Author's Note: I've wanted to do a piece for MASH for a really long time, but have never gotten around to it until now. Hawkeye and Margaret are obviously my OTP for life...I mean, does your OTP hold the record for longest onscreen kiss?
Let Your Heart Be Light
Chapter 1
"No, thank you, Ellen. I have quite a lot of housework to catch up on tonight." Margaret Houlihan straightened an IV pole.
"Are you sure? I know a lot of the girls would love to see you come out."
"I'm sure. Thank you for the invitation." Margaret smiled at fellow nurse Ellen Foreman and moved on to her next patient, turning down yet another outing invite and being a head nurse all at the same time. She was busy straightening bedding on a newly empty cot when another voice spoke to her.
"Quite a slow day today, wouldn't you say?" Charles Emerson Winchester III smiled softly at her, an expression that she returned.
"I don't know if I'll ever get used to this."
It was probably the thousandth time those words had left her mouth. They worked for everything, though: her giving up the Army for civilian life, returning home after Korea, moving to Boston to work alongside none other than Charles Winchester, and being a nurse in the pristine Boston General Hospital.
Charles glanced behind his shoulder at the retreating form of Ellen Foreman. "It does take a while," he agreed. He chose to ignore how many times they'd had this conversation. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and slipped his hands inside his coat pockets, trying to decide how to tell her what had been on his mind for a long time. "Margaret, you know that I appreciate you accepting my offer to work with me."
Her surprised eyes flickered up to his from folding a sheet corner. "Yes."
"And, if I may say, civilian life has done wonders for you." It was true. Margaret Houlihan had taken to civilian life like a fish to water. "But, I must confess that I am…worried about you."
Her brows knit together. "What do you mean?"
Charles sighed, taking her arm and leading her out into the quiet hallway where he could speak louder. "Margaret, it's been almost two years since Korea."
"I don't know why you're bringing that up." Even as she said the words, a prickling blush climbed her neck and settled into her cheeks and ears.
"Yes, you do know why. Ever since you began working here, you've not neglected one detail of your job or made a mistake. But something about you has changed. Aside from myself, you don't attempt to make friends with fellow nurses or doctors. You rarely accept offers to get a drink after work or join co-workers for a meal, and I don't believe I am wrong in assuming that the only social conventions you attend are the ones which I insist you accompany me to."
"That's—"
"I'm not finished. You look like the same Margaret Houlihan, but something inside you is different. And, forgive me, not a good different." He held a hand up when she tried to interrupt again. "In our time in Korea, withdrawn was never a word that applied to you. Now, it applies all too well."
She huffed. "I'm not depressed, Charles."
"Not quite depressed, no. But not quite yourself. I can see sadness in your eyes sometimes. When you think no one is looking, I can see you remembering, and I know I'm not the only one who's noticed. Case in point, Nurse Foreman."
"What does she have to do with anything?"
"Margaret, she approached me a few days ago asking what was the matter with you, citing that you were distant and sometimes got a—how did she put it?—'a lost look in her eyes.'"
A twinge of offense shot through her chest. "Well, if she thinks I'm so distant, why did she invite me to dinner with the other nurses?"
Charles gave a hard sigh. "Because I asked her to, Margaret, mistakenly thinking that you would accept. I thought you would recognize that a night out with other women might be good for you."
"How would you know what's good for me?" The old Major Houlihan anger was beginning to spark, and Charles could see it—oddly, it comforted him, in a way. At least her real self was still in there somewhere. "Why can't you just mind your own business?"
"As I said, I'm worried about you. I am reprimanding myself for not asking you outright sooner, Margaret, but…are you doing alright?"
"I'm fine," she fired off immediately, a knee-jerk reaction from years of keeping things inside.
"No, you most certainly are not!" Charles threw his hands up in exasperation as his ire finally began to leak out of his self-control. "There is something wrong when you seem to have been happier at a human butcher shop ten thousand miles across the planet!"
Margaret was stunned at his words, but they had most definitely struck a chord that rang like the clearest note. The truth hurt sometimes. "I…" she sighed, long and sad. Her next words were nearly a whisper. "You're right, Charles. You're right." She sank into a nearby chair, dropping her face into her hands. Charles took the seat next to her and tipped his head to stare at the ceiling. He counted the rotations of a fan as he waited for her to speak.
"I just feel so guilty for feeling this way," she murmured. "It's not that I want to go back—I'd rather die than go back to that…to that cesspool." The last words were hissed with renewed venom, a glimpse of just how badly she'd hated the war shining through the cracks in her armor. "But…I…I just miss…" Charles listened. Her silence was louder than anything else.
"You miss the people," he finished for her. She nodded. In her downcast gaze, he could see something shining in her eyes, something that she was trying to conceal yet wanted to be seen, like a bright star hidden behind a cloud in the night sky. A longing that he had seen in her eyes before when she looked at one particular person. Charles lightly put his hand on her knee. "It's mostly Pierce, isn't it?"
