A/N: Hi. I'm back, bringing an epilogue, a greater part of which was written yesterday night, resulting in my zombiness at work today—but I don't mind, and I hope you won't either ;)

Now, I would only like to ask everybody who is, or feels, unaccustomed with fiction closer to M rating rather than T, to take a couple of long breaths, and possibly a shower, before they proceed with reading this. Nothing too graphic, I think, but… there sure is something in the air, if you catch my Sarah Brightman drift ;)

The story is SLIGHTLY AU, which will be marked in the second paragraph. Hope it doesn't offend anyone's feelings, since I've already altered the given reality quite a bit...

And oh, I purposely chose the present tense for this installment. It gives greater effect to what I wish to write about.

Lastly, my great thanks go to everybody who's been around all the time, supporting me with their reviews, making me smile and laugh at most of them, and generally helped me through my 'I can't write stories, help me' phases. This is for you :)

0o0o0o0o0o

Out Of Sight, Out Of Heart – Epilogue

It's a warm night by the end of June 1953. The peace talks are slowly progressing. Still, a great medical conference is being hosted in Tokyo, and every CO of every MASH unit in Korea has attended, bringing their Chief Surgeons and other important staff members along.

It is said that the remaining personnel of the 4077th has gone to the beach this Saturday, but nobody here knows anything about it. The doctors and nurses gathered here, in the heart of Japan, have been attending boring lectures for three days in a row, and tonight is finally the moment they've been waiting for, the closing banquet, for which they have brought tuxedos and evening gowns. The air is damp and smells of flowers, the rain season has just ended the previous week, but you still can feel water drops hanging on molecules of oxygen and nitrogen, gently adding to the usual softness of gathered women's skin.

The excitation is almost visible in the air.

A slim blonde walks slowly down the stairs, making her way towards the hotel restaurant where the dinner and dancing are to be hosted. Her dress is simple, navy blue, its high collar looking a little Chinese in style, but the front cut deep to reveal some creamy skin of her neck and chest. The skirt is tight, finishing just over the wearer's knees, exposing beautifully shaped legs encased in dim-grey stockings, feet covered with a pair of suede shoes, heels not too high, but accentuating the woman's assets all the same. Strands of hair escape from a simple, elegant knot in the back of her head. She wears little make-up, and just a hint of jewelry—beautiful, long, silver earrings and two bands of white gold on her left hand ring finger.

The hall is swarming with women better dressed, wearing heavier make-up, glittering with cheap Korean gold, but it's to her that most of the male eyes turn as she walks by.

The smell of her perfume is intoxicating, but she wears it for one man only.

A General, face red from Japanese vodka-like spirit he drank, approaches her and calls her by her first name. She smiles at him, polite, but cool, and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear with her left hand, light shimmering on her rings. The General is not as stupid as one might think; catching the glimpse of expensive metal on the woman's finger he backs off, biding her good evening—but she no longer hears him.

She has spotted the one man who can move her body and soul to borders she never expected had existed.

He's standing by the bar, accompanied by their CO, who sees her now, too, and smiles broadly, shaking his head with appreciation. She comes closer and allows him to hug her and kiss her cheek—after all, the man has been more of a father to her than a commander. She drifts into her partner's embrace, and he whispers to her ear how much exactly does he like her present outfit, and what a great pleasure it's going to be to relieve her of it later in the evening. She blushes and turns her head away, but her pulse quickens momentarily.

They dance for what seems like hours, every touch a tease, or a plea to end the teasing and start what they both have been wanting since the day they came here. Unfortunately, the thin walls in Japanese hotels give hardly any privacy, and so, they decided to wait till the very last night, when everyone will be too drunk, or still at the party, or engaged into similar activities, to notice.

The night has come, finally, but still they are prolonging the inevitable, wanting to be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Their CO has met some old friends; he's so deep into conversation now he probably wouldn't have noticed if they disappeared without notice. They don't, however; when the tension between them becomes almost unbearable, it is her who leads their steps towards the old man, and excuses them from further participation in the party: they are both a wee bit tired after having spoken during the last session of the conference, she explains, and he accepts her words, though believes none of them. He bids them goodnight, and returns to his bourbon with a knowing smile on his face, his heart aching secretly for the wife he left home.

Meanwhile, the woman and the man climb the stairs; she leads, him following her, mesmerized by the sensual sway of her hips. Couples on the dance floor, who happen to catch the sight of them, suddenly start feeling much too tight in their clothes.

They know some people know, but they don't care they do.

She opens the door to their room and walks in, leaving the lights off, raising her arms and pulling out one pin from her hair with every step, throwing them in the general direction of a cluttered dresser. Her hair falls down her shoulders like a curtain of gold just as she reaches the window and half-turns towards her companion, a small smile upon her lips, fingertips touching her dress collar. She fingers it slowly, eyes trying to read the man's expression in the darkness, smile still lingering on.

Teasing. Testing.

He moves towards her in one smooth motion, but does not touch her, not yet. He probes the material of her dress close enough to her fingers for her to feel the heat emanating from his body. He moves his face closer and inhales her perfume, before slowly lowering his lips to her pulse in the lightest of kisses.

He undresses her ever-so slowly, his mouth kissing every scrap of skin his fingers have touched—delicately, as if she was an exquisite piece of the best Chinese porcelain. She shivers in anticipation, but doesn't attempt to quicken his actions, savoring the long awaited pleasure.

They have time. Lots of time. And they intend to put it to a good use.

First touch of silken sheets against hot skin is nothing like the sensation she experiences when he finally touches her with greater pressure, hands sliding over the alabaster of her body, pulling her closer to him, claiming her and giving himself to her all the same.

He flips them over, and she rises over him, ascending from the white silk sheets like a nymph, a goddess, her skin perfect, her body humming with waves of their joined passion. He worships her with his every move, never forcing, always giving as much as he can, knowing he will get a whole lot more in return.

It is frenzy. It is heat.

It is love, as it was given to man and woman at the beginning of all time.

They belong to one another, there is no doubt about it. And though they need no assurance, they share their emotions in a sacred dance, bringing each other bliss and completion, time and time again.

It is almost dawn when their passion in finally spent—temporarily, they both know it—and they lie together on the bed, limbs entangled, hands soothing, light kisses exchanged in the dim light. She can feel a wave of sleepiness washing over her and turns in his arms, her back to him, her favorite position to sleep since months now. He embraces her, entwining fingers of his left hand through hers, kissing the tip of her right ear as he watches the last rays of moonlight swim over two white gold bands on her ring finger, one simple and pure, the other decorated with a small diamond. He smiles to himself as she rubs her thumb against his and yawns.

"Goodnight," she whispers into the night.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Pierce," he answers, and they both fall asleep at the same time.

The End, for good.

0o0o0o0o0o

A/N: My usual question: flames? Candies? I'd prefer a nice book as my reward, thank you ;)