agreement, and then turned her head away, trying to hide her disappointment. 'So this is it', she thought. 'This is what we've become'. That thought was quickly stopped though, as an arm – Hawkeye's arm – brushed against her abdomen, putting a little too much pressure on her still tender wound. She gasped, and immediately a hand softly grasped her shoulder.

"Margaret? Are you alright? God, I'm sorry! I should have been more careful. Here, let me help you." Hawkeye placed his hand gently against her lower back and guided her into the mess tent and towards the nearest seat. Margaret almost smiled, despite her still present pain, at the sudden change in his demeanour. She'd never been so grateful to elbowed in all her life. Once she was seated, his hands moved, one hovering hesitantly above her injury, the other stroking her hair. Or she thought it was, anyway: it was a very light touch.

"Hawkeye, I'm fine. Really." She smiled, as if that somehow proved her point. The concerned frown didn't leave his face. She took one of his hands with hers and squeezed. "Really." He still didn't look completely happy.

"If you say so…" She started to stroke his hand lightly with her thumb, and watched as a smile again fell across his face. "But you wanted lunch?" He asked shortly. She nodded the affirmative. "Wait right here." He returned a few minutes later with a full tray, setting it down in front of her.

"Thanks." She shot him a grateful look.

"Save that until you've eaten it. I, of course, apologise. This is in no way an appropriate gift to present to an ailing woman." This time, Margaret glared at him.

"You can save your 'ailing woman' talk. I'm fine." She brought the first forkful of food to her mouth. "Ugh. You were right before; this really is bad, even for here!" He chuckled along with her, and then the concerned expression returned to his face.

"You will eat it, though, right?" He eyed her somewhat critically. "You need to eat. You've lost a lot of weight." Obviously she's lost weight, is the immediate response that sprung to her mind. She lost a baby – quite a bit of weight to lose. But, of course, the comment never made it to her lips. Even thinking it was enough to dampen her spirits, and Hawkeye didn't deserve to be hurt by her anymore.

"Of course," she agreed quietly. She ate the rest of her lunch mostly in silence. There was a little idle chitchat, but they were both avoiding the big topics. When she'd finished eating, Hawkeye took her tray in one hand and her elbow in the other, insisting on walking her back to her tent. This time, she was glad she could only move at snail's pace, enjoying every second she spent with Hawkeye, as bittersweet as they were. They came to a stop at her door.

"This is my stop," she joked weakly.

"Yeah…" For a second, Margaret thought he was going to do something – hug her, kiss her cheek, anything. But instead, he just stuffed his hands in his pocket and repeated his earlier farewell.

"See you around, Margaret." She watched his back until it was inside the Swamp with the rest of him, before returning to her own tent. All in all, she decided, the lunch had been a lot less awkward than it could have been. It reminded her of…before. Before before. When they were friends. Well, she'd promised herself she'd take her cue from him. She nodded resolutely. Friends. She could live with that.

Hawkeye, too, returned to his tent, going straight for his footlocker. He lifted out the small box he'd stored there…what seemed like forever ago. He flipped it open, running his fingers gently over the ring inside. An engagement ring. An engagement ring he'd been going to give her the night everything went to hell.

She still had feelings for him; of that he was certain. There was just a certain look in her eyes, a certain way she acted. But it was equally obvious that she had no desire to act on these feelings. She was still hurting, and clearly she thought that a romantic relationship with him would make that worse. He slammed the box shut. Well, he loved her enough to let her get over him, if that's what she wanted. So he'd be her friend – nothing more.