Hawkeye's reunion with his old coworkers and friends was a joyful affair, made sweeter by his old supervisor putting a job offer on the table. He was high as a kite as they left the hospital, talking excitedly about various individuals all through dinner, filling Margaret in on who they were and telling old stories about them. His high spirits couldn't be dimmed even by the few mentions of the war that were prompted by Margaret's uniform.

His happiness at seeing old friends again almost certainly contributed to his increasingly amorous feelings towards her, but the fact that they were ironing out wrinkles that stood in the way of their having a life together was at least as big a factor. He was so full of enthusiasm, in fact, that he hadn't even noticed Margaret's subdued mood.

Checking in at the motel was just enough of a distraction to turn his attention back to her. As they drove from the office to their room, he inquired, "Are you ok?"'

She sighed greatly. "I've been thinking... what you said about it being hard to leave the past behind? I think you're right."

He parked the car and turned in his seat to face her. "What are you thinking about specifically?"

She took a moment to think how to phrase what she wanted to say. It could easily be an inflammatory remark, and her intent was not to start a fight. "All afternoon I kept... wondering... which of those women you've slept with. Am I right in thinking you've slept with some of them?" she asked apologetically.

"Yeah," he admitted quietly.

She nodded resignedly. "What bothers me most, I think, is that I can't tell which ones."

He raised his eyebrows. "I'm sure you could guess at least one of them–Alison's greeting was borderline obscene. Margaret... back at the 4077th you knew exactly which women I'd slept with. Some of them you even watched me seduce. How is this different?"

"The 4077th is history. The odds of your seeing any of them again are... pretty much nil."

"So... you're worried I might... rekindle an old relationship?"

She said nothing, but her eyes answered yes.

"I'm not going to help my case any by pointing this out. But if this–between us–is going to work, we need to be honest with each other–and ourselves. Falling back into bed with a former lover is certainly easier than hooking up with someone new. But Margaret, you know I love the chase. Given the choice between someone I've already been with and someone fresh, I go after fresh every time."

She inhaled sharply and drew back as if he'd struck her.

"Oh god! That didn't come out–I didn't mean–" He took a quick breath. "I meant when I'm pursuing women just for the sake of pursuing them, just for fun, for the thrill of the chase! Obviously, if you and I are going to be together, I have to give that up."

"Can you?"

He paused. "I like to think so, but honestly? I have as much to prove to myself as I have to prove to you. And you know, I think we need to reopen those negotiations."

She looked at him inquiringly.

"We've said there will be no seeing other people. No cheating. Can we also add a term that says we'll be honest with one another? If we're tempted. Or in case we should... accidentally... fall off the fidelity wagon?"

She nodded contemplatively. "That would be a pretty painful conversation."

"Yeah. But wouldn't you rather know? Wouldn't it be easier to deal with these things early? Maybe my distaste for marriage comes from Trapper and Henry and the hundred other guys I know who constantly cheat on their wives. What's the point of a marriage like that?"

His sincerity touched her. "Honesty. I'm in for that." She held out her right hand.

He smiled and shook it.

"Any other terms you want to add?"

"Mmm, not at the moment. But let's keep the channels of communication open, shall we?"

She smiled. "I'd like that."

He slid closer on the seat, but didn't touch her, except her hand that he still held. He cleared his throat, cupping her hand in both of his. "Um, speaking of channels... at some point during this very long and very exciting day... you fell off my forbidden list," he said intimately.

She smiled but came no closer. "I had a hunch," she said as she withdrew her hand.

"Have your doubts and fears landed me on yours?"

She swallowed loudly. "I–I don't know. I'm scared."

He nodded. "I hear you."

"I could use a hug," she said meekly. He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly, placing a soft kiss on her temple.

He hadn't exactly neglected her during his reunion with old friends at the hospital, but she'd definitely felt like an outsider. Which, of course, she was–the situation couldn't be helped. Hawkeye had tried to draw her in when she fell too far into the background. The way he'd casually wound his arm around her had revealed his relationship with her to his friends in a far clearer way than words possibly could have–most especially since their relationship wasn't yet well enough defined that explaining it with words was even possible.

