Round wire, oval wire, round head, masonry, square twisted, annular, cloat head, spring head, cut clasp, hardboard, sprig, block, flat countersunk head, rosehead fine shank, rosehead flat point, rosehead square shank, eavestrough, casing, cleat, hook head metal lath, veneer box nails. Annular thread silicon bronze boat nails, Economy Phillips-head hot-dipped galvanized wood screws, Phillips-head silicon bronze screws. Galvanized iron boat nails...square cut. This was it.
A very shrewd looking man peered at him from behind the counter. Coke bottle glasses, a receding hair line, acicular eyebrows, with a demeaning grimace. "Three dollars." His voice was as asperous as the narrow-fisted look he held. Returning the belligerent look he placed the money on the counter and left.
Walking into the sun he lowered the dark glasses that rested upon his head. The bright southern sun was almost unbearable to the eye during mid day. He tossed the box of materials on the seat next to him and sped out of the parking lot kicking dust in his wake.
With the top down on the convertible he could feel the warmth of the afternoon air on his face. Had it not been for his experience with Korean summers he wouldn't have been able to tolerate the heat in the deep south. A boy from Maine had an easier time with cold than with heat. He slouched in the driver's seat, one arm resting on the door and the other on the top of the steering wheel.
Three lousy dollars for one bag of nails. When had things taken the dive bomber approach? Had they let war take that away from them as well? During the Second World War he had participated in the steel drives, donating whatever little odds and ends that were available. His father had even gone so far as to pitch in an old bumper from his Studebaker. And all for what? So America could squeeze the penny a little harder over ten years later.
It was almost five. He had to pick his wife up at five-thirty from work. The hospital was only ten minutes away. He'd stop and pick up something to drink while he waited in the parking lot. Going upstairs only enticed the nurses and made everyone else nervous.
The sun was beginning it's descent in the west, which only served to put the large star more directly in his line of vision. He found a parking spot off to the side under a shade tree. He got out of the car and leaned against his door as he waited for her. One arm was lying across his stomach as the other held the bottle on his hand. He would glance at his watch every once in a while waiting for the minutes to tick by.
He wiped his brow and stood up straight when he saw her walk out of the building. Quickly he spit out the piece of gum he had been chewing. When she spotted him she smiled brightly causing a wide grin to come across his face, the first since she had left for work that morning. She nodded to people passing by and stopped for a moment to talk to an elderly man in a wheel chair whom he guessed was a patient of hers. She pointed to him and the gentleman nodded his head and bid her farewell.
As he watched her walk toward him, with the sun gleaming behind her, accentuating her shapely body and billowing her blonde hair, he felt a longing in his chest. He had missed her so much. They didn't speak when they met. She could see from across the parking lot how worn he looked. They held one another for a moment and then he kissed her. "Hello dear."
She leafed a hand through his feathery hair before moving it back to rest on his neck. "How are you?" There was a mixed look of sincere concern and contempt on her face.
He took his hand in hers and lifted it to his mouth where he kissed it. "I'm alive."
She tried to smile at him, but it was a sad smile. "Well that's something, isn't it?"
"Not much." He moved her hand to his cheek and held it there for a moment. Her touch always loosened him up inside.
This wasn't one of his better days nor was it one of his bad days. "It's a lot to me," she said softly.
Listening to her and looking at her, he smiled. "Let's go home." Margaret nodded in agreement. He walked her around the car and opened the door for her. "Oh, let me get that." He tossed the box in the back seat.
"Another trip to the hardware store?"
"Yes."
She sat down placing her purse on the floor in the back seat of the car. Already he was quiet. "Were you waiting long?" The traffic of people wanting to stop and talk with her had been heavier than usual.
"No." He didn't mind waiting for her. He'd waited three years for the war to end, two of those to marry her. Twenty-five minutes wasn't anything. "Tell me about your day."
The ride home was just like any other. Margaret talked about the happenings of her day and he idly listened as he drove. It wasn't so much that he cared for all that Army protocol or who said what to who, but more of listening to the sound of her voice. The drive home was probably the most enjoyable part of the day. He felt calm and relaxed. There was nothing but them and Georgia landscape passing by.
He would nod occasionally or mumble a few words if it felt like she was waiting for a response, but that was about it as far as the communication went. At one point she reached out for his hand and they stayed like that right up until he backed the car into the driveway. In the event that this would be one of the many summer nights storms passed through, he put the top up on the car before they went inside.
"Oh, look at those. I've been meaning to water them for the last two days." Margaret commented as she walked up to the front porch. "My poor flowers."
