Mr. & Mrs. 4077th

Chapter Two

Margaret blinked her eyes, and her vision came slowly into focus. She was...well, she was in a tent, that was for sure. Not her tent, but...someone's. The...the mess tent?!?!!?? How had-

"You're dreaming."

Margaret sat up and whipped her head around until the woman who had spoken came into view.

Hold it a minute.

The woman who had spoken was...was her.

Well, not exactly "her." This version of herself had dark brown hair that was in a messy updo, a long violet dress, and was considerably thinner.

"Where am I?" Margaret asked.

"You're in your subconscious."

"My subconscious?" Margaret rubbed her head.

"Also known as your dream world."

"And I'm talking to myself?"

"I'm not you, per se." She held up her hand before Margaret could protest. "Yes, I look like you--to a point--and sound like you. But I'm the unconscious you. The one you always suppress when you get some urge to do something wild and crazy. I'm the 'baby' to your 'major.'"

"I'm being criticized by myself." Margaret stood up from the table she'd been lying on. "Look, whoever you are, I'm trying to get some sleep. So get out of my head and just-"

"You can't get some sleep, Maggie."

"What?" Margaret put her hands on her hip. "You can call me Margaret. Or better yet, Major Houlihan."

"And you can call me Gret."

"Not that nickname."

"I actually approved of your college self. Remember that time in December, when you and Lorraine skipped class and-"

"I don't want to hear it."

"-went to that officer's club and met those sailors? Who were they, Bart-"


"-and Jack?"

"Look, I am not that person anymore. I have nurses to command and patients that take presedence over parties."

"And I admire that. But come on, Maggie, have some fun."

"When I count to five, I'm going to wake up." Margaret glared at the brunette. "One...two...three...four-"



Margaret sat up in bed, gasping. She'd always hated dreams, but that one was a little too out there. It made no sense...but in a way, it made perfect sense. That was a complete oxymoron but it was the only way to describe it.

She pulled on her robe and left her tent. Hawkeye and B.J. were over by an ambulance, babbling about something to the effect of how purple made Charles seem so vibrant.

"Margaret," Hawkeye said jovialy. "You cut out on us early. I was hoping to have a tango with our high-ranking head nurse."

"I had better things to do, Doctor. Things like sleep, so I'd be rested in case we'd land in just this type of situation. I'd suggest that you do that from now on." She glared at him and stormed away.

Hawkeye paused. "Gee, if I'd have known she hated tangoing that much, I would've asked her to waltz.

A/N: I know, I know, I know, it's been FOREVER since I updated this. But anyway, it's here, and it knows where it's going.

Kind of.