Margaret's throat tightened at the mere sound of the name; tears burned the back of her eyes. Instinctively, her hand slipped inside her pocket to finger the heavily-creased photograph she had carried with her ever since she got back stateside. It was a photograph of Potter, Klinger, B.J., Winchester, Hawkeye, and her, all crowded inside a Jeep, laughing. It had been taken a day before they had all found out that the war was ending and that they would be going home. In the space of a fraction of a second, Margaret allowed herself to remember.
"Move over, you hairy buffoon!" Winchester growled to Klinger, who was half-draped over the irritated Major.
"I'm tryin', Major, but Colonel Potter still needs room to get in!"
"Play nice, Winchester," Potter gruffed, climbing into the crowded Jeep.
Hawkeye rolled his eyes, reclining further in his spot and laying his arm across the back of Margaret's seat. "Klinger didn't call after their date last night," he stage whispered. B.J. and Margaret laughed and Charles growled again.
"Oh, shut it, Pierce."
B.J. gasped dramatically. "Why, Charles! You know he's sensitive to the tones you use!"
Winchester grumbled unintelligibly.
"Alright, Padre! I think we're all in the saddle!" Potter called. Father Mulcahy adjusted his grip on the camera, grinning.
"Okay, everyone. I need you to smile…someone tell a joke." There were a few beats of silence before Margaret thought of exactly what to say.
"Frank Burns!" she blurted out. Immediately, everyone in the overcrowded car exploded into laughter, Hawkeye's cackling guffaws standing out above all the rest. Mulcahy chuckled and pressed down on the shutter, a satisfying "click" freezing the lighthearted moment forever.
Margaret rubbed her thumb over the most worn spot on the picture: the place where Hawkeye's body leaned into hers as they both pitched forward from laughter. Charles watched a small, sad smile twist her lips.
"See?" he said gently. "I can tell you're thinking about Korea. You smile that miserable smile every time you remember." There was a rustling noise as she pulled something out of her pocket—a photograph, he realized. The expression stayed on her face as she looked down at it, the memory replaying all over again. Above all, she could hear Hawkeye's laugh, a distant echo ringing in her ears.
"We were the only two to be at the 4077th from the time it was built to when the war ended."
Charles pulled his brows together. "Klinger and Mulcahy weren't there the whole time?"
She shook her head. "Not the whole time, no. Father Mulcahy replaced the original chaplain about two weeks in and Klinger came just under a month later, dresses blazing." Charles chuckled, still gazing at the picture. He leaned back and fished into the pocket of his lab coat, pulling out a brown leather billfold and flipping it open to reveal a photograph of his own. It had been taken a few months after he'd been stationed at the 4077th. Radar, Potter, Hawkeye, B.J., Margaret, and Charles all stood in front of the famous signpost that Charles had just nailed "Boston" to; the hammer dangled from his right hand.
"You know, Margaret, it's not a bad thing to miss them. I do, too." When she didn't reply, he gently pushed at a different angle. "Have you tried to contact Pierce?"
She glued her gaze to the ground. "I've tried before, but…I never know what to say." There had been many times where she'd picked up the phone only to listen to the dial tone or hovered the point of a pen above a blank letter. Each time, she sat there for a few moments, fishing for words in the empty pond of her mind.
Charles nudged her shoulder. "You should call him."
"No, no. He probably doesn't want to hear from me, anyway. He's probably back home with a flourishing private practice, not even thinking about Korea," she reasoned, more with herself than Charles.
"Margaret, I'm no expert in human behavior, but Pierce needed you just as much as you needed him."
"Then why hasn't he tried to contact me?" Her voice broke a bit.
Charles met her eyes. "Perhaps he doesn't know what to say, either." He patted her leg and stood from his chair. "Go home, Margaret. Get some rest. I'm a little tired myself."
"Goodnight, Charles. And thank you for talking with me. I needed it."
Margaret watched him walk down the hallway until he vanished around a corner. She glanced at the photograph one last time and tried to swallow, but the lump in her throat made it hard.
Charles rubbed the damp towel against his hair and tossed it in the hamper as steam rolled out of his bathroom. Tying off his robe, he sank into his plush armchair and dialed the phone.
It rang three times before someone answered.
"Hello?"
"Good evening, is this the Hunnicutt residence?"
"…Charles? Is that you?" B.J. was stunned. The last person he had ever expected to hear on the other end of his telephone line was Winchester.
"Indeed, Hunnicutt. How have you been?" Charles found himself smiling. What he had admitted to Margaret earlier that day hadn't been a lie—despite his efforts in Korea to distinguish himself from Pierce and Hunnicutt, he did genuinely miss their company at times.
