What? I'm sorry, this connection is terrible. Yes, Helen Whitfield. Sorry, what was that? Oh, she's not there. Can you take a message? A message! Tell her Margaret Houlihan called. Houlihan. Hou-li-han! Nevermind. Just tell her... Tell her Tokyo turned out to be the true wonderland. Wonderland! You're breaking up, tell her I'll call again later. Tell her Margaret called, and everything is perfect.

General Ashforth's laughter rolled through the crowded room like a thunderclap, making Margaret jump a little. Everyone in their circle laughed as well, and Margaret joined in. She hadn't been paying attention to what the General was saying, she was sure it hadn't been very funny, but everyone knew how to play the game.
The room was very hot, there were people everywhere. Margaret had taken her jacket off at some point and wasn't sure where it had ended up. The champagne in her glass was cool, though. Cool and delicious and somehow her glass was always full. Magic. Her nose tickled a little, and she let her eyes wander over the room, already bored with whatever story Ashforth was telling.
Class A uniforms and shining brass. A heavy scent of perfume and cologne hovered in the air, mixed with cigar smoke. Every single scent a better one than copper. Disinfectants. Puss. Latrine or mess tent. People were laughing, talking, not shouting. No choppers tearing through the air, no ambulances arriving, no orders that needed to be yelled.
The bar felt like another world. A safe, happy one. No urgency, just enjoyment.

Margaret took a deep breath and could detect her own perfume. 'Forbidden Furlough'. Way too expensive, but worth every penny. Under the perfume was another scent, the one of her cherry blossom bath oil. The bones in her body still felt soft after her long bath earlier, her skin had just opened up and absorbed the oily warmth into every pore. Heaven, plain and simple.
How was it even possible this world existed, this little nook of reality full of pleasures, beauty, and debauchery. Just a couple of days ago, she had been sitting on the floor in the abandoned camp with Pierce, waiting for the arrival of a Chinese brigade, and now there was champagne and perfume. Heels on her feet. A wave of gratitude rolled through her, the pure pleasure of being alive felt overwhelming for a second. To be surrounded by life, by living, breathing bodies was such a luxury.

She saw Colonel Compton talking to a tall redhead. The Colonel barely reached her shoulders, but he had done his best to puff himself up, and now looked like some sort of bird, a grouse maybe, getting ready to start a dance ritual to impress a potential mate. Margaret couldn't help but giggle a little to herself.
Her eyes kept wandering, and hers met Colonel Lester's. He grinned at her and raised his glass in a toast. She gave him a small nod and quickly looked away. She couldn't stand Lester. He had a small, pouty mouth, and his lips were always wet. He liked to stand too close when he talked and would cover you with a fine mist of spit. It was disgusting. She turned her attention back to General Ashforth for a while, so Lester would know to stay away. When she was sure he didn't ogle her anymore, she let her eyes wander again.

Over at the bar, a dark-haired man was looking at her. One arm leaning against the bar, a glass in one hand. He was surrounded by a group of men, all of them talking and laughing, but he was looking straight at her, a small smile on his face. Handsome. Tall. From the distance, she couldn't make out the insignia on his collar, but he gave her Colonel vibes. At least. She very much liked his gaze, the intensity in his eyes. It felt like a laser, making her skin warm. Warmer. He held her gaze and lifted his glass in a toast. She raised hers and slowly took a sip, careful not to knock it against her teeth and spill all over her shirt. When he started to move towards her, she let her free hand wander up to her hair, pulling a strand behind her ear. She had a nice neck, why not let him see that.
When he was right in front of her, he looked at her in silence for a moment, while his smile grew wider. He was very handsome, indeed. Taller than she had thought, even. There was a twinkle in his eyes she very much liked.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to stare like that. It's just that you light up this entire room, miss, do you know that?"

She let her smile grow wider too. The smile she knew had a certain effect on men.

"Thank you," she said, making her voice a bit more husky than usual. "That's a very kind thing to say."

"Nothing but the truth, miss," he said and took a step closer. "Lieutenant Colonel Donald Penobscott."

He held his hand out. She took it and enjoyed how small her hand felt in his. His skin was a bit rough and his grip firm. Assertive. Enveloping.

"Margaret Houlihan. Major Margaret Houlihan."

The world around them had become nothing but a soft murmur, just something blurry in the periphery. It was only the two of them now, on stage, a spotlight directed straight at them and everything outside of it mattered very little. Time stretched in the most pleasurable way as Margaret looked into his eyes. She could feel something build between them, something exciting, there was an almost crackling electricity in the air.
Then, General Ashforth's thunder-clap laugh broke the spell.

"Well, Major," Lieutenant Colonel Donald Penobscott said, "I don't mean to pry you away from your company, but would you do me the honor of joining me on the dance floor?"

