Summary: Hawkeye and Hot Lips have a quiet moment together before wounded arrive.
Disclaimer: I own nothing of M*A*S*H
Rating: T+
Paring: Hawkeye/Margaret
UNGAURDED MOMENTS:
The lights were out, all but candles cast a glow in the army drab tent. The only sound to be heard were the ragged gasps of two people coming down from a fierce euphoric release. Margaret, Hot Lips, Houlihan felt her skin tingle, her heart thundering in her chest as she looked up at Hawkeye as his dog tags dangled, glinting in the candle light. His eyes were closed, sweat bathing his face, and her fingers tangled in his black locks. His forearms were shaking in his attempt to stay above her, but she wanted his weight resting against her. She wanted the touch of his skin to hers. "It's ok…" Hot Lips mumbled draping her arms over his shoulders bringing him down against her. He made the days bearable with his humor that she tried not to let anyone see that she laughed at.
Hawkeye, Benjamin Franklin Pierce, was cradled between Margaret's thighs as he tried to cling to the edges of his orgasm that chased away numbness of the war, the casualties, the constant blood and guts. Margaret pulled him down against her, his ear resting above her thundering heart. "This is the only time I'm not numb," Hawkeye whispered turning his head to kiss her heart. She said nothing as she held him close. Her right hand rubbed gentle circles on his back while his eyes focused on the flickering candle light. All he could focus on was Margaret, on the heat of her body bleeding into him, and keeping the numbness as bay for just a little while longer. "I could sleep for a week being right here."
"Then sleep," Margaret kissed the top of Hawkeye's head, "The doors locked." She smiled and waited for him to say something, but he remained silent. Margaret angled her head to see that Peirce was already asleep. This was the only time that she had seen him peaceful, no worries of the war to slump his shoulders. Another smile curved her lips as she too let her eyes fall closed. A few deep breaths had Margaret falling into the blackness of oblivion where the war couldn't touch her or Hawkeye. Being under him, she could forget the war, forget the endless parade of wounded, she could just forget.
POST-OP:
B.J looked at his watch and then at the clock on the wall. Hawkeye was known for taking his time, but he was never late for a shift in Post-Op when he had his patients in recovery. Hooking the chart to the end of the bed, B.J got up to make his way to Radar's office. Perhaps the little psychic would be able to tell him where his partner in crime was. Stepping through the door, B.J said, "Radar, Hawkeye is late for his shift. Do you know where he could be? Nurses showers perhaps?"
Radar looked at the Captain and chuckled. "Oh, I don't know sir. Captain Peirce hasn't been seen since last night. Major Houlihan neither." He rambled and looked towards the doors almost expecting to see the Captain walking into the room. No one came in. Then his radar went off. "Uh oh…" Radar looked at B.J "We got choppers coming in."
"Great, just when we thought it was quiet around her." B.J shook his head and headed back to Hospital to scrub up as Radar ran out and started screaming about Choppers in his delightful half panicked way.
In Margaret's tent, Hawkeye jolted from sleep at the sound of Radar's panicked voice yelling about the choppers. He groaned, reluctantly pulling himself from the touch of Margaret. Climbing out of the bunk, he quickly covered her while he pulled on his worn out green fatigues. As he buttoned the button, Hawkeye sat on the edge next to Margaret's hip and gently shook her shoulder. "Margaret, we got wounded coming in." He whispered.
Margaret felt her eye fluttering open to see Peirce sitting beside her. She smiled lazily and then she heard the hurried knocking at her door. Holding the army issue blanket to her chest she shouted, "What is it?!" She was trying to hold on to the warm feelings for as long as she could even as she knew she had to spring into action and return to the role of Major Houlihan, rather than being Hot Lips with Hawkeye.
"We got wounded coming in!" Radar shouted.
"On my way!" Margaret shouted looking at Hawkeye.
Radar stood outside, debated for a second, and then asked, "Ma'am have you see Captain Peirce?"
Inside she had to resist laughing, making her voice strong as steel, "Why would I have seen that lecherous man posing as a Doctor?!" Hawkeye made a face at her as he stood up so she could get dressed. When no answer came, Margaret took it to mean that Radar had gone back to help with triage. She dressed as quickly as she could knowing that the compound would fill with wounded in the matter of seconds.
"I like it when you call me a letch." Hawk joked pulling on his shirt as he slipped his feet into his worn out boots. "You can call me any name you want," Then a wave of seriousness befell him, "After I save the latest batch of wounded." Margaret came to him, wrapped her arms around him, and hugged him tightly. He, in turn, wrapped his arms around her. For weeks now they had been going to one another for comfort, or just to talk; using the other for a confidant about how crummy the war was or how sick and tired they were with the endless parade of death. He longed for the moments of silence, the gentle moments he could sit with Margaret, knocking back gin, and he could just sit without the weight of the war, of saving soldiers, on his shoulders.
"Come on, let's go save lives." Margaret smiled and unlocked her tent. With the hustle and bustle, no one would see them immerging from her tent. She wasn't ashamed to be seen with the Captain, she just didn't want all the jokes that went along with it. The times she spent with Hawkeye were really helping her through the days spent in OR. In the compound wounded soldiers waited for them to get to them, to help them. Once they were in surgery, she would admire Peirce's work with the scalpel, smile behind her mask at his gallows humor at the table, and pretend to be disapproving while handing him the instruments he would ask for in the course of saving a soldier. This was the life they had to live.