"My God, Charles! It's good to hear your voice; your letters don't do that blue-blooded accent justice." Charles rolled his eyes. "I've been doing just fine. Working in a hospital that doesn't practice meatball surgery really does wonders for a person. How about you? Margaret's not being too rough with you, is she?"
Winchester chuckled. "Glad to hear it. It truly is a miracle to be working in civilized conditions again. And, no, not at all—actually, Margaret is the chief reason I called."
Concern immediately filled B.J.'s voice. "Oh?"
Charles had always admired how Hunnicutt didn't pry; he simply waited to be filled in. "I'll get to the heart of the matter in a minute. Have you heard from Pierce recently? I've gotten a few letters from him, nothing more." He'd conveniently glossed over the fact that he had been in contact with Pierce since Korea when talking with Margaret. No need to make her feel as if Pierce was somehow leaving her out.
"Yeah, I talked with him a couple weeks ago. We try to talk a couple times each month." Well, perhaps Pierce was leaving her out.
"Does he seem…taciturn? Withdrawn?"
A pause. "How did you know?"
"Just a hunch. Has he explained why?"
B.J. sighed. "You know how he is. When something's bothering him, he'll talk, but not really say anything. He started seeming withdrawn a couple weeks after he told me about the new woman he was going with, Arlene something."
Charles's brows wrinkled. "Hardly like Pierce to be unhappy around a woman, especially one he actually cares for. When did they begin dating?"
"Hawk told me about her several months back, but I don't know if they're still together. I haven't asked and he hasn't told."
Even though he already knew the answer, Winchester asked anyway. "Do you know if Pierce has tried to contact Margaret?"
"I've never flat-out asked him, but I wouldn't bet on it. Every time I bring her up, he just mumbles something vague and moves to another topic."
"Hmm." Charles rubbed his jaw. "The reason I ask, Hunnicutt, is because Margaret is having the same problem as Pierce. She won't make friends with the other nurses or doctors, never goes out when they invite her. I'm almost certain that the only times she leaves her apartment are when she works or when she goes out with Honoria and I."
"Really? That doesn't sound like her at all." B.J. scratched his head, beginning to feel worried for his friend. "Do you think it has anything to do with…?"
"I certainly do," Charles said with conviction. "You and I both saw their parting embrace. Friends hardly say goodbye in such a manner."
"Let's not forget that their communication skills are legendary. They'd probably rather die than admit to themselves the cause of their misery, if they're even aware of it at all." Although about two thousand and seven hundred miles apart, both men grimaced at the same time. They sat in thought-filled silence before B.J. spoke again. "The question now is what do we do about this. If we leave it up to them to find each other again, they won't even glimpse each other until the afterlife."
"Stubborn mules," Charles grunted. "What about a reunion? We could invite Potter, Radar, Klinger, Mulcahy…everyone. Reunite to see how everyone has readjusted."
"Hey, that's a great idea!" B.J.'s grin could be heard through the phone. "Only, where would we have it? Potter's in Missouri, Radar in Iowa, Klinger in Ohio, Mulcahy in Pennsylvania, Hawk's back in Maine, I'm over here in California, and you and Margaret are in Massachusetts. It's like somebody sneezed us onto the map."
Charles thought for a moment. "Our safest bet would probably be to ask Colonel Potter. Missouri is close enough to the center of the map for it to be almost equal travelling time for those of us on opposite coasts. Radar and Klinger just get lucky."
"You're probably right. And—hold on a second—" B.J.'s voice became faint as he held the receiver away from his mouth, "—what is it, honey? What? You're what? Peg, darling, I can't hear you. Oh! Okay, I'll be right there." He cleared his throat, pressing the phone to his ear once more. "Sorry about that. I'll have to let you go, Charles, Peg hasn't been feeling well for the past few days. Do you want to ask Margaret, Mulcahy, and Klinger, and I'll ask Potter, Radar, and Hawkeye?"
"Sounds as good an arrangement as any. Shall I check back with you in, say, a week or two?"
"Absolutely."
"Splendid. I hope your wife feels better soon."
"Thanks. And, Charles?"
"Hmm?"
"It was really good to hear from you. Thanks for calling."
Charles smiled. "The pleasure was mine, Hunnicutt. Goodbye."
"'Bye, Charles."
B.J. placed the receiver back in its cradle, shaking his head and smiling. He found himself remembering the times when Charles would have rather walked through a minefield than talk to him or Pierce...found himself remembering when he would have rather walked through a minefield than deal with Charles.
"Daddy, Mommy's throwing up!" Erin announced from the top of the stairs. B.J. was yanked from his reverie and sprinted out of the kitchen, rounding the corner and taking the stairs by twos, the sound of his retching wife getting louder each second.
"Peg, honey? I'm coming! You made it to the toilet, right?"
