Charles is drunk, of that he is aware, however he is also aware that he's covered in red dye, and there's no way he's going to sleep covered in filth like that. He opens the door to the shower and gets an eyeful he hadn't bargained on. There, both in the same stall, were a naked and wet Margaret and Hawkeye standing pressed together, her arms around his neck, with streams of red dye dribbling down their bodies, her naked breasts pressed up against his chest.

"Oh good Lord, have you two no shame? Surely you could have done better than him, Margaret."

"You're just jealous, Charles."

"Of Margaret? Hardly." He had in the past entertained certain fantasies about having her as his own, blonde firecracker that she is, but it would never have worked. His mother would have insisted on sending her to a finishing school to try and iron out some of the Irish in her and that would not have gone down well. He also doubted that he had the spark required to keep her interested like Pierce seemed to. Lucky man.

"Do you mind, Charles, we're trying to get clean here."

"Oh-ho, is that what you're trying to do. For a moment there I thought you might be trying to engage in sexual intercourse in the camp shower, the only camp shower, which I happen to be in need of."

"Keep your hair on, we'll be out in a minute."

Margaret giggles, still on the more inebriated end of tipsy, ignoring Charles, pushing herself harder up against Hawkeye. Charles swallows audibly, tearing his eyes away from her her breasts, now bulging against Hawkeye from the extra pressure, and the red rivers running over them.

"I...I...I will be back in five minutes, and I expect you two," he points to them individually, "to be gone!"

"Spoilsport," he hears Margaret say after he's hurried out of the tent. Perhaps, it seems, that she's just as bad as he is. It's quite possible they deserve each other.

"Hey Charles!" Hawkeye yells from the showers

"Good god, now what?"

"Can you bring us my towel and robe?"

"Guh, you two are animals!"

A robe and a towel are shoved unceremoniously in the door a few moments later. They fall

to the dusty floor, Charles apparently uninterested in helping them any more than it took not to see them naked together again.

"I'm wearing your robe, you can have the towel"

"But the towel is smaller"

"You only have to cover the bottom half."

"But I wanted to see you in a tiny towel."

She swats him on the arm playfully before sashaying teasingly out of the shower stall to pick up the robe. She throws him the towel.

Hawkeye groans, "please tell me we're going back to your tent."

"We're going back to my tent."

Hawkeye grins widely as he wraps the towel around his waist, "All my Christmases have come at once," he looks down, "Uh, Margaret, I seem to have a small problem…" Blood rushing south causes the towel to fall from his waist again.

Margaret turns to look at him and flutters her eyelashes, giving him her most seductive smile. She looks him up and down, "I see nothing small or problematic."

"Ohhh she jokes. I'm going to have to use you as a shield."

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

She squeaks as he grabs her and pulls her to that her back is pressed up against his front, his "problem" pressed just below the small of her back. This is the first time Hawkeye has ever wished he was shorter. He moves away from her for the moment it takes to wrap the towel around himself again and pulls her back to him roughly to hold it in place.

"My tent, quick," she commands, and slips her hand between them to give him a quick squeeze.

His eyes go wide, "AAAAAARGH, Margaret! Let's go," he shoves her out of the shower tent door. Her hair is wet and tousled and decidedly delicious, the fact that she's wall wrapped up in his robe only makes her more delectable.

They run a funny frogmarch in a beeline for her tent, her much shorter legs struggling to keep up with the much longer ones behind them. She's giggling and Hawkeye is yelling. This is like being held hostage by something that is loaded and not a gun, only it's purely voluntary. They pass a scoffing Charles and a sniggering BJ, "Gangway!" Hawkeye yells at Charles dramatically, which only makes him roll his eyes more.

They reach her tent and fling open the door,

"Right, in in in in in…" Hawkeye rants, pushing her inside.

She turns to face him, her blond halo sticking up in all directions, her eyes shining with lust, her rosy lips parted as she pants slightly, though it's hard to tell whether that's from their run or the very aroused, very naked man in her tent.

She slams the lock on her door into place and shucks his robe, and Hawkeye makes a grab for her, pulling her to him facing him this time.

"I'll show you "in" in a minute," she murmurs, eyes alight with teasing and intent.

"Minx"

"Pervert"

"But apparently your kind of pervert"

She gives no reply, instead she pulls his mouth to her and starts devouring him. Soon they're nothing but a tangle of lips and warm bodies and limbs. She pushes him so that he falls onto her bed. She barely gives his body time to settle onto the bed before she's rolled underneath him, pulling him down, pinning herself under him so that he's suddenly inside her. He's hit at once by a wall of sheer heaven and an unexpected wave of emotion. It floors him, and for a moment he's completely still, unable to move before he gives in to the near involuntary urge to crack a joke, "Hi honey, I'm home." She just half moans, half groans at his attempted humour and his current position.

He actually means it, though. Last time, their first time, that time in the hut, he'd thought that it was just because she was good in bed, but he'd not been able to recreate the feeling with anyone else. There was something about her. The level of attraction, the emotions involved. He felt like he might drown in her, and right now he wouldn't mind at all. He kisses her deeply, trying to find somewhere to pour all of those big emotions.

They start moving together, biting, sucking, moaning, groping, sliding, fucking. They're completely lost in each other, their rhythm, the scents of skin, sweat and sex that they're oblivious. Oblivious to camp sounds, oblivious to Charles yelling at them to be quiet, oblivious to the nurses giggling as they walk past the tent. Hawkeye barely even notices when Margaret sinks her teeth into his shoulder, branding him as she tries to muffle her pleasured scream, too caught up in rapidly intensifying waves of pleasure. He's caught by surprise when she tumbles over the edge, shuddering and juddering around him, earning him more teeth marks on his arm, and quickly sending him off into oblivion himself.

When he looks down at her her eyes are pleasure hazy and she's smiling back up at him, her face is shiny with sweat, but in the low light it's almost as if she glows. He's not the only one who's fallen, not the only one who feels.

He drops a slow, lazy kiss on her parted lips and she pulls him in for more. Neither of them want to talk now, and there'll be plenty of time for avoiding that later. But really, he knows, they do need to talk.

There's something here.

Together they are something.

Something long denied and wholly unexpected.

Exhaustion is beginning to claim them, having been put off since an OR session that seems like it was days ago. Hawkeye moves himself to lay by her side, pulling the blankets up over them.

They curl into one another, forgetting the war, enjoying the now, bathing in the warmth and comfort of two bodies pressed together. He closes his eyes and feels the warm weight of her head on her chest, her breath softly tickling his skin as he slowly drifts to sleep.

Hawkeye wakes slowly, his eyes take their time adjusting to the dim light. He takes in his surroundings, and Margaret sleeping soundly at his breast.

This was not supposed to be happening. This was not the tent he was supposed to be in, and full was certainly not what his arms were meant to be.