Try as she might, Donna struggles to get her coat on.  After an ordinary day with the convoy, where she’s had nothing to drink but too little powdered milk mixed in with too much water.  Her sleeve is inside-out and obstructed by something, which squeaks when prodded with her fingers.  A silly, small, sad kind of noise.  She drapes her coat over the van’s hood and coaxes out a kitten with matted fur. It buries its face in her cupped hand.  “Oh, you poor thing…” She tucks it away in her pocket, and feeds it a syringe of reconstituted milk.

“You look awful,” Margaret said, under the impression she was giving Klinger a compliment.  That last OR session dulled the sparkle in his eyes, put bags under them instead, strained his voice, and ruined his last good pair of nylons.   He went right to the O Club, hoping to beat any Os, for a break from constantly running their errands.   Margaret slid the basket of pretzels into his periphery, nudging his fist, curled tight on the table, with the reed. “I’ve never seen anyone work that well, in there,” she was sincere.  “I can’t believe I never saw it before.”

Charles strives to bring a touch of class everywhere he’s invited.   Though, the first time he crashed the nurses’ monthly pedicure party, he was not invited.  He was seeking solace from his squabbling roommates, and had to fritter away half his pantry to be allowed to stay in Margaret’s peaceful tent for half an hour.   Now, they cordon off the club, making it Women Only for the evening – with the exception of Charles, who takes turns teaching each of the ladies to ballroom dance, who performs poetry readings for them, who provides cultured accompaniment on the piano while they chat.

“Frank,” Hawkeye’s voice is not stern, but serious, “Frank, look at me.  Anyone could’ve missed a tiny fragment like that.” “It’s going in my file,” Frank says, sourly.  “No one’ll ever miss that I missed it again for as long as I’m in this stupid man’s army.” Hawkeye quirks a brow and leans in, intrigued, willing to soften, willing to give Frank the benefit of the doubt since Hawkeye has plenty of doubts about him already. “D’you know what my file has in it, Frank?  All my insubordination – that’s nowhere near as important as a man’s life.” “Yeah, you’re right.”

Francis trudges along through the slick grass, around the flowerbeds, with little Blake held over his shoulders, and with Hawkeye leading the expedition.  He takes great joy in gesturing dramatically, pointing out every animal they pass, fingerspelling their names much too quickly, and then miming what they do for the toddler to see.  Granted, they do not actually see a lion or a walrus on their walk through the park, but Hawkeye loves miming manes and tusks, because tickling Blake’s chin always makes him shriek with laughter.  He can’t wait to go to the zoo together, when he gets older.