Strong enough

Disclaimer: Don't own anyone, or anything, you recognize. 'm just fooling around, no harm meant ;)

A/N: My first MASH piece, originally meant as a oneshot, but I'm thinking of developing it into something bigger – let me know what you think of it, and enjoy! :)

Sticky, shaky hands, fumbling with the buttons of her shirt, and failing miserably. Heavy, rotting smell from his mouth. Hot sweat on his skin, making her feel sick.

"Stop it," muffled at first by his arm.

"Oh, Margaret—"

"I said, stop it, Frank!" Pushing him away, she sat up, back straight, checking her hair with one hand, adjusting the uniform shirt with the other. He snorted, irritated, behind her back. "I think I should get back to work."

"Now?! Margaret, it's way past midnight!"

"You might not be on the nightshift, Frank, but I am," she snapped, pinning her hair up into a tight bun. "I'm off. Please close the door behind you, as soon as possible."

"Margaret—"

Snorting, she went out of the tent into the cold, quiet night of the medical camp. Shivering slightly, she puts her hands in her pockets and shook her head as she made her way towards to PO. Frank was a good man, yes, believing wholeheartedly in discipline and order, respecting the army she cared she so much – but sometimes it just wasn't enough. Oh, yes, he did like her body and enjoyed her company, but she was quite sure his approach towards her was nothing more than… materialistic. Let's face it – Frank Burns' sleeping with her was for pure convenience.

Which wasn't exactly the reason she'd want to sleep with somebody for, not to mention forming a long-term relationship with him.

Margaret entered the PO and yawned. Nightshift or not, she was sleepy after a hard day's work, and still a bit shaken by her reaction on Frank's attempts to make out with her. Dizzy. Irritated.

And yet, surprisingly, she also felt unusually… excited. Frank's unsuccessful actions couldn't have been the reason; during his ministrations she didn't feel anything at all. And yet, somewhere deep under her skin there was an itch she couldn't scratch.

Maybe she was just feeling lonely.

To hell with that, she thought, checking the vitals of a young Corporal. I'm tired of this war, tired of being a better man than 90 percent of males I'm stuck with in here…

"Evening, Major. Tough night?" a low, husky baritone of a male being the most prominent member of the ten-percent group sounded close to her ear. She turned, and looked her colleague in the laughing, cunning eye.

"I didn't know you had a nightshift today."

"Lost it in poker with BJ."

"Too bad."

He eyed her, furrowing a brow, and closed his patients' data file. "Already checked on those pals, all recovering pretty well. Care to grab some coffee before the next checkup?"

"What about paperwork?"

"We can work it out in the meantime," he assured her, winking and opening the office door. "C'mon, what do you say, Major Baby?"

She couldn't help but smile, seeing his naughty boy look from head to toe, except for the stethoscope hanging from his neck. "You're insufferable, Hawkeye."

"Ahh, but that's exactly why you adore me, Mags. Let me fix you a drink. No alcohol will be involved this time, I promise."

She entered the small, dimly lit office and closed the door firmly behind her. Hawkeye has already busied himself with filling the coffeepot with cold water and putting it on an electric cooker. Margaret sat in a chair next to the coughing heater and shivered: she forgot to take her jacket, too anxious to be out of the tent, and the night was chilly even for an October in Korea. Hawkeye gave her a concerned look and stripped of his, gently tugging it around her shoulders.

"Take this, gorgeous, I'm always hot, as you probably know already," he joked, briefly hugging her shoulders.

"You're going to get cold," she pointed out, grateful as she was. Hawkeye's jacket smelled of gin, cigar smoke from the canteen, his aftershave, spicy and rich, and something else – a male scent, that made her feel strangely comfortable.

Not that the excitement was gone. Oh no, no chance for that.

"What's the lady's fancy tonight?" her companion asked, looking for something with his head buried deep in the fridge. "Nice and sweet, or strong and groovy?"

"Get off it, Hawkeye; all we have is a broken coffee machine, and—" he waved a dark, unlabeled bottle in front of her nose "—maple syrup? How…?"

Hawkeye beamed, adding a few drops of the liquid to their respective mugs. "A special treat for my home doctor, dear Maddie Sloane," he said, gazing off dreamily into space. Margaret averted her eyes as she felt an unfamiliar sting of something, deep in her breast: was it by any chance jealousy? But how? Why? For him, of all people?

"Your friend from med school?" she asked, trying to keep her voice casual, without the trace of hurt that kept on pushing in. Hawkeye kept a steady gaze on her face, waiting for the coffee to boil.

"Best in our year," he answered with a nostalgic smile. "Beautiful, too. Married Jack Hunt, an internist. Envied him like hell, but got over it quite soon. After all, she was a bit harsh, and stubborn like an ass – and I liked my women sweet and easygoing… those days."

Margaret shivered slightly and looked Hawkeye in the eye, trying to figure out the intentions hidden in his last sentence. Hawkeye inhaled deeply, apparently wanting to say something more, but the smell of burning coffee caused him to break their eye contact and pour brown, hot liquid into the mugs. As he circled the table to pass Margaret hers, she noticed goosebumps forming on his bare forearms.

