AN: So this is what I'm watching now! The parents and I are starting season 3 now. As you will learn from reading this fic, I really like Hawkeye and Margaret together, but it's annoying because I don't think it'll ever happen. I hope you enjoy this fic anyway! (And remember, it's my first time writing M*A*S*H, so it's probably very bad.) Also, there is some dialogue from 2x11, 'Carry On, Hawkeye' in this fic.
xXx
"Margaret. You didn't come to see me tonight!"
At the sound of Frank's whiny voice, Margaret Houlihan looked up from the patient she was overseeing. The other Major was approaching her with a pout.
"Oh Frank, I'm sorry." replied Margaret apologetically, getting to her feet. Her legs were stiff from sitting in the same position for so long. "I've just been monitoring this patient, and I guess I lost track of time."
Frank squinted at the man lying in the bed. Margaret's eyes followed his. The man's dark hair, which was usually combed halfheartedly, was strewn across his forehead, sticky with sweat. His goofy smile was absent, and he looked oddly peaceful in sleep, despite his raging fever.
"But... Margaret, it's Pierce!" Frank complained.
"I know that." snapped Margaret. "He's very sick."
"So was I." Frank piped up, obviously jealous of the attention she was giving Hawkeye.
"Yes, but you aren't now, are you?" Margaret said. "Everyone's over their flu except him now."
"Why are you here, anyway?" asked Frank stubbornly. "He's sleeping. He doesn't need monitoring. But I need you." He wrapped his arms around her waist and started planting rapidfire kisses on her cheeks.
"Stop it, Frank." She pushed him away. "I'm busy. Let me watch over Pierce for a little while longer, and then I'll come over, I promise."
"You promise, Margaret?"
"…Yes, I promise."
"All right." With one last reproachful look at Hawkeye, Frank left the tent. Margaret stared after him, and gave a long sigh. Sometimes Frank could be so infuriating.
"Why go to his tent when you've got me right here?" a raspy voice from below her said. Margaret looked down to see that Hawkeye was awake.
"Go back to sleep, Captain Pierce." responded Margaret curtly.
The man's eyes were wide open, and trained on her. "Only if you come and lie next to me."
Margaret rolled her eyes. Frank could be infuriating sometimes, yes, but Hawkeye Pierce was even more so. To get him to stop talking, she sat down again and shoved a thermometer into his mouth.
It didn't work as well as she'd hoped. "Oh Margaret, don't 'ou worry about me. I'm fine. Come 'ere and give me a kiss." His voice was distorted around the thermometer in his mouth.
"Hold still. You're not going to give me an accurate reading if you're moving your mouth like that." Margaret told him sternly.
To her surprise, Hawkeye stopped talking. She pulled out the thermometer after a few moments and studied it. "You're at 103.7 right now. Well, you've come down, but not by much."
"What was my temperature before?"
"Half an hour ago, it was 104."
"How long have you been here?" Hawkeye asked. "I thought I could hear your voice at times... But then I decided it was probably one of those fever nightmares."
Margaret's face went red. "I've been here for a couple of hours. I was only here because... well..."
"You were worried about me." he finished for her. "How sweet."
"Only because I am a nurse and you are a very sick patient!" she exclaimed.
"Getting a little defensive, aren't we, Margaret?" teased Hawkeye. "Are you finally giving in to my charm?"
Frustration swelled up inside of her. "Get over yourself, Pierce!" she snapped. The truth was, he had earned her respect- and her concern. He had soldiered on in the operating room even though he was feverish and exhausted. He had been just as sick as some of the men who were resting, and yet he hadn't stopped because there was work to do. And if he didn't do that work, people died. He knew that as well as anyone.
"I can't get over myself. I'm just too great." replied Hawkeye. All of a sudden, he broke off into a fit of coughing. Margaret gently helped him into a sitting position and rubbed his back as he coughed. Once the Captain was able to catch his breath, he slumped back, exhausted, in her arms. It had been a long time since she had seen him so vulnerable. Margaret lowered him back onto the bed and pulled the blanket over him. In a way, she enjoyed taking care of him, more than she did with the soldiers she usually had as patients. More than she had enjoyed taking care of Frank. A weight seemed to drop in the pit of her stomach. No… she hated Hawkeye Pierce. She despised him. She wanted him out of the 4077th. Didn't she?
"To be honest, Captain Pierce..." began Margaret hesitantly. "I was worried about you. You... well, you did a fantastic job in the O.R. when it was just us. You were very sick, and yet you kept operating. It takes a real man to do that. And I respect you for it. So I just wanted to make sure you were doing well."
Her heart was pounding as she waited for Hawkeye to reply. However, he was looking very groggy again. His eyes were fluttering to stay open. "Mm… you do care… Margaret." With that, his eyes closed. Margaret wondered how much of what she'd said he had actually heard.
She brushed his hair from his sweaty forehead. After staring at his sleeping form for a few more seconds, she left the tent.