He hadn't exactly flirted with anyone either, at least not in the way he did when he was pursuing. Teasing and flattery were another matter though, not to mention lots of hugs and a few innocent-looking kisses. He was, for the most part, easy to get along with, and he had real chemistry with many of the people at the hospital; it was only natural that the caring he had for them and they for him would show.

She wasn't exactly jealous. Alison's intentions had been obvious, but he'd deftly ignored her advances, silencing her with a joke. The way he'd touched the rest of them had just seemed like genuine friendly affection. His most intimate embrace, in fact, was with Rose, a large older woman, who held him like a long-lost child. Hawkeye had wiped her tears away and kissed her on the cheek.

Or maybe she was just a little jealous of him, of the fact that he was so likeable. Among the several dozen people he'd introduced her to, it was obvious he was on friendly terms with nearly all of them. She didn't think she'd had that many friends her whole life. What would it be like to have as a partner a man who got along with virtually everyone? She was likely to have more social life than she'd ever had before, and that was both exciting and a little scary.

Exciting and scary summed up their whole relationship, in fact. It summed up love itself, now she thought about it–in her experience anyway.

They went inside and took turns in the bathroom, Margaret taking the opportunity to wash things out in the sink. (Such was the price of traveling light.) When she came to bed, Hawkeye welcomed her warmly into his arms with a chaste kiss, and apart from a typically lewd but complimentary remark, did not pressure her for sex. Upon reflection, this seemed only fair–she'd done as much for him. But she'd so often had a lover turn a cold shoulder to her after she'd refused sex that it surprised her all the same.

He asked questions about her interview with Col. Woodrow, clarifying a few points she'd made when she'd told him all about it over lunch. After a lull, during which she'd begun to drift off to sleep, he said, "Margaret? Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," she answered sleepily.

"Your concern about old flames... did you raise that particular issue because if you were ever going to cheat, odds are it would be with someone from your past?"

"I'm not going to cheat!" she replied, incensed into full wakefulness and turning to face him.

"I meant hypothetically!"

"All right then!"

"Although... actually..."

"What?"

"Well... I know you have doubts about my ability to be faithful, and with good reason. But you know, I have doubts too."

"About?"

"Well... you weren't faithful to Frank."

She pulled away from him, sat up, and began to sputter.

"Now, Margaret, I didn't mean for that to sound like an accusation–" He remained lying down, not wanting to escalate hostilities.

"Frank was cheating on his wife!!" she pointed out, loudly and forcefully. "And he only got me into bed in the first place by lying about being married!"

He kept his tone deliberately calm. "I know. I'm sure it was only fair. But the thing is... you cheated on Donald too."

"I–" she returned to incoherent sputtering noises before saying, "Only with you!!"

"Granted. But you didn't even like me then. If you could cheat with someone you don't even like..."

"I did too like you! Honestly, how could you think such a thing?! And how dare you compare that situation with anything outside a war zone?!"

"I know, I know, the circumstances were pretty extreme. Not the sort of thing either of us is likely to be faced with again. I was only trying to make the point that you're not the only one who worries about the past rearing its ugly head. I know you're attracted to powerful men, and I don't exactly fit the profile. Not like a visiting general might."

"So you're expecting me to fall into bed with the first old flame that waltzes into my life?!" she screeched.

He was silent a moment and then asked, being careful to omit any trace of sarcasm, "Margaret, how come we can discuss my past and your fears without shouting?"

She thought about that for a few moments, as best she could; after all, thinking wasn't so easy when she was angry. Finally, she said, "I'm sorry. I guess I'm used to a different style of arguing."

"I didn't mean to start an argument. I just wanted to talk. I apologize if I didn't frame it very well."

"I'm sorry for snapping. I suppose I'm protesting so much mainly because you're right." She stared down at her hands.

He wrapped his hand around hers. "Margaret, I don't expect you to rekindle any old flames. I was just talking about my fears. I'm at least as afraid of getting hurt as you are, you know."