"Yes," Margaret said, without even bothering to look at the people around her. They were unimportant now, simply background actors in a play that only involved her and the handsome man in front of her. He let go of her hand and put his on her lower back as he escorted her to the small dance floor. On the way, she left her glass of champagne on the tray of a passing waiter. She didn't need any more of it to feel tingly all over.

She put her hand on his shoulder, broad, strong, and he pulled her close. A bit closer than she would have expected for a first dance, but that was perfectly fine. Excellent, really. He smelled of cologne, expensive and exciting, and when they started to move together, the spotlight was back on. The rest of the world faded away, and left was only Margaret Houlihan in the strong arms of Lieutenant Colonel Donald Penobscott.

Several hours later, Margaret was still in Donald's strong arms, they were wrapped tightly around her as he slept. Early morning sun gave the room a pretty glow, a shimmer of magic. Everything, from the moment their eyes met to that very second, had felt like magic. The dancing. The talking, sitting close together at a small table, their heads almost touching as they leaned in close, the two of them a unit against the buzz of the room, her leg against his, his hand over hers.
The slow walk back to his hotel. The first kiss shared under a streetlight. It had been just like a movie. He had looked down at her with an adoring glint in his eyes, his arm around her shoulders. She had torn her eyes from his sometimes, wanting to look at the people they met, wanting to see herself in their eyes. A petite blonde, pretty and frail, next to the tall, handsome man by her side. Her protector. The way he had stopped, grabbed both of her shoulders with strong hands and turned her towards him, his gaze so intense. He slowly bent down and paused for just a second before his lips met hers.
Margaret smiled to herself when she thought of all the kisses, and everything else, that followed.
There was such a passion in him, in the way he had undressed her and let kisses rain all over, even over her fingernails. He made her forget everything about the world outside, carried her away in a sea of pleasure. She couldn't hold back a small giggle, oh my, that sounded like something out of a cheesy paperback love story. But it was true. He was so strong, so commanding. She didn't have to hold back, could just let go, just float away.

And afterward, the magic became real. The way he had looked at her, so serious, so intense.

"Margaret, I have never met anyone like you. I knew it from the moment I saw you. I knew you were the one."

Dear Lord, until the day she died she would remember his words.

"This is crazy, but… Hold on."

He had gotten up, made his way over to his jacket that was tossed over a chair. Margaret had enjoyed the view of him quite a bit, and deep inside wondered… No, he couldn't be thinking about…Those sorts of things simply didn't happen, not in real life. But it had. There had been a ring. A beautiful, tasteful ring in a blue velvet box.

"Margaret Houlihan, will you marry me?"

She had heard those words in her head so many times. When she had been her most obsessed with Frank, caught up in a twisted fantasy that he would one day make a commitment, she had spent more time that she liked to admit playing out possible scenarios in her head. How he would finally pop the question. In the meadow under their tree, maybe. A ring in a glass of champagne on their Thursday night date. In the mess tent, in front of everyone, making every gossip in camp who ever thought ill about the two of them choke on their meatloaf.
But when Donald spoke the words for real, everything that was Frank Burns faded away for good. The whiny voice, the empty promises, the dream of the person he never really was.

The ring on her finger fit perfectly. Exquisite. You could tell it was expensive, who would want a gaudy, big rock when you could just let the perfect craftsmanship shine through. Maybe she shouldn't even wear it outside, there were thieves everywhere, to carry it on a chain close to her heart would be so romantic, she was sure Donald would love it. He was such a hopeless romantic himself, carrying the ring with him to the other side of the world, such a precious family heirloom. The passion in him, the longing, mirrored her own, everything was written in the stars. Finally. Finally, she was in the right place, where she was supposed to be, where she deserved to be.

Margaret smiled again, held her hand out in front of her, and let the exquisite diamond chips catch the morning light. She couldn't wait to tell everyone. Everyone from last night, everyone back in camp, everyone back home. How excited Helen would be, Margaret wished she could call her right away. And she couldn't wait to tell her parents, she could just imagine how proud her father would be! A West Pointer, dad, a Lieutenant Colonel! Donald would make Colonel in no time, she just knew it, and there was no stopping there. The world was at their feet. The Penobscotts. Margaret and Donald Penobscott. Or would she keep Houlihan too, some women did that. It didn't matter right now, though, what mattered was the gorgeous man behind her. Her fiancé. She missed him, he needed to wake up now. She pressed herself against him, squirmed a little, and sighed, let the sigh turn into a small moan. He grunted and cleared his throat, pulling her closer.

"Morning," he mumbled into her hair. "Did you sleep well?"

"No," she said and spun around to face him. "I've been awake all night, thinking about my handsome fiancé."

"Did you now," he said with a grin. "You wanna tell me what you were thinking about more precisely?"

"No," she smiled at him, making her voice drop low. "I'd rather show you."

And she did. Her fiancé, Lieutenant Colonel Donald Penobscott of West Point, seemed quite pleased.

Author's Note:
The initial letter in this chapter is a phone call instead. I just like the idea of Margaret trying to reach Helen before she called Potter back in camp.