Margaret had no idea what time it was. All she knew was that it was sometime after 3:17 am, which is when Winchester announced Hawkeye's time of death. She hadn't heard anybody punch in or out, at the time clock beside her office door, so it wasn't 7:00 am, yet.

After Hawkeye had breathed his last breath; she planted one final, delicate kiss on his chapped lips. She gently laid his head down on the pillow and slipped out of bed. Margaret avoided the looks of her old M*A*S*H colleagues and walked out of the hospital room without looking back.

She was in a state of shock at what had just happened. The only thing she could do was to sit in her office at the hospital until it wore off.

Going home was out of the question. She could not believe that Trapper had known about Hawkeye's condition of over a day, and hadn't said a single word to her. Yes, the part of her life with Hawkeye in it had long since passed – but that didn't mean that she still did not care about him. The betrayal Margaret felt would not fade away easily, or quickly.

Margaret had lost count of how many times she had re-read the letter Hawkeye had written to her. Her eyes were sore and puffy from crying until she couldn't cry anymore.

Under different circumstances, she would have tucked into the bottle of cognac that Winchester had given her at the last Christmas party in a heartbeat. However, the thought of a drink revolted her to no end. Margaret knew that the image of the pained look on Hawkeye's prematurely aged, and jaundice face as he breathed his last breath, was forever burned into her mind. She wondered if she'll ever be able to have a drink again without picturing Hawkeye in that damned hospital bed.

The rattling of the doorknob startled Margaret out of her thoughts. Before she could wipe the tears from her eyes, her husband intruded her privacy and stepped into the dark office.

He flicked on the light switch much to Margaret's dismay. She squinted in pain as the fluorescent lights flickered on.

"There you are."

"Turn those off," Margaret pleaded. Her voice was hoarse from crying and dehydration. "And close the door on your way out."

Trapper ignored both requests, and instead walked over to Margaret's desk and stared at the all too familiar handwriting of the letter, spread out on the desk. As he reached out to pick up a page of it – Margaret slapped his hand away.

"Don't you dare touch that," Margaret warned as she got to her feet. She stood close enough to Trapper so that she could smell the minty mouthwash on his breath. She looked him in the eye and told him, "you get the hell out of my office right now."

"Margaret-"

"Stop! I don't want to hear another word from you. How dare you keep a thing like the fact that Hawkeye was in this very hospital, in hospice care." She paused for a moment and walked towards the open door. She placed one hand on the inside doorknob and glared at looked down at her feet, in an attempt to hide the tears welling in her eyes. "I will go home, take the girls to school. Go to your surgery. I won't be home when you get off tonight. I'll take the girls with me."

Trapper nodded, knowing that there was nothing he could say to change her mind. He was just about out of the door but stopped at the last second. He said to Margaret without turning around to face her, "I know that saying that I'm sorry will do no good. He hurt you so much, Margaret. I was only trying to protect you from the heartache you're feeling right now. Whatever you decided to do, just remember that I love you and that our girls love you too."

After a few moments of heavy silence, Margaret swung the door shut. She flicked off the lights, leaving only the lamp on her desk lit, like before Trapper had disturbed her.

She walked over to the record player on her the filing cabinet, picked up the player's arm, and let the needle fall into the groove's of the phonograph Hawkeye had given her. After reading the letter the first time, she had ripped off the wrapping of the single record. Once she had read the title of the song – she didn't have the courage to listen to the words of the song.

Tears fell down her cheeks silently, as she listened to the words of George Jones' – A Picture of Me Without You.

"Imagine a world where no music was playing

Then think of a church where nobody's praying

If you've ever looked up at a sky with no blue

Then you've seen a picture of me without you

Have you walked in a garden where nothing was growing

Or stood by a river where nothing was flowing

If you've seen a red rose unkissed by the dew

Then you've seen a picture of me without you

Can you picture Heaven with no angels singing

Or a quiet Sunday morning with no church bells ringing

If you've watched as the heart of a child's breaks in two

Then you've seen a picture of me without you..."