"I know," she said, her lower lip quivering slightly. She still hadn't met his eyes.

"You want to come back down here?" he invited.

She did, and cried herself to sleep in his arms, his apologies, words of comfort, and sweet kisses in her hair insufficient to blot out the truth: she was a cheater. She'd never thought of herself as one, but the facts indicated otherwise. She vowed to herself that her cheating days were over.

As morning dawned, Margaret's barely-awake consciousness centered on the sensation of being warm, comfortable, and relaxed to the point of arousal, a state that often went hand in hand with early morning. Instinctively she turned to the masculine body beside her and wrapped her arms around him, nestling close, her knee between his, hands slowly wandering, seeking edges of clothing.

Hawkeye woke only enough to respond to her, and as had been adequately demonstrated to him a few days before, his body knew hers so well that it didn't amount to much waking at all. In a sleepy haze, hands on skin soon became skin on skin. Their bodies knew one another, were familiar with all the angles and curves and sizes and shapes, could predict how various body parts would respond to their own touch; they worked in tandem toward a common goal without necessity of words. They were at least a full minute past full penetration before either of them began to be truly awake.

"Mmm, I missed you," he told her, raining soft kisses over her temple, her forehead, her eyes, her cheek, finally her mouth.

Engaging her mouth brought her to fuller wakefulness, and she moaned her agreement, holding him close. The wet and noisy kisses continued, while their lovemaking slowed.

He pulled back to look at her, and she gazed up at him, so at home in his arms this way. He would be the last lover she would ever have, it occurred to her. She wondered briefly if she would ever tire of him, but then she noticed that he was doing something he'd never done before. She smiled inwardly. He knew she liked being penetrated, but he was taking this to new heights, withdrawing completely and penetrating her again at each stroke, ever so slowly and deliberately, both of them savoring every long moment, keeping eye contact all the while.

His every caress, his every kiss, his every look was filled with love for her. He found himself feeling unexpectedly possessive. She was his and no one else's now, and he touched her with the reverence due the woman who would someday be mother to his children. He touched his forehead to hers briefly at the thought, and considered what it would be like to make love to her with the full intent of creating a child together. He buried his head in her neck, moaning softly. And stopped. He raised his head to look at her and withdrew.

She looked at him questioningly.

"Wait here," he said softly and turned to fumble in his bag.

When she finally figured out what he was doing, she realized what she'd done. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

But he kissed away her apology, returning to her eager arms and the warm, wet, welcoming company of both sets of lips. His former rhythm was less easy with the condom–he had to forgo fully withdrawing. He watched her again, marveling again at her enthusiasm, and began to smile as he settled back into the idea that she was his. She smiled back at him, and a sudden fire leapt between them. Their languorous lovemaking faded away and a harder, faster, and deeper tempo replaced it, which reached its crescendo in a chorus of 'Oh gods' and 'I love yous'.

And his smile was back again, generously doling out kisses to every inch of skin he could easily reach. "Mine," he told her, holding her tightly.

She smiled, moaning happily.

"Yes?" he confirmed.

"Oh yes! And you're all mine?"

He beamed at her, his face still close to hers. "Uh-huh. You're stuck with me."

She giggled. "Oh good."

"We have an agreement, remember?"

"And to think you once teased me about having your lawyer draw up a contract."

He laughed. "That's right! Funny how things work out, isn't it?" He separated from her and lay beside her, still smiling.

"Mmm," she agreed happily.

"You know," he said after a few minutes. "We need to do something about... the way we keep forgetting..."

She sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, I've done it too. If we're not careful, one of us is going to wind up pregnant. And it darn well better not be me!" he quipped.

She smiled.

"It's a shame there's no vaccine to prevent pregnancy. Wouldn't that be convenient?"

"Yes. Or a pill, like cloraquine prevents malaria."

"That'd work too. But getting your annual anti-pregnancy booster shot sounds easier."

"Anything I don't have to try and remember in the heat of the moment sounds good to me."

"Right," he agreed. The conversation made him think about the future and after a minute or two of pondering, he asked, "Margaret?"

