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She really could not tell you why exactly her reflexive response to that is to touch her teeth. She could tell you why she rolls her eyes, though.

Rather than immediately address the implicit offer, she first asks: "What does running a practice here look like, anyway? I must admit I have concerns about the equipment and medication available."

Hawk winces a little. Typical of Margaret to be all business, but here it's a real concern.

"Look, it's not pretty. Our range of pharmaceuticals is limited. If we didn't have a good apothecary from a version of Earth, I might be stuck putting leeches on people. But we have some basics, and painkillers at all, even if they're not the kind we'd use. Really the hard part is going to be anaesthetics, but we've been lucky- I haven't needed to put anyone under since I got here. A majority of the time we're looking at scrapes and sniffles. But I do mean 'a majority', when things get ugly then you're looking at- you know the aid station we went to? Picture that."

It's an easy shortcut that doesn't require him to explain things like 'an evil ship infested with bugs' or 'space creatures from the sky that wants to kill you'.

"But, some good news, we have a working X-Ray. So we have that going for us."

Her brow wrinkles thoughtfully. That's better than she thought they might be dealing with, at least, but definitely still not ideal.

"That is good news," she does agree, because it is. At least they have basic imaging for when they need it. Not that it's so much use in the kinds of outlier situations Hawkeye is alluding to. "I suppose the anaesthetic isn't so much of a concern when we're not getting patients that need surgery regularly, let alone a dozen or two a day, but that only lasts until it suddenly becomes necessary."

The cogs are turning. If nothing else, all the new complications will give her something to think about.

"How often do things 'get ugly'?"

That's a big part of why Margaret's presence here is a comfort. She was a taskmaster back home, but nobody ran inventory and rationing like she did. Makes him think maybe next time a catastrophe hits, they'll have a better chance of handling it.

"I'd say... every once in a while. Not often enough to set your watch to. But when it rains, it pours. We had a uh- a flood a while back. The town got picked up by some sailors, and it seemed fine, only their ship was bug infested. Turned out they liked it that way, so much that they wanted to put bugs inside us, too."

There's no hint of Hawk's usual light-heartedness in the telling of it. It still weighs on him.

"Every now and again we get attacks from God knows what. Living constellations, big wolves- I think they told us there was a dragon wandering around a few months back. It's a madhouse."

"That's certainly one word for it." She's thinking of things far more colourful, even if they never pass her lips. It's hard not to keep thinking about how impossible this all is, and yet Hawkeye isn't joking and there's too much proof of other things for her to keep doubting each new thing.

Sailors infested with bugs. Living constellations. A dragon. Why not. Why should any of this get any less insane.

"Alright," she says after a moment, resting hands on the bar. "Alright. You're a fine doctor, Pier— Hawkeye. I'd sooner trust your work than anyone in town I've yet to meet. So, if that was a serious offer, I'll accept."

They do make a good team, in the operating room and out doing field medicine. It makes sense.

Hawk beams and offers Margaret a hand to shake.

"Can I get that in writing so I can frame it for the office?" he jokes, but his expression softens a little after saying it. The Margaret he knew was an excellent nurse, certainly the most capable in camp, but she'd never be this open with him. It's nice. Makes him not even really want to pull her pigtails and call her names.

"And I haven't met a nurse more capable than you since I've been here. It's a deal- I'll show you around the clinic tomorrow morning. Normal civilian morning, not six AM. If you blow reveille outside my window while I'm getting my beauty sleep, the deal's off."

She rolls her eyes again, but it's a much fonder sort of annoyance than it ever used to be, and she shakes his hand with that firm military handshake she definitely has.

"I'm sure I can allow you that," she says, dryly. "In all honesty this whole affair's enough that I might even sleep in til six-thirty myself."

She's got jokes.

Hawk cackles, thrilled more than anything that Margaret makes jokes now.

"Careful, don't hurt yourself- if you sleep past seven I think your boots might march off without you."

"Maybe if they were my own boots and not these loaners," she says, kicking her foot against the bottom of the bar stool. The clothes they get given upon arrival are decent and sturdy enough, but... "They're hardly military standard. I don't understand why I couldn't have just kept my uniform but I suppose I should be glad to be clothed at all."

Beat. Recognises the opening. Gives Hawkeye a very pointed don't even look.

Hawk just kind of eaaaases into one of his cat-like smug smiles, resting his cheek on his hand. He doesn't even have to say anything, does he?

"I think the jokes I'm imagining may be worse than just letting you tell your own," she says dryly, picking up her glass again. "Which still isn't an invitation."

She drinks.

"But it could be," he jokes, leaning even further on the bar, "I bet you wouldn't know what to do without me pulling your pigtails."

Margaret makes a vague 'mmm' sound. "I might wonder if you'd hit your head if you actually stopped entirely, I'll give you that much."

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