"I'm sure they'll get some tonight." He unlocked the door and opened it for her.
"I don't know." Instead of walking into the house she left him standing there with the door open and went to take a look at the flowers. She knelt down and took a look. "It's been so dry this summer."
"It'll rain tonight."
"This whole yard needs to be watered."
"Come inside." Margaret frowned and stood up. They did need the rain, just not the storms that came along with it. She especially would have been happier watering the flowers herself.
He locked the door behind them as she set her purse on the table and began unbuttoning her jacket. She turned to face him and put a hand on his cheek. "Are you feeling any better?"
He nodded silently. "I'm okay." Her hand moved up to feel his forehead and then pushed through his hair and came to rest on his shoulder. Her thumb caressed a spot on his neck. She hugged him then and sighed against his chest.
"I was worried about you today," she whispered softly.
He sighed deeply and closed his eyes. It felt wonderful to have her back in his arms like that. It was almost like she kept him from floating away into space. "I'm okay."
He always said he was okay. She would have to read his movements and the way he spoke, but today he wasn't giving her much to work with. "Are you sure?" She pulled back to look him in the eye. He nodded. "I'm not so sure about that."
"It's Friday and I have you to myself all weekend. Why wouldn't I be okay?" He tried to sound light and cheery, but he didn't do so well.
"Are you hungry? I'll make you something special." The night before they had made a trip to the grocery store and stocked the house with food.
"I'm fine right now." He didn't let her out of his arms. She laid her head on his chest and he stroked her hair gently. It was soft and silky, just the way it looked. "I just want you."
She smiled softly and moved her hands up his back. Looking up at him she said, "Come on." She took a step back, letting her hands glide down his arms to take hold of his. "Let's go to the bedroom."
He gave her a tired sort of smile and let her guide him through the house by the hand. As they entered the room she let go of his hand and said to him, "Let me get out of these." Hawkeye sat down on the edge of the bed and watched her as she got out of her uniform.
"Your mother called today," he said as he watched her unfasten the clasp of her skirt.
That intrigued Margaret. Hawkeye and her mother got along fairly well. He seemed to like her enough and her mother just loved him. "Oh? What did she say?"
"Uh..." He rubbed his neck. "Something about your father getting a new post."
"Ah," she nodded her head. "He must have gotten his orders finally." Her skirt fell to the floor and she started working on her garter. Hawkeye's eyes moved up and down her legs. "I know he wanted to come back to the states."
"Great." Hawkeye sounded less than enthused.
She rolled a nylon down her leg. "Don't worry," she turned her head and smiled at him. "We won't be seeing him any time soon." She rolled the other one down as well.
"How can you be so sure?"
"I talked to him earlier this week." She started to unbutton her blouse.
Hawkeye lay back on the bed and watched her movements. "You didn't tell me that."
"It was Tuesday." She tossed the blouse on the floor. "I didn't think it was…"
"I understand." He watched her closely as she bent over to pull out a pair of shorts from her dresser drawer. It was fine by him if she stayed that way, but there was no sense in asking.
"We're not going anywhere, are we?" She turned and looked at him.
"No."
Margaret slipped into the comfortable shorts. She noticed a change in him and went to sit on the bed. "How was your day?"
"Not so bad."
Her hand rested on his leg. "I missed you." He didn't say anything, only looked at her. She crawled up his body and laid hers on top of his. "I'm glad it's Friday."
"So am I." His hands moved to her back.
"Was there anything you wanted to do tomorrow?" She was lying over him, looking into his eyes.
He closed his eyes and took a calming breath. "Can we stay like this?" For the first time since they'd last been like that he felt tranquil and self-composed.
"All weekend if you like." She touched her lips to his. He lifted his head off the bed a few millimeters and encouraged the touching. "I overheard a couple of my Lieutenants talking about you today." She lowered her head and kissed his throat, right above his Adam's apple.
"Uhh..." It was more of a deep throated open response rather than a coherent question of interest. It was only when she touched him that he really felt alive.
"They saw you pull up." Her mouth moved to his jaw.
He had taken to waiting outside for her unless they had a lunch date. Gossip seemed the follow the couple wherever they went in that hospital. "Uh huh." He wasn't interested in what she was saying. She could have been singing the alphabet and he would have been happy just to hear her voice.
Her knees were resting on the bed now, on the sides of his hips. She sat back on his stomach and pulled his white t-shirt out of his jeans. "They're envious."
"Oh." He lifted his body slightly allowing her pull the shirt over his head.
"Why is your shirt all greasy?"
"Garage."
She laid her chest back down against his and began kissing his jaw and ear. "You're warm."
