Summary: Hawkeye is back from the Battalion Aide Station, and outside Hot Lips tent.
Disclaimer: I own nothing of M*A*S*H
Rating: T+
Paring: Hawkeye/Margaret
CONNECTIONS:
Hawkeye had made it back from the battalion aide station in one piece. He had gone to the swamp and sat by B.J's bunk where his friend woke briefly to welcome him home. His next stop had been to commandeer Potter's office to finish his Living Will and after that he wandered the compound aimlessly until he found himself outside of Margaret's door. Hawkeye watched at his hand hovered, prepared to knock, and then he backed up with the intention to head back to the swamp. Just as he turned to leave her door opened and there she was. Margaret was looking right at him with compassion in her gaze. She said nothing as she took his hand, pulling him towards the showers. In all the commotion he hadn't even thought about a shower, but she had the moment she looked at him.
Margaret had been waiting for the knock to her door letting her know that Hawkeye had come to see her while the rest of the camp slumbered. They had all been worried about him, fearing that he had died while rendering aide to the front line casualties before shipping them farther away from the fighting. Her heart lurched in fear every time Klinger showed his face in OR, and then it broke a little when he mentioned nothing about Pierce. She had been close to tear when B.J had jumped for joy over the patient he had; it had some of Hawkeye's telltale stitching. The fear she had been clinging too faded away in that instant and behind her mask she smiled the rest of the session. Now, she knew that he needed a hot shower because he hadn't thought of it himself. Her hand pulled open the creaky door to the olive drab tent showers. The door banged closed leaving them alone.
Hawkeye tried to focus on where he was being taken, but he couldn't get his brain in gear. He was still at the aide station, still hearing the shells bombing them, the sounds of gunfire, and most of all the cries of the wounded. Ben looked down at his hands expecting to see the crimson stain, but all he could see was the dirt. Then he finally saw where he was; the showers and Margaret was standing before him. She remained silent as her nimble fingers pulled the zipper of his blood stained jacket down. Her hands slipped under the worn out fabric and pushed the garment from his shoulders. Hawkeye felt the air catch in his lungs when the jacket fell to the floor and he found it hard to breathe when she repeated the same action with his matching over shirt. "You don't have to do this." He mumbled leaning in to rest his forehead to the top of her head.
"You take of everyone who comes into this camp," Margaret said putting her hands to his belt buckle. "Let me take care of you." She finished freeing the button of his pants and lowering the zipper. Then she stepped back to allow him to toe off his boots and his pants. When they were kicked over to where his jacket lay, Margaret gripped the hem of his dirty t-shirt and gently pulled it up over his head. Hawkeye was still in a daze, but quickly snapped out of it when her fingers hooked into the waist band of his boxers. His hands wrapped around her wrists and without words she knew what he wanted. Stepping back, Margaret left for a moment so she could go to the swamp and fetch his robe giving him something to wear after his shower. Inside, Winchester and B.J were sound asleep, and there on Hawkeye's messy bunk was his purple robe. She couldn't resist the smile that crossed her lips as she snatched it up and retreated back to the showers.
Hawkeye waited until Hot Lips had left before his stripped out of the last of his dirty grungy clothes and stepped into the stall. He had enough energy to pull the chain down and hook it in place before his tired body failed him. Again the door opened with Margaret returning. When they were alone, her rank was a fleeting memory; she was only Margaret with him. It was why he had come to her, been going to her when his mind would worry him to death. She had the power to put his mind to rest. With her light touch and gentle smile, Hawkeye trusted her. He continued to trust her when she stepped into the stall with him fully clothed. In her right hand she had soap and in the other a black wash cloth. As tenderly as she cared for the patients that came through here, she soaped his chest to work up a good lather before taking his right hand to wash away the dirt and whatever blood was still there. All he could do was watch her tending to him. Tears welled up in his eyes; they were of sorrow, of exhaustion and of gratitude.
Margaret ignored the water seeping into her boots, soaking her sweater or her fatigues. All that mattered to her was tending to Pierce. He went to hell and back at the Battalion Aide Station, he needed someone to care for him. It spoke volumes that he had come to her, that he trusted her when they were alone. She had only ever seen him break down when he was exhausted, but then he had been alone or thought he had when she had seen him. Margaret took his left hand, repeated the way she had cleaned his right, and tried to keep her mind calm. Normally he would have some flippant remark, some note of sarcasm to cover up hat he had been through, but he remained as silent as she did. The dirt and grime came off of his hands easily, but the memory would never fade. Nothing about Korea would ever be far from their minds. Death and destruction, blood and broken bones; none of it would be far away when they went home.
Hawkeye remained absolutely still watching Margaret tend to him, watched her bathe away the war from his skin. He wanted to get her to stop, to give him room to breathe, but having her close, having her tend to him stopped him in his tracks. All he could do was let her continue. Margaret took the cloth from his hands with him expecting her to leave him to rinse the soap from his body. Only, she didn't move away, he moved closer. Her arms draped over his shoulders, the cloth in her hand touched the back of his neck. Hawk didn't know what was going to happen next, except he knew he wanted to kiss her. He had done so before, but that had been in the heat of a mortar attack or, when Looney Tunes Frank Burns had been at the mash unit, he had kissed her to drive him up the wall. Now, in this moment, he wanted to kiss Margaret because he truly desired it. Angling his head, Hawkeye placed his lips to hers.
