Hawkeye's wrenched into consciousness by a knock on the door, and the sound of someone entering the tent. He speaks without opening his eyes. "Whoever you are, this better be important, or you're going to be as dead as I feel."

Radar ignored him. "I've got a letter for you, Hawkeye, looks like it's from Major Houlihan."

Hawkeye's eyes snap open as he sits up. "Well why didn't you say so? Gimme that," he says, snatching it out of Radar's hand.

"Uh, Captain McIntyre?"

"What is it, Radar?"

"There's one for you as well."

"What, from Major Houlihan?"

"Uh no, sir, the back of yours says Louise."

"Alright, give it here. Fink."

Hawkeye was about to open his mail when he realised Radar was still standing there looking expectant. "Don't you have more mail to hand out or something?"

"I just thought I'd stay for a minute and see how the Major is."

"Whatever happened to privacy?"

"Uh, it left when the war started, sir."

Hawkeye glares at him.

"Okay, I'm going, sir."

Hawkeye tears open the envelope, liberating a letter from inside it. As he unfolds it, a photo falls into his lap. He inhales sharply as he catches sight of its subject. There, depicted in all the glory of black and white, was a very pregnant Margaret. She was in the kitchen, and looked like she had been caught mid stretch and yawn, but to him she'd never looked more gorgeous. He runs his thumb almost reverently across the picture of her rounded belly. He wished he was there. He wished he could rub the palm of his hand over it, feel its warmth, tell her in person how beautiful she looked. With every day that went by, it was more and more unfair. It was his life, dammit, and these were days he'd never get back. He flips it over and reads the date on the back.

12/16/1951.

That was three whole weeks ago. That meant she'd be even bigger by now.

Trapper's voice brings his attention back to the present. "You okay, Hawk?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah," he says, absently, "Just looking at a picture of Margaret."

"Give us a look."

Hawkeye hands it over, attempting to look like it's no big deal, but the glance Trapper shoots him tells him he's not buying it.

"I wish my wife had looked as good as her when she was pregnant. Not long to go, huh? When's she due again?"

"Mid January."

"Whaddya reckon you'll call it?"

"Well it won't be after her father. I don't know, I'll leave it up to her, she's done all the hard work."

"What, no Ben Junior?"

"Bet she'd be more likely to go with Daniel Jr for a boy, hell, she'd probably go for Daniel Jr if it's a girl."

"She would not. What does she say?"
"I dunno, I haven't read it yet."

"Well what are you waiting for?"

Dear Hawkeye,

It's freezing over here. Even with all you and Daniel had said, I'm not sure I fully grasped the magnitude of a winter in Maine. I'm becoming more and more grateful for the fact that we're off to Bridgton in a couple of weeks. I'm sick of being pregnant. Your dad took a photo of me and insisted I send it to you. I'd been hiding from him and his damn camera for days. I look and feel enormous. Every time I walk through a doorway I'm amazed I can still fit through it. I'm meant to be hiding my figure and being modest and proper, but when you're this size how can you? There's not a sack on earth that could hide the size of me now. I still can't believe that we're going to be parents, let alone together. You'd think by now it'd have fully sunk in.

He or she is also very active. Some nights I can't sleep but for the fact that they keep moving around. Sometimes they get in a sharp jab downwards and it feels it's trying to bust out all on their own. Part of me wants the baby to get out of there as soon as possible, but then I remember that you're not here, and I know it's highly unlikely you'll be home before it's born, it hasn't stopped me hoping. I never really understood before how you could hate the army, how you could show such disrespect, but I'm understanding more and more. I didn't have anything else. I didn't have anyone else. I volunteered because I had nothing to lose, but I do now. It all seems so unfair, but, at the very least, war gave us each other.

All my love,

Margaret.

P.S. Merry Christmas. Your dad and I are planning on sending you a telegram, but just in case we don't...

He hasn't even put the letter down when an ever present and familiar announcement rings out over the camp.

There are casualties coming, and lots of them.

A couple of hours later and Hawkeye's assisting Trapper with a particularly nasty chest wound.

"Pass me that sponge will you, Kellye?"

"Sponge."

"Clamp."

"Clamp"

"Hey Hawk, what's this one?" Trapper begins humming a tune as he puts a clamp on an artery.

"Avalon."

"Wrong."

"In a Little Spanish Town."

"Right"

Frank sneers over at them from his table, "Oh please, I'm in the middle of a stomach."

Trapper and Hawkeye ignore him.

Try this one Father Mulcahy says, wandering over, humming a tune, apparently unable to resist joining in.

Trapper glances up at him, "On Wisconsin."

"No, no, no. That was Oh Shepherd, Guide Thy Flock."

"Oh I should have guessed, I've danced to that a thousand times," Hawkeye says with an edge of sarcasm.

This further incenses Frank. "Shut up, will you! Shut up!" he screams over at them.

"How about you shut up, Frank. You and nurse excitement over there." Hawkeye glances over at Major Davis, the head nurse who is certainly not Margaret, but the woman just looks benignly at him for a few seconds before turning her attention back to the patient. In a strange way she's more infuriating than Margaret had ever been. All of the annoyance, none of the fun. But Frank's not finished yet.

"I'll have you know that Major Davis and I are simply professionals who can do our jobs without resorting to juvenile behaviour."

"You and Major Boring. That's because you're too incompetent to do more than one thing at a time."

"I'll have you know that I am a-"

Henry sighs loudly, a vein starting to bulge in his forehead. "Alright, all of you, shut up!"

"We're a little late, folks," Hawkeye says, putting on his best radio announcer voice, "so goodnight from Name That Tune."

Hawkeye looks up sharply when he hears Henry's next exclamation. "Home? Discharged?"

Hawkeye can see Radar nodding and grinning behind his poorly tied mask. "Yes, sir."

"Home," Henry breathes, "I'm going home!"

"Congratulations, Henry!" Hawkeye calls over to him, trying to ignore the feeling of tingling numbness spreading over him and the way his hands had started shaking with emotions barely suppressed. Just who did he have to kill to get out of here?

Trapper pauses, "You okay, Hawk?"

"Of course, I'm fine, finest kind. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno, could be the fact that Henry just got told he gets to go home to see his wife and kids."

"What kind of guy would I be if I begrudged him that?"

"Normal. Hell, I wish it were me. I'd do anything to see my two girls again."

"Yeah well…" Hawkeye mumbles, barely under his breath. "Can we just concentrate on getting this guy out of here?" He doesn't want to talk about it. Not here, hell, not anywhere. When the war had started he didn't think it was possible to want to go home more than he had then. He'd been wrong. Boy had he been wrong.

"Sure," Trapper agreed, shrugging his shoulders.

Minutes pass in relative silence as they continue to work together to reconstruct shredded internals.

Hawkeye glances over at Henry again. "Guess we should throw the guy a party."

AN: Any dialogue you recognised has been borrowed from Abyssinia Henry (Season 3, episode 24). We're getting on the home stretch now, so thanks for sticking with me 3