His hands worked their way up her sides and around her back. Having her there made him feel safe and calm. He no longer felt restless. He could be in the moment with her. Suddenly she stopped kissing him and pulled her face away from his. He felt a pang surge through his heart and his face illustrated that. "What?"
She eyed him for a moment and looked at the bed. "You didn't get grease allover my new bedspread, did you?"
"No." He'd been on his back the whole time.
Margaret glanced at the bedspread, it looked clean. Her blouse looked a little smudged though. "I have to take my uniforms to the cleaners anyway." She relaxed on top of him again and began kissing his jaw.
"Hmm..." He was feeling especially warm.
Suddenly she lifted her head again and broke contact. "Did you take a nap in here today?"
"No."
"You didn't get grease on the couch did you?"
"Honey, I didn't touch anything."
She nodded a little breathlessly, "Okay." And leaned down and they resumed kissing.
His hands worked up her back and his fingers threaded through her hair. She was all over him. Instead of feeling trapped under her he felt safe and secure. The only restrictions were his pants. He shifted slightly beneath her and then gave her his full attention. He was breaking away from himself now and his hands moved more freely about her body.
Margaret smiled against his lips. He was beginning to move. It was only a matter of moments before he took control. It wasn't often that he felt like he was in control anymore and she loved to see the old spirit come back to him. His hands grabbed her buttocks tightly and he pressed her body into his. The next thing she knew she was on her back with him kissing her as one of his hands moved up and down caressing her thigh.
His other hand was still cupping her left buttock and the rough material of his jeans was pushing in against her crotch. They were kissing with more amour now, including more than just their lips. It wasn't their intention to end up making love, but it was needed. The passion, the closeness, the feeling of moving in cadence.
Sleeping wrapped up in the other's arms wasn't always enough. When he needed her she was always there for him just like she was at the moment. Sometimes the words wouldn't come and she was the one person that completely understood that. She would never ask more of him than he could give.
"I wish we had a color TV."
"I don't know, I think George Reeves looks better in black and white."
The room was dark; all the shades had been pulled shut. The glow of the TV imitated that of a full moon. They were cuddled together in the middle of the couch. Hawkeye had his feet resting on the coffee table with his arm around his wife who was contentedly curled up beside him. They were watching the newest episode of the Adventures of Superman.
"I wonder what color her dress is, or her purse," Margaret commented as she watched the screen. She could just see the different shades of blues and reds manifesting to her. Lipstick colors and hat colors...oh how she wanted a color TV.
"Wouldn't it be wild to see that blue suit and red cape?" When it was like that, just the two of them cuddled on the couch, alone and in each other's arms, he was content and relaxed. He would make comments and stroke her hair, sometimes laugh and take a real interest in what was on the screen.
"Oh, I know," she agreed. "You know, I've always wanted to see if Lucy Ball's hair really was red. For the longest time I thought she was a blonde." Hawkeye smiled at that. "And you know, you never see Lois Lane wearing pants. I don't remember the last time I wore a dress like that."
"You have that white one with the blue polka dots."
"But when was the last time I wore it?" She wore her uniform to work everyday.
"We went to that picnic your friend had a few months ago."
"Exactly, a few months ago. It was so uncomfortable too."
"I thought it looked sexy."
"Maybe." She smiled against him. She did wear it for him that afternoon. He had wanted to stay home in bed and she made him go with her. That dress was the only way she coaxed him out of bed.
"Maybe..." He rolled his eyes.
"Oh look, he's flying."
Hawkeye smiled and hugged her tighter. He loved how excited she would get over the television. Any special effects had her complete attention. Maybe one day when they had more money he would invest in a color TV for her. She would go crazy.
When the television program was over, Hawkeye got up to open a window and make some popcorn on the stove. They had gone right from the bed to the couch, without so much as fully dressing or considering the option of food.
Margaret watched him walk behind the couch and into the kitchen. She was so envious; he didn't have any hips at all. His underwear was constantly on the verge of slipping off his waist and down his thighs. They just sat there, tempting her to pull them down and stop the cruel teasing. He didn't have gun boat arms like Donald, but when compared, she thought he was nicer to look at. Donald hadn't had his lean frame or hard stomach. Hawkeye's body fit hers as if it were made for that reason, where as Donald had been the wrong puzzle piece trying to force it's way into an irregular slot.
He was standing behind her then. She could feel his hands on the back of the couch. "Would you like something to drink?" He asked quietly.
She turned her head and looked up at him. Putting her hand on his arm she said, "Would you get me a glass of water please?"