Frank was waiting for her in the Swamp, the tent he shared with Hawkeye and Trapper. "Margaret." he cooed. "You came."
"I promised, didn't I?" she said curtly. For some reason, she did not want to see Frank. She didn't want to touch him. She didn't want him to touch her. "McIntyre isn't here, is he?" She glanced around fruitlessly in the dark. Trapper's bed seemed to be empty, but you could never be too sure.
"No, he's off with some nurse, and he shouldn't be back for an hour at least." replied Frank. He was upon her almost immediately, his lips pressed up against hers. "Oh, Margaret…" he mumbled, running his hands through her hair.
She couldn't take it much longer. "Oh, Frank, as lovely as this is… I'm not feeling quite myself tonight. I… I wonder if we could reschedule?"
"Do you have the flu? You caught it from Pierce, didn't you?" Frank asked accusatorially as he felt her forehead. "Hmm… you don't feel hot…"
"I'm not sick, Frank. I'm just tired." Margaret told him. "I'd love to just sleep…"
"All right." Frank pouted again, to her irritation. "Sometime tomorrow, then? I haven't had you in so long, Margaret."
"Yes, I know, Frank."
xXx
As Margaret lay in Frank's hard, small bed, with his heavy arms around her, she had a disturbing thought. She caught herself wishing that the arms around her were Hawkeye's instead of Frank's. Not sick as he was, but his usual lively self. His infectious laugh. His undeniably charming smile…
Ugh. Stop it, Margaret, she thought bitterly. He's an awful, perverted, annoying lech who is completely unfit to be a man in uniform!
But he was a good surgeon. He was determined, if not a bit rash. And he had good values, most of the time.
Margaret Houlihan had a lot to think about.
xXx
"Good morning, Major Houlihan. How can I help you?"
"Good morning. I'm overseeing a patient."
"What's the name, ma'am?"
"It's Captain Pierce."
"All right. He's awake right now."
"Thank you." Margaret said to the tired-looking nurse. She headed over to Hawkeye's bed. The Captain was sitting up, propped up against a few pillows. There was a book in his hands. When he heard her approaching, he looked up and smiled, shutting the book. For a moment Margaret found herself glad to see his smile again.
"Hey, Margaret. Welcome back." he said. His voice was a bit livelier than it had been, but he still sounded tired.
"Good morning, Captain Pierce. How are you feeling?" she asked.
"Just great. I really love having the flu." he joked.
Margaret rolled her eyes. "Nurse," she called over to the other woman. "What was the Captain's temperature last time you checked?"
"Um... I believe it was 102.3 about forty-five minutes ago." replied the nurse.
"Well, well, that's a relief." Margaret remarked. "You certainly look much better, Captain."
"I always look good, don't I?" He grinned.
"You know what I meant." she said. Then it was silent. She felt a little embarrassed hanging around, mostly because she'd told him before that the only reason she was staying with him was because he was very sick. He was still sick, but his fever had gone down considerably and at least he was conscious now.
"Something on your mind, Margaret?" Hawkeye asked.
"No, I'm just tired." she responded. "Anyways, you don't seem to need my supervision anymore. Feel better soon, Captain Pierce." She turned around, toward the door. However, she felt a hand grasp the back of her uniform.
"Wait, Margaret, you should stay." said Hawkeye. "I'm definitely still sick. I do need your supervision." To prove his point, he gave a few pathetic coughs.
Margaret's face turned red. "Let go of me!" she sputtered. "I am a busy woman! I don't have time for this."
He didn't let go. "You're busy, are you? I don't think having a romantic picnic with Frank counts."
That felt like a blow to the stomach, especially considering how she had been feeling about Frank the previous night. Her face felt like it was on fire. Luckily, his grip was weak enough that she could pull her jacket away from him. He looked up at her, smirking a little bit. This was why she disliked him.
"Goodbye, Pierce." snapped Margaret. She turned around and headed stiffly for the door.
"No, wait, wait. I want to talk to you."
Margaret stopped and turned back to him. "About what?"
"About what you said to me last night."
Margaret's eyes widened slightly. So he had heard her. Part of her had hoped that he had been delirious enough that he hadn't been listening. Heart pounding, she walked back and sat down on the edge of his bed. He sat up straighter to give her more room.
"So…" began Hawkeye. "You told me you loved me, but then you just left."
Shock ran through her like ravaging wildfire. The other nurse looked over with wide eyes, and Margaret quickly shook her head as if to say, 'I did nothing of the sort, don't look at me like that'. "What?" she gasped at Hawkeye. "I certainly did not!"
"Don't try to deny it, Margaret!" said Hawkeye. "You went on about how great I was in the O.R. and how you respected me. And then you told me you loved me."
"That's just not true!" she exclaimed. "Captain Pierce, your temperature was almost 104 last night. I did not tell you I loved you! It was probably just a fever dream."
"Oh. That explains a lot." He laughed, but Margaret had the strangest thought that he sounded almost… disappointed.
"Is there anything else you'd like to ask me, Captain?" inquired Margaret. "Or can I get back to business?"
