Margaret was going home tomorrow and, in her opinion, not a moment too soon. If her week's stay wasn't already up she'd be on the phone to Daniel demanding that he come and get her. She was sick of doctors and midwives and their opinions on what she should and shouldn't be doing with her baby. Her baby. They had opinions on everything. How to feed, how to burp, how to change, never mind that she herself was a nurse, let alone a former head nurse. The final straw had been when she'd looked over at the nursery in time to see a midwife about to give her daughter a bottle. She'd wrenched back the covers and strode over there, snatching her child from the other woman. "How dare you." She'd hissed, breathing heavily, "How dare you! What is it with this hospital, is it some Maine tradition that you don't listen to your patients?"

"Mrs Pierce, please-"

"I've told the doctors, I've told the midwives, I am to be the only person to feed her."

"But you as a nurse must know that modern baby formula is the best thing for little Audrey-"

"Don't give me that crap!" She'd faltered for a moment. Not in her rage, but in trying to figure out how to express in a way this woman, that any of these people could understand how important it was to her to do things the way she wanted to do them.

It wasn't about nutrition, it wasn't about whether or not science could make better than nature, it was about supply. She'd watched the women in Korea. No matter what the war had thrown at them they'd fed their babies with their bodies. They'd not bothered themselves with powdered milk, scrounging enough money to buy supplies that might not ever arrive. They'd just gotten on with it, and that's what Margaret wanted to do. Get on with it. Because although she knew she was home now, that she was thousands of miles from the blood, the squalor, the shelling, she didn't know if she was ever going to be able to stop preparing for the worst.

But she'd said none of that, instead yelling, "She's my daughter, and I will decide what's best for her!" and storming out. The midwife opened and closed her mouth a few times, but Margaret, having no interest in hearing more on the subject, had turned on her heel and left. She was struggling to control her rage. Her fits of ire as head nurse had had nothing on this, but all this baby business had taken things to a whole new level.

It'd been a slow and painful process, but Audrey now lay in her arms, belly full and fast asleep. The kid had the most ridiculous amount of black hair. That and the way she frowned sometimes in her sleep all but confirmed that Hawkeye was indeed her father.

The moment Margaret had seen that thatch of black hair she'd let out a sigh of relief. When all said and done there'd been little chance Hawkeye wasn't the father, but once the moment of truth had arrived, the prospect of the baby being Frank's had suddenly loomed large.

Hawkeye had been on her mind a lot lately, though given their situation she supposed it was only natural. What would she do if he never came home? Logically she knew she'd just carry on. But thinking of Henry and his watery grave was too much to bear. It was all so unfair.

He was going to come home. He had to.

She'd only ever wanted two things in life. To make her father proud, and to have her own family. A loving husband and beautiful children were almost within reach, and all she could do was hope and pray that, in her case, fate wouldn't be cruel enough to snatch it away.

Hawkeye awoke with a sleepy scowl to the sound of the bugle. That sound drove him mad at any time of day on its' own, but having the peace of sleep shattered by it never lost its extra edge of rudeness. He buried his face further into his pillow as he remembered the fact that Frank was still in command. Besides, it was cold outside. There was no way he was leaving the almost warmth of his bunk if he didn't have to. He then briefly wondered if there was any way he could invent teleportation and then go home. That way he'd be where he wanted to be and no one could shoot him out of the sky.

He could hear Frank outside the tent barking orders but made no effort to get up. He then, of course, came into the tent to bark orders.

"You better get yourself up or I'll have you court martialled! I'll bet your, your girlfriend wouldn't be too pleased with that." He spat out the word girlfriend like it tasted sour.

"Hey Frank, how 'bout you take that army of yours and shove it..." Hawkeye has more to say on the matter, but is distracted by the sight of a wide eyed Radar scurrying towards the tent. He reaches the Swamp and clatters through the door. "Uh, Major Burns, sir?"

"Not now you little sneak, I'm reprimanding Captain Pierce."

"But sir, this is about Captain Pierce."

"Alright, Corporal, what is it?"

"These are his orders, he's going home!"
"Lemme see that!" Frank demands, snatching the piece of paper from Radar's hand. His eyes scan the paper feverishly, checking it for any sign of a lie. Finding none he hands it on to Hawkeye. "Huh, guess you really are going home to your precious Margaret. Too bad McIntyre isn't here to say goodbye."

Hawkeye froze before sharply looking up from his examination of his orders. Frank was right. Trapper was on R and R in Tokyo and wasn't due back until tomorrow, and tomorrow was when he was leaving. "Quick, somebody call him!" Hawkeye yells, suddenly frantic.

Radar nod, "I'll try calling him right away," he says, scurrying back to his office.

"Get out, Frank, I need to pack."

"You can't order me around, I'm your superior officer."

"In name only for the next twenty four hours. Out!"

Frank made an angry noise but said nothing more before he stalked out of the tent.

Hawkeye slumped back down on his pillow and let out a loud gush of air. It wouldn't really take him that long to pack everything worth taking home with him, he just needed some time to think. Of course this would happen while Trapper was somewhere else. It was like an unwritten law around here that nothing ever happened like it was supposed to. He guessed really he should write the guy a letter, just in case he didn't see him, but what was he supposed to say? 'I'm sorry I got to go home and you're still here, thanks for all the good times'? It just didn't feel right. Speaking of right, him being allowed to go home before Trapper didn't add up. There was no way he could have earned all his points when Trapper hadn't-He had a whole extra kid and had been in this hell hole two weeks longer than him, and both of those things equalled more points.

It sounded like their friendly, neighbourhood company clerk had pulled some strings-it was the only logical explanation. Hawkeye wasn't sure how or what, but he certainly wasn't about to look a gift corporal in the mouth or draw any unwanted attention by asking questions. He'd just make sure he sent him something nice when he got home. If he survived.

His blood ran cold. He wondered if Radar knew anyone on the other side they could bribe to get out of here alive.

He had to go home sometime, though, and now was as good a time as any, though he'd be gripping the sides of his seat until he was back safely on land.

Despite that a bubble of hope rose in his chest. He was going to get to meet his little girl while she was still tiny. He was unable to suppress the grin that sparked, or the wave of longing he felt at the thought of kissing Margaret Houlihan for all the world to see. He let out a peal of laughter. For all they'd been through, for all they'd said to each other, for all they now were to each other, the idea of her allowing him to do that felt kind of crazy, but he wasn't about to let that stop him from doing it anyway.

And then of course there was his dad. His dear old dad. A hug would hardly cut it as repayment for holding them all together, but it was going to have to do for now.

He leapt out of bed, having a brief moment of regret as the freezing air hit his now un-blanketed body, but there was no time for regret. There was packing to be done and home to be going. He rubbed his hands together with with glee.

Home. It was time to go home.