"Hmm?"

"There's a question I've been afraid to ask you."

"What question?"

He paused a moment. "What is it you see in me?"

"Why would you be afraid to ask that?"

"Maybe I'm afraid once you start thinking about it, you'll notice there ain't much."

"Hawkeye..." she chided.

"I'm not exactly your usual type, Margaret."

"How well have things ever worked out for me with men who are my usual type?"

He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. She had a point.

"There are so many things I see in you, starting with the fact that you care about people. Truly care. And you don't think you're brave, but you are. You're not afraid of people in authority. And no matter how scared you are, if someone needs you, you don't hesitate to help them, no matter the danger to yourself. I admire that so much. You're warm. And fun. And loyal. And..." Her voice wavered. "You don't listen to me. Usually that's a bad thing, but not the way you do it."

He looked at her searchingly.

"So many times, you've gone out of your way to..." She paused, trying to keep from crying. "To touch me, to be my friend, to hold and comfort me, in spite of my screaming at you to leave me alone. You cared about me enough to make me let you in, to make me accept your friendship." Her lip trembled and her voice quavered. "Most people don't think I'm worth the trouble. But I guess you do."

"Oh, Margaret..." He pulled her close. "Most people don't know what they're missing! You're so worth the trouble!" He kissed her cheek.

"You've... drawn me out. Made me be a better person. Taught me to laugh a little. Hawkeye, everyone loves you. You could have any woman you want. I was so afraid to come visit you. I thought you'd be mad at me. But here we are."

"I cannot have any woman I want!" he protested. "And why would you think I'd be mad at you?!"

"Because you said you didn't want to see me after the war."

"I didn't exactly say that..."

"I thought you'd think I was being pushy, just showing up, and men usually hate that kind of pushy. But I had so little to lose, I took a chance and came anyway."

He smiled. "Thank you for that, brave Margaret. You are pushy. You're willing to go after what you want. And I admire that about you," he reassured her. "You know, what you say I've done for you is just what you've done for me–drawn me out and made me let you in. Dragged me, kicking and screaming, out of the fortress I built around my heart to keep all womankind from getting too close. Without pressing or pleading or begging or insisting–all of which would have only served to drive me away. You gently coaxed me out by being patient and generous and kind. And unpresumptive. And by not putting a lot of conditions on your affection. Or demanding things of me. You know... the tighter someone holds me, the more I struggle to get away. You hold me gently, and I want to stay by your side." He ran his fingers from her temple down her cheek to cradle her neck. "If you'll have me."

A tear escaped her eye and she turned into his hand and pressed a kiss into his palm. "If I'll have you? I keep wondering what you see in me."

He smiled and kissed her nose. "You're bright and competent. And I love your drive!"

"I know that," she said with a trace of embarrassment. "And by the way, thanks for never calling me a nymphomaniac."

"Has someone actually said that to you?!"

"More than one."

He shook his head. "How stupid was that?!" he said incredulously. "I love that your interest in sex rivals mine, but that's not the drive I was referring to. You have ideas! And ambition! You can do anything you set your mind to! I love that about you! You have the power to change the world, and I want to be on your side!"

She laughed. "I do have something of a competitive streak."

"It's more than just that. You believe in yourself! And your confidence is contagious! You have high standards, and yet you never expect more of anyone else than you expect from yourself. You're genuine and honest and forthright. And one of the most courageous people I've ever met. The things I've seen you volunteer for..." He shook his head. "You're definitely a woman of principle. And a team player and loyal. And tough as hell. And you know what I really love about you?"

She shook her head.

"You don't let me get away anything. I can be pretty damn arrogant and self-righteous sometimes, and you're not afraid to knock me off my high horse and bring me back down to earth where I belong."

"I've been too hard on you sometimes," she apologized.

"Maybe a little. But when you were, you always came back later to pick up the pieces. As strong and capable and brave as you are, you're also soft and warm and caring. It's a beautiful, wonderful contrast." He gazed at her for a moment and then kissed her deeply. "Let's stay in bed today," he suggested.

"No..."