"No." he said. "You can get back to Frank now."
"Get over yourself, Pierce." she replied coldly, and left the tent.
xXx
Margaret was in her quarters later that day, brushing her hair in front of the mirror. Her mind was elsewhere, though. It was back in the O.R. with Hawkeye.
"I'm worried about you, Doctor." she had said.
He had looked at her with those brilliant blue eyes, solemn and glassy with fever. "You really are, aren't you?"
Her heart had been pounding and she'd been unable to speak. He had continued. "You know all those rotten things I've said to you, and all those nasty little tricks I played on you?"
"Yes."
"I'd like to get well and do them all over again." He'd given her a silly, playful smirk then. Margaret hadn't been able to stop the smile that spread across her own face.
A knock at the door shook the Major from her thoughts. "Who's there?" she asked. Instinct told her to hope it was Frank, but she found herself hoping it wasn't.
"Just a friend." came the voice on the other side of the door.
She paused for a moment. "Pierce?"
The door swung open and Hawkeye entered. "The one and only." he announced. He was in his pyjamas, with his army-issue jacket overtop. As Margaret watched with mingled annoyance and amusement, he grinned. Oh, how charming his smile was.
"You're going to make yourself sicker." she warned him. "You should be in bed."
"Yes, and you should be with me." he flirted.
Margaret pursed her lips. "Go away, Pierce."
"I want to talk to you though." he said. "Of what you said to me last night... I don't know what was real and what was the fever dream."
"Well, I didn't tell you I loved you. That wasn't real."
"But everything else?" Hawkeye pressed on. "Did you really tell me you were worried about me… that I did a fantastic job in the O.R…. and that you respected me?"
With some hesitation, Margaret nodded.
"And were you telling the truth?"
"Of course I was." she said.
A wide grin spread across his face. "Gee, Margaret, you're making me blush."
"That's the fever." Margaret reminded him, reaching out and feeling his forehead before quickly retracting her hand.
"Maybe, maybe not." He sat down on her bed. "Listen, I gotta admit that when I was all delirious and I thought you loved me, it made me pretty happy."
Her thoughts flitted briefly back to her wishing she were with him instead of Frank. "If you think saying that's going to get me into bed with you, Captain, you're sorely mistaken."
"I'm not trying to get you into bed." said Hawkeye. "Geez. Can't a guy tell a girl he likes her around here?"
"You like me?" asked Margaret, astounded. For some reason, raw excitement was tearing through her. Stop it. Stop.
"I think we have a charming back and forth, yes. And if you weren't always hanging around with that scumbag Frank Burns, I think we could really have something special here." Hawkeye explained.
She pursed her lips. Frank was ambitious and rule-abiding, qualities she rather liked in him, but he was also whiny, childish, and very closed-minded at times. If Hawkeye cared a little more about his job and what it really meant to be a Captain in the United States army, she would like him a lot more. Despite his laid back attitude, however, Hawkeye Pierce was a great surgeon and a good person to boot. Despite Frank being a Major and Hawkeye only a Captain, Frank fell painfully short.
"He can be difficult sometimes." Margaret agreed. "But... you really like me?"
Hawkeye nodded. "I do."
Her heart was beating rapidfire in her chest. "Lately, Captain, I've been thinking…" she began.
"Don't think, Major. Just do." said Hawkeye. He leaned in and brushed a lock of her blonde hair away from her face. Warmth spread through Margaret's body, yet she still felt apprehensive.
"Captain Pierce..." she breathed.
"Shh." whispered Hawkeye. He leaned in. His lips were inches away from hers. Closer... closer... their lips were about to meet…
"Wait." At the very last second, Margaret put her hand on his lips, stopping the kiss. He stared back at her, and raised his eyebrows as if to ask why she had done that. He tried to speak, but his voice was muffled by her hand. Slowly, Margaret removed her hand. He tried again, sounding apologetic and glum.
"I'm sorry, Margaret... I shouldn't have done that. I was just so sure you wanted it too." He definitely sounded hurt.
"Oh, I do!" exclaimed Margaret, smiling. "But you're sick, and I don't want the flu."
Hawkeye was silent for a moment, and just as Margaret thought he might be upset, he burst out in loud, jovial, boisterous laughter. She couldn't keep her smile from widening, and she laughed as well.
"Okay, I'm glad." said Hawkeye finally. "We'll postpone this then?"
"Definitely." she responded. She leaned in and wrapped her arms around him. His arms curled around her as well.
It felt good. Something inside Margaret sighed and settled down. She felt more at peace than she had in weeks. There was something about Hawkeye Pierce that made her feel both excited and safe, and a thousand more emotions too. He exasperated her. He angered her. But she had to admit that the good in him outweighed the bad.
"Get well soon, Captain." she said softly. "I really want that kiss."
"Oh, I'm trying, Margaret. Believe me, I want that kiss as much as you do, possibly even more."
Margaret grinned. "Get over yourself, Hawkeye."
end