Something shifted. Changed. Changed for the better. We were se nt to an Aid Station, Pierce, KLinger and I. The conditions there, Helen, I can't even begin to describe them. The constant shelling, the dust falling into open wounds. I have never seen anything like it.
And then there was Pierce. And the shift. I have never seen anything like it.

The rising sun painted a pretty pattern on the wall. What was left of the wall. The light moved and danced over the crumbling surface, filtered through the branches of the trees outside. It danced over the ground and over Klinger's sleeping form. Over the blanket. The blanket Margaret wasn't alone under. Her head was tucked under Pierce's chin. Sort of. Sleeping with helmets on made everything awkward. More awkward. But safe.
This was unexpected. Not once had his hands wandered, not once had he made a dirty joke. He had simply been a warm presence, a human-shaped shield against what might have been out there. What might still be out there.
She looked up through what had once been a roof, at the morning sky above. It was a pretty shade of peach. She could hear birds sing, hear their gossipy thrill of having made it through another night. Margaret sighed. They had made it, medical personnel, and birds alike. All the wounded hadn't, some of them hanging on to the faintest thread of life as they were put on the makeshift tables, one moment there, then the thread was broken. Carried away and replaced by someone whose thread was maybe, hopefully, a bit stronger.
Never before had she worked under such conditions, never before had she felt like she was of so much use. Her incisions had been perfect, Pierce had said so. And as much as it pained her to admit, his praise meant a lot. When it came to his work, she trusted him completely. And Klinger, never before had she seen him like this. Out of his costumes, his hats, and jewelry, she felt like she had seen the essence of him yesterday, going above and beyond. Without thinking he too had thrown himself over the wounded, performed duties way above his pay grade. Impressive.

She shifted a little and winced as her tailbone growled at her, not happy with having spent the night on the cold, hard ground. Pierce didn't move, and she could hear him breathing steadily.
There was shuffling coming from the other room, she could hear muffled voices, and for a second she froze. Horrible words rushed through her mind, 'snipers', 'enemies', and 'taken captive', before she heard them speak English. The medical team. Thank God.
The three of them needed to get a move on, help with what they could before heading back. She longed to see the camp again, it felt like they had been gone for such a long time. Like the dusty, miserable place would glisten in the sunshine and a proud fanfare would play as they drove in. They needed to get up right now, before anyone came in and saw her and Pierce like this. Before Klinger saw them like this, or she would never hear the end of it.

She tried to move out of Pierce's arms, but everything was so heavy. Tangled.

"Pierce," she whispered.

He mumbled something and pulled her a little closer. Their helmets clanked together, but it didn't seem to wake him.

"Pierce!" she hissed, a little louder this time.

"It's okay, darling," he mumbled, "Trap's a heavy sleeper, we still have time."

She didn't bother to hiss at him anymore, she just punched him in the thigh as he moved it in over hers. She pushed his arms away and tried to sit up while kicking off the blankets.

"Ow!" His voice was gravelly and not too loud, thank the lord. "Margaret, what… You're taking your body away."

"How very observant of you, Pierce. It's morning, we need to get a move on."

"But Margaret…" he started in a whiny voice and started to sit up. Then he winced and sank back down a little.

"What? What's wrong?"

"No, nothing, my hand is just asleep." He pulled his hand out from under the blanket and shook it.

"Are you sure," she said and reached her own hand out for his. "Let me see."

"See what, it's a hand fallen asleep from being tucked under a luscious nurse all night. Lucky hand."

He grinned. His eyes were still small and sleepy, his helmet askew. He looked like a little boy who had fallen asleep in the middle of a war game. Except little boys did not have lecherous grins on their faces.

"Just let me see," she said, making her hushed voice stern. He sighed and gave her his hand. No discoloration and it felt warm.

"You're right, it's probably just asleep."

She managed to kick the blankets off and started to get up.

"Always nice to get an expert opinion. Hey, wait."

Now it was him gripping her hand. She turned and met his eyes.

"What?"

"Thank you. For yesterday. You were tremendous. If I ever have to draw bedpan sausages and be sent to my imminent death again, I hope to have you by my side. Those boys, they were lucky to have you there, to be cut open by the best hands in Korea. Well, second best hands, as soon as this one wakes up."

He smiled and winked at her, shook his hand again. She felt her mouth turn into a smile too, while a warm feeling spread inside her chest. Praise from Pierce usually came in strange, backward compliments usually ending in an indecent punchline, so this was a rare moment. Another one.

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Thank you, Major."

His face turned serious, and he leaned a little closer.

"Now, I think we should talk about what happened."

"What?" She leaned away from him.

"Last night, that we…" He looked around the room and leaned even closer. "That we spent the night together. I mean, we should get engaged, right? Before the baby gets here."

She sighed and pulled her hand from his grip.

"Stop it, Pierce."

She stood up. A bit too fast apparently, for her back joined her tailbone in protest, and the room swayed a little.

"What?" He threw the blanket off and stood up on his knees.

"If there's anything I remember from biology class and from Henry's many, many lectures, it's that if Figure A and Figure B share a blanket, one of them is for sure likely to get pregnant. Not sure which one, though, I always zoned out after a while."

"Oh, go fly a kite," she scoffed, grabbed the blanket, and started to fold it.

"What? I'm not taking care of it on my own, you know. I'm not gonna stay home and see my youth waste away while drying snot and baking cookies. I wanna earn my pay, and travel and see the world. I'm a strong, independent man, you know."

He put his hands on his hips and pressed his lips together, like a caricature of an upset housewife. Margaret turned her back, tried to tune him out while he continued his little monologue, and she did a horrible job of folding the blanket. She watched Klinger turn over on his back and blink at the light, stretch a little. He looked different in the peach-colored morning. Younger.

And even though she tried to fight it, the stupid, treacherous corners of her mouth turned up a little.
It was a rare moment in the rare morning light. The world's most infuriating man had kept her safe through the night, and the man who spent his days making a mockery of the army had proved himself to be indispensable when it really mattered. Who would have guessed that only 24 hours ago? They were alive and they were soon heading back.
That was something for the birds to sing about, spread the news to their friends who would for sure not believe them.
Margaret wasn't even entirely sure she believed it herself.