Five Days Later:

A dark oak casket, adorned with a wreath of red and white roses sat on a leather lift, above a six-foot-deep grave.

The local pastor was reading a verse from the new testament, while the handful of people who came by to say goodbye to "Hawkeye" Benjamin Franklin Pierce.

It was a warm autumn morning in Crabapple Cove. There was a slight breeze that rustled the orange, yellow, red and brown leaves of the maple trees that dotted the grounds of the old cemetery, which lay beside the Methodist Church.

Sidney, Colonel Potter, Radar, Klinger, and Charles all sat on the wooden fold out chairs in the front row. Everyone was dressed in their best suits, except for Charles. He wore casual slacks and a button-down, pink and green Hawaiian shirt which Hawkeye bought him in 52', which he had only worn a handful of times to parties at the 4077th. His shoes those ludicrous, Velcro sandals that all the trendy hippies were wearing. He, however, kept his lower extremities warm with the thickest pair, of the most expensive argyle socks he owned.

Charles received strange looks from his former comrades in arms when they first saw his attire. He merely explained that his appearance was related to his letter from Hawkeye, and all hostile looks ceased.

Nobody from Crabapple Cove came to mourn Hawkeye. Long ago, he had driven away all his pre-war friends and family. Hawkeye was the town drunk in the community's mind – plain and simple.

Sherman and Sidney took it upon themselves to call up some of the others from the 4077th and let them know about the service. Many declined outright, saying that it had been too long since they were close with Hawkeye, to fly all the way out to Maine.

A few did show up, though. Shelley and Molly Bigelow drove from Boston. Nurse Able and Janet Baker flew out from Michigan together. Kelley Nakahara broke down when she received Sidney's call and true to her word – she was there to say goodbye to "one of the most gifted surgeons she ever knew".

Right before the service has begun, a petite blond, in a knee-length, black lace dress and matching, wide brimmed hat took a seat in the second row of chairs, on the far right. It had been more than ten years since anybody had seen the former Mrs Hunnicutt. Everybody turned around to see if BJ was with her, but he was not.

"Trapper" John McIntyre, stood with his hands folded a fair distance back from the last row of chairs set up. His wife was not at his side.

Margaret and Trapper had not seen each other since the day Hawkeye had passed away. When Trapper had gotten home from surgery that evening, there was no sign of his family – only a note on the kitchen table saying that she needed to spend some time with her younger in Georgia.

As the preacher read through the chosen scripture verses, Hawkeye's loved ones barely listened. They were all lost in memories, both good and bad, of Hawkeye.

When the preacher called upon Sidney to deliver the eulogy, all eyes were upon him. There were birds singing in the background as the morning sun shone down upon the earth. Before beginning, Sidney couldn't help but to glance up at the sky and smile. He wondered if Hawkeye was up there somewhere, listening and watching over all of them as he had promised to in his letters.

"Hawkeye and I had had many long talks about what this moment would look like over the past year. He knew that the demon living inside of him had won the battle and that it wouldn't be long until he left this earth.

Hawkeye was the fastest talking person I ever knew – but he was always an honest man. Even during his darkest hours, he eventually acknowledged and admitted the truth. So, the truth is what I am going to speak about today.

The personal torment that his alcoholism brought upon him, ruled every day of his life after the war – even if he didn't outwardly show it.

We are all here because we wish to remember him in some way. I am happy to say that he had made peace with himself and his decisions before he passed away. He had the blessing of knowing that those whom he loved the most, loved him back.

I don't think that there is any gift in this lifetime, which is more valuable than having that knowledge.

Let the tale of his life serve as a lesson as to how war can destroy a man, even after the last bullet is fired.

I can't help but to ponder about how the war raging in Vietnam right now, is setting young men up for the same fate as Hawkeye's.

May God bless those young men, and may you rest in peace.

Goodbye, Hawkeye."