"You're freezing!" she exclaimed, and patted the seat of a chair next to her. "Here," slid the jacket down from one shoulder, she encouraged him to share it. Shaking his head in amazement, Hawkeye moved his chair closer and sat down, pulling the offered clothing towards him, and encircling Margaret's waist with his right arm. Margaret fell back, feeling her body make contact with Hawkeye's broad chest. She felt his tickling breath near her left ear, and hoped she didn't blush. Too much.

Taking a long sip from his mug, Hawkeye encouraged her with a gentle pressure applied on her elbow to try hers. It was sweet and strong, like the man who made it, Margaret thought and shivered at the idea. Hawkeye stifled a yawn, gently rubbing her arm. "Still cold?"

"No, not at all. The coffee is great, by the way."

"Happy to hear that." Another yawn. "Geez, sorry for that, Major. Your presence is more than invigorating, but last night was quite… intense, as you can probably recall." Thus having spoken, he rested his forehead against the back of her head. Margaret froze for a second, but as Hawkeye didn't attempt to further deepen their contact, she, too, began to relax in his embrace. Images of the previous night – the orphans, the wounded, the shot woman giving birth – flooded her mind.

"It was a very nice thing to do, giving the Heart to the newborn," she said in a soft, quiet voice, covering his hand with hers. She felt him shake his head gently, and heard his muffled laughter.

"I'm glad you approve." A beat. "Thought you might not."

"Why wouldn't I…" she paused. "Because of its not-so-worthy first owner?"

"I'd say so. After all, you two do share… some stuff."

She sighed, and ran a hand through her hair, accidentally touching his cheek and stopping it there for a moment. "I'm not sure there's anything left to share. It's like I'm giving him more and more, getting nothing back. And at nights like this, when I need somebody to hold me, I'm—"

"Don't say that," he interrupted, calm but definite, hugging her closer and placing his chin in the crook of her neck. "You're not alone, Margaret. Not when I'm around – though I do believe you'd rather not see me for most of the time—"

"Oh, don't say that," she smiled and reached out to touch his face again, rubbing her finger pads against hot, harsh skin. "I like having you around, Hawkeye. I liked the way you handled the children. I admire your surgeon skills. Working with you is a great challenge. I'm glad to have met you."

"Whoa, we're getting sentimental here," he chuckled as he stood up to refill their mugs. "You're blushing, Margaret. Warmer now?"

"Yes, thank you. Shall we move onto work?" she asked, desperate to cover her emotional side that took over her for a couple of minutes. Hawkeye waved his hand dismissively.

"Nah, Margaret, relax." He resumed his former position, wrapping his arm loosely around her waist. "I have something to tell you, too." Turning her towards him, he looked her deep in the eye and smiled. "You're a helluva woman, Major. Strong, confident and more beautiful than any woman I've met here, and most of those I used to know back home. But you're also far more sensitive than one could imagine, and that's why you need a strong arm to support you. A man who chooses to be with you has to have some balls. You are a challenge, too, Margaret, and in my opinion, if you care to hear it, you need a man stronger than Frank Burns to hold you."

She swallowed hard and blinked, avoiding his gaze. The soft-spoken words broke down some barriers inside her, keeping all the emotions and fears in check. Hawkeye placed one hand on her shoulder, the other under her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Don't cry, Margaret. I didn't want to hurt you, I'm sorry…"

"No, you haven't – I mean – you're right, Hawkeye, and it scares me."

He hugged her again, burying her face in his shoulder, and rocked her gently against himself until her breathing calmed down. But as he pulled away from her again, to say something more, maybe throw in a joke to relieve the tension, he saw the faraway look in her eyes that she used to get when she so ashamed of letting her guard down and allowing her emotions to control her. Just then a patient called out from the post-op, and Margaret stood up, happy to have an excuse to leave. Why on Earth did Hawkeye have such an influence on her?! That was so… unlike her, to let another person into the intimacy of her thoughts. Troubled by the outcome of the evening, Margaret cleared her throat pointedly.

"Well, Captain," she spoke, painfully aware of how hoarse and shaken her voice sounded, "thank you for the coffee." For a moment she thought she caught a glint of disappointment in his eyes, but they changed to cold and ironic so fast she was no longer sure.

"Anytime, Major," he answered curtly, and cleaned the mugs off the table. Margaret made an attempt to shrug his jacket off herself, but he stopped her with a quick gesture. "Keep it. I'll be off in an hour or so, and you could positively freeze in here. You can give it back when you get your own."

"Thank you," she replied ant went into the PO to help out the calling man. As she turned around a couple of minutes later, she saw Hawkeye in the small office window: he was catching up with his papers, facing away from the door. Margaret had a fleeting feeling of something being taken away from her, but since she couldn't work out what it was, she decided to go back to work.

At least she was on safe ground here.

TBC?...

A/N: That's it! Let me know if you liked it!