Margaret dropped the cloth the moment his lips touched hers. It was gentle, hesitant; it was imploring. He wanted a small touch of actual human contact, to share a meaningful moment after the horror he had been through. Slowly she kissed him back, her fingers tangling in the wet locks of his black hair. The kiss was light, lazy; she just wanted it to last even though she knew it couldn't. They were in the showers and the water would soon turn cold. Reluctantly she took a step back giving him a light smile, letting him she wasn't angry or turning him way. The look she gave him had him standing a little straighter, had him rinsing his hands, rinsing off the rest of the soap, and ready to step from the warm water. Margaret moved from the stall, giving him pace to towel off as she took his robe from the hook to hand it to him. He took it and slipped it on, belting it closed. She crouched down to gather his clothes, and his boots; she was going to drop them off at the Laundry tent so the blood could be washed away.
Hawkeye remained ever silent following Hot Lips out of the showers. He had a light smile plastered to his lips that hadn't been there when he returned to the miserable camp he called home while in Korea. Just knowing that Margaret wasn't rebuffing him had done wonders to take away some of the numbness that had set in while he had been at the aide station. Normally, he looked for meaningless one night stands, something to break up the doldrums of the day, until he was alone with Margaret. Something about her soothed him, took away his need to make crass jokes, refine his rapier sharp wit to keep from going insane so close to the fighting. She, alone, made him feel human again. Needing it, Hawkeye's hand took hers; their fingers laced together. "I don't think I can be alone right now." He mumbled coming to a stop near her tent. His mind still had yet to fully settle from his sojourn up to the front. Every second he was waiting for the next mortar attack, the next hail of bullets; anything the enemy could lob at them. Hawkeye was afraid to be left alone with his thoughts.
Margaret knew what he was feeling. Just knowing that he was safe and sound wasn't enough. She wanted to keep him close. "Go inside," She whispered, "Let me take your bloody clothes to laundry, and I'll be right back." Margaret took her hand from his, brought it up to cup his face, and caressed his cheek with her thumb and repeated, "Go inside." Hawkeye nodded opening her door and disappearing inside, disappearing into the darkness of her tent. She hurried to the laundry tent, deposited his clothes with a small note, and came rushing back to her tent. Margaret hadn't been gone five minutes when she opened the door, turned on the little bedside lamp, and found Hawkeye passed out on her bunk. She couldn't help but smile at the almost childlike innocence his face had become. In sleep he was at peace, he could dream he was at home, he could dream he was safe. With a sigh, Margaret unlaced her boots, pulled off her sweater, dropped her fatigues, and pulled on her oversized M*A*S*H 4077 t-shirt before crawling into the cot next to Peirce. The moment she was settled, he curled around her, his right leg draping over hers. Morning would come all too soon. The Chief Surgeon was already fast asleep leaving the Head Nurse to catch up. Margaret closed her eyes, reveling in the warmth from Hawkeye.
MORNING:
Hawkeye woke feeling disoriented. The last thing he remembered was going inside Margaret's tent, and it would seem that he never left her tent. When he sat down he had fallen sleep in all the silence, without the constant exploding bombs, the gunfire. It was calm in Margaret's tent, it was safe. He didn't know what had woken him, the camp was still quiet, but he had the chance to watch her as she slept. Her face relaxed, none of the worries she carried around with her invaded her mind. Margaret was just asleep. Hawkeye gently brushed her banks back to place a gentle kiss to her brow. "Being with you makes this place bearable."
Margaret opened her eyes staring up into Hawkeye's eyes. They were gentle, sleep filled, but happy. It was a sight to see him happy, if only it lasted for a few moments. "You make it tolerable too." She replied bringing her hands up to once again cup his face feeling the five o'clock shadow on his chin. "I'm glad you're back safe and sound." Arching up into him, she kissed his lips lightly showing him how much she missed him. Hawkeye was the one to apply more pressure, pressing her down into the thin mattress. She moaned bringing him into the cradle of her body. There were a hundred reasons as to why they shouldn't be locked intimately together. She just couldn't seem to make her lips stop moving against his.
Hawkeye and Margaret had been intimate with each other before, but that had been during a high stress moment when they had been stuck together. This time he had the choice rather than being motivated by fear. Margaret clung to him, eagerly kissing him back, he had enough presence of mind to move the hem of her shirt up so he could feel her abdomen. She brought her hands from the back of his head and clawed at the top half of his robe, trying to push it from his shoulders. If he could, he wanted to find one meaningful connection with someone. Life was all too fleeting as he had found being up at the front. Here, now, with Margaret, they could find that connection.
Margaret broke the kiss seeing that she had brought his robe down trapping his arms at her side as he had pushed her shirt up exposing her stomach. She could hardly catch her breath from the intense wave of emotion flowing through her. "What are we doing?" She asked breathlessly bringing her knees up on his hips. "Should we really cross this line?" His eyes were boring holes into her.
"I'm tired of going from one nurse to the other, of making jokes that drive people away, and of never having a meaningful connection." Hawkeye answered just as breathless as Margaret. "I just want to…" He trailed off looking away from her. She said nothing, just brought her arms up and held him. Hawkeye settled over her and tried to put his thoughts in a straight line. "I'm so tired." He muttered feeling tears gather in his eyes again.
"I know," Margaret said. "We're all tired." Gently she ran her hands up and down his back holding him for as long as he needed someone. She wasn't about to cast him aside or shove him out of her door. Hawkeye suffered the most because he cared the most even as he used dumb jokes to cover up his emotions. His jokes were his way of dealing with the world they were living in. "Rest for a while." Margaret whispered as she continued to run her hand up and down Hawkeye's back waiting for him to fall sleep.
THE END: