AN: This is it! Thank you to everyone who's read this, enjoyed it, and especially reviewed it. Special thanks to lostineden and viktoire for helping with morale and idea bouncing whenever I got stuck x.

The weeks roll by, and before long it's been an entire month. Slowly but surely his arm is healing, hurting less, itching a hell of a lot more. He's lucky, he knows; his entire career career as a surgeon could have been over. If he'd been shipped home, he wouldn't have even had his favourite nurse at his side.

Things have been going surprisingly well for them. Sure, there have been a couple of minor disagreements, but nothing to the magnitude either of them have feared. He knows some people have lost money betting on them. What these people have not taken into account, though, is their new found ability to work through tension in different ways, more fun ways. Many an hour had been spent together trying things new and old, fast and slow. On the desk and on the bed. He smirks at the memory. They'd stopped short at trying it on the floor.

He's in the Swamp shaving. The camp is throwing a party tonight in honour of him being healed enough for him to be back in action and he's supposed to be caring about how he looks. He doesn't, but it'll make Margaret happy, and that's reason enough.

He hasn't spent a lot of time here lately. Most nights had been spent in Margaret's tent, except for that one after she said he'd made fun of her in front of some of the nurses and he'd disagreed with her definition of "made fun of".

It was just as well, their new surgeon was a total bore. Major Charles Emerson Winchester the third had had a pole lodged firmly between his gluteus maximus when he arrived and it was apparently still there.

He's far more competent than Frank had ever been, though that's not exactly difficult, but would it be too much to ask for him to stop blowing his own trumpet at every opportunity? That also included the trumpets he often had blaring from his gramophone. BJ wasn't enjoying their new bunkmate either, and was not always that pleased that Hawkeye had found somewhere else to be that didn't involve him.

The door to the tent opens and Margaret sticks her lovely, blonde head in. Hawkeye takes a moment to appreciate the way her hair is falling in waves, and glowing in the late afternoon light. He still feels like he needs to pinch himself because he has no right to feel this happy or this fortunate in a warzone.

"Are you ready? They're all over there waiting for you."

"Coming," he says as he dries his face and removes the towel he had around his neck.

He finds parties hold less appeal than they used to. Alcohol's now his second favourite drug, the first being Margaret, and what are parties for if not for drinking and picking up girls?

He meets her at the door and loops his arm around her waist, pulling her close and kissing her on the nose. She smiles and wrinkles it as he does. He doesn't think he'll ever get tired of this, their togetherness or the relief that their physical closeness brings, nor access to warm and soft side of her personality.

He's been tempted many times in the last month to rush out and buy her a ring and offer her forever, and he's got no doubt that he eventually will. He's had to remind himself to slow down, to not rush what they've got going on here.

They make their way over to the mess tent, both with an arm still around the other. No one bats an eyelid anymore; as strange as it might have seemed a month ago, now they're almost always touching.

There's applause as they enter the mess, and much like the night he was crowned chief surgeon, there are toilet paper streamers everywhere. They head up to the front of the crowd where Colonel Potter is waiting for them. The only person not applauding or looking in any way pleased is Charles.

Potter gets up to speak, "Ladies and gentlemen, I've just received some news which should make this celebration just that little bit sweeter. After taking into consideration the recent incident her at the 4077th, Major Frank Burns has been discharged with a Section 8."

There had been applause when Hawkeye entered, but the tent positively exploded now. Streamers flew, people hugged and cheered, and Margaret shrieked in surprise as Hawkeye picked her up and spun her around without warning.

Potter cleared his throat, wanting to keep speaking. Reluctantly a hush fell,

"Now as you know, we are here this evening to celebrate the fact that our Chief Surgeon is now well enough to be back in action after having been shot by Major Burns."

"Even though he's already been getting quite a bit of action!" Yells BJ from his place in the crowd. There are titters and Margaret turns bright red.

Potter continues, "Now, where were we, ah yes Captain Hunnicutt would like to say a few words. Well, a few more words," he says, turning an amused gaze towards BJ as he made his way to the front, grinning and bowing.

"Now as we know, ladies and gentlemen, Hawk getting shot has not been the only development around here lately. Our Chief Surgeon and Head Nurse have also joined forces, among other things," he says to muffled laughter, and Charles loudly mumbling something about being unprofessional, "and I have a little present here for them to mark this momentous occasion." He brandishes a small photo from his front pocket and holds it up, "Which is a picture of the happy couple fast asleep in post op together."

Hawkeye accepts the gift gleefully, brimming with 's mortified,still unused to having her private affairs out in the open like this and moves closer into Hawkeye's side. He gives her a reassuring squeeze, but gets a slap on the arm and a half hearted dirty look when he moves his hand down and squeezes her backside as well.

"Thank you, thank you," Hawkeye says, grandiosely, addressing the crowd, "First of all I'd like to thank my parents, because they made me, my friend Beej, because he's been doing it kinda tough lately having to live without me, and last but not least, my favourite Major, my best nurse, Major Margaret Houlihan. His first instinct is to dip her with no warning and kiss her soundly, but instead he turns to look at her, basking in her soft smile and gently, tenderly presses his lips to hers. She's pleased, he can feel it radiating off her through her embarrassment at the very public display of affection. They're good for each other, he thinks. She still commands a tight ship, but her edges are softer now, and he's no longer searching or lamenting a love lost. They move through the revellers, talking, laughing, always close, and when enough alcohol has flowed that they won't be missed, together they slip quietly into the night.