"Of course." He leaned over and kissed her lips.
He had been so unsure what kind of a husband he would make to her, but she had assured him time and again that all she wanted was him. He tried to tell her that he couldn't give her what he thought she deserved, but she had convinced him that he was what she wanted. His proposal had been a strange one. It had seemed like he was trying to get her to say no. In reality he was a wonderful husband and hopefully one day he would see that.
Hawkeye came back into the room with a fresh bowl of popcorn and two glasses of water. Margaret reached for the glasses so he could take a seat next to her. "Mmm, smells delicious."
"Well I am a good cook."
She smiled at him. "You have cooked some pretty spectacular meals, but I wouldn't say this is one of them."
"Oh? Then you don't get any." He moved the bowl out of her reach
"Hey!"
"If my popcorn isn't good enough for you..."
"I never said I didn't love it."
"You contradicted my being a good cook." He was still holding it off to the side.
"I just said popcorn couldn't be categorized as spectacular. Anyone can make popcorn."
"But you like it when I make it, right?" He was giving her a sideways glance.
"Of course I do. You add just enough salt and you don't burn the kernels."
"That's all I wanted to hear." He put the bowl back on his lap.
"You men." She handed him his glass.
"Men? How many other men do you sit on the couch with and share a bowl of popcorn?"
She sighed and popped a piece of food in her mouth. "Every once in a while I'll sneak out around three in the morning and find myself someone to watch TV with...just to compare the two of you."
That was not what he wanted to hear. "You really know how to make a man feel...well...used. You're just after me for my popcorn making skills."
Margaret smiled at his teasing. It was nice to have him in a playful mood again. "That's right. It has nothing to do with the fact that I love you. I married you because you know how to make a good bowl of popcorn."
"At least you're honest about it."
She leaned over and gave him a kiss. "This is a very good dinner."
He returned her kiss. "It was your idea." She hadn't been in the mood for cooking and neither had he. They just wanted to snuggle on the couch.
"But you made it," she told him. "And it's perfect."
He smiled. "Well, I've had a lot of experience." They had popcorn for dinner at least once a week. Usually on nights when it was too hot to cook on the stove or they were just feeling clingy.
"I know," she gave him another kiss.
"I could go for something else," he said. "How do nachos sound to you?"
That did sound appetizing. Warm cheese and crispy chips..."Wonderful. Make sure to put lots of cheese on them."
He stood up and turned to look down at her. "Hand me your glass, I'll refill it."
"I'll come with you." She stood to her feet. The over sized t-shirt she was wearing covered just the tops of her thighs. "Oh wow," she said when she walked into the kitchen. "It's really hot in here."
"I know."
"Maybe we should invest in another fan."
"It's been a little too hot the last few days. It will cool down again. If we get any more fans we'll have to get a storage bin for the winter. They'll never fit in the garage."
"Not with that thing in there." She filled their glasses up and sat them on the kitchen counter.
"You just wait." Hawkeye pulled out a bag of chips and dumped some in a bowl.
"I know, I know." She leaned against the counter and watched him. Something outside caught her attention and she went to look out the window above the sink. "It's lightening."
"I told you it would rain tonight."
She watched the sky light up for a moment and saw the dark clouds rolling in at a steady pace. "You were right. How do you always know?"
He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. "I can feel it in my bones." He kissed the side of her head.
A warm feeling flooded through her. The lightning felt so far away. She smiled and closed her eyes, emitting a small sigh. "Ed Sullivan is coming on in a few minutes," she said eventually.
He kissed the top of her head again and rubbed her arms with his hands before letting go. "These won't take long." He bent down and peered into the oven.
She walked over to where he was crouched and stood behind him so her legs brushed up against his back. "Mmm." He reached around and ran a hand up her leg. "They're so smooth."
"I can't wear nylons otherwise."
He turned a little and sat back on the floor and kissed her knee. "I could forget the nachos for this."
"Don't let them burn," she pointed to the oven.
His hands ran up her smooth legs and he tried to pull her down. "It's a lot cooler on this tile."
"I'm sure." She was still standing, not giving into him.
"Join me." He touched her hands softly and threaded his fingers through hers.
She smiled and shook her head no. "On the dirty kitchen floor?"
"I beg your pardon! I mopped this floor this morning." He pulled on her hands and she went down to the floor with a big grin. "See, isn't it better?" He sat back against the cabinet doors, pulling her onto his lap so she was straddling him. "Much cooler, isn't it?"
"Somewhat." She sat back on his legs and took a good look at his face. His eyes were shining and there was a nice little grin on his lips. "Your hair is messy