He kissed her. "No?" And again. "Margaret..." And again.

"You have–" Kiss. " –an interview." Kiss.

"Oh, that's right." He nuzzled her with his nose. "Darn it."

"Hawkeye... the sooner we get ourselves employed, the sooner we can move in together."

He laughed in delight. "I'll get myself employed today." He kissed her again.

"I'll start looking in the paper for apartments."

He stopped on his way to kissing her again. "This is really happening, isn't it?"

She nodded happily. "It's exciting."

"Sure is."

"And scary."

He nodded, smiling. "I have a feeling if we stick together, we're gonna be all right."

She kissed him. "What time is that interview?"

He beamed. "Not for three whole hours."

"Oh good," she smiled.

Now, let's don't kid ourselves that Hawkeye and Margaret lived happily ever after. Who does really? But they had the advantage of being well aware of their incompatibilities. And they cared for one another enough to accept each other's differences without expecting the other to change. But change they did, sometimes in little ways, sometimes in bigger ones, but always each on their own steam. Whatever happened, whatever life brought, they always retained their immense respect for one another. And as many fights as they had–and there were many–they had no end of fun making up.

Epilogue

"Hawkeye!" Margaret called, "it's for you. A woman."

"Oh?" he said curiously as she handed him the phone, deliberately suppressing the lewd remark that came so readily to mind. He knew she was still feeling vulnerable in that regard. "Hello?"

Margaret headed back to their apartment's small kitchen, where Daniel was tutoring the both of them on the cooking of Thanksgiving dinner, but before she got there she heard Hawkeye say incredulously, "Carlye?" She turned to see him sinking down onto the couch.

Her heart leapt into her mouth and her face obviously fell, because when she entered the kitchen–she just couldn't stay and listen–Daniel asked, "What's wrong?"

"It's Carlye," she said emotionlessly.

He grimaced and opened his arms to her. She accepted the invitation, burying her face in his shoulder. "I don't want to lose him," her shaky and muffled voice said. "Or you."

He hugged her tighter. "Nor me you. And don't even get me started on how much I don't want to see her again! Margaret, if my son turns out to be a jackass, we'll keep in touch, ok?"

She couldn't help laughing at this remark. "Ok," she agreed, hugging him tighter. They stayed in their mutually protective and comforting embrace, and that's how Hawkeye found them when he came back into the kitchen a few minutes later. "Uhh..." he said in surprise.

They broke apart. "I heard you say her name," Margaret explained.

He sighed, crossed the small room to her and pulled her into his arms. "Margaret, I told you, you're stuck with me!" He kissed her temple. Glancing at his dad, he did a double-take at the depth of emotion painted on his face. "Don't worry, you won't have to see her again. I told her no."

"What was the question?" Daniel asked as Margaret stepped back to look at Hawkeye.

Hawkeye sighed again. "Apparently she's had a few relationships that have made her question her assessment of me. She thinks maybe now that she was asking too much and said that she'd be willing to give it a go again if I would."

Daniel shook his head in disgust. "I hope you read her the riot act."

"No. She's obviously hurting. I told her she was right and she shouldn't settle for less than what she's looking for." He turned to Margaret. "And I told her I've found an incredible woman who likes me just the way I am." He beamed at her. "Well... most of the time."

Margaret smiled at him as a tear rolled down her cheek. She inserted herself back into his arms.

"Hey..." he soothed, holding her tightly and rocking her. "I gave my heart to you, remember? I don't want it back. We have an agreement."

It turned out to be quite a sentimental Thanksgiving, one they would never forget.

And their bedroom relationship turned a corner that night too. After Daniel insisted he'd be fine on the couch, and that anyway the two of them belonged behind closed doors (which made Margaret laugh out loud and Hawkeye remark that he had a point), Hawkeye soon found himself alone with Margaret. And rather than launching himself at her in the way the two of them so often did, he found himself leaning against the door jamb, watching her, admiring her, counting his blessings. Saying it out loud was far more commitment than he was ready for, but what crossed his mind was that he had the rest of his life to make love to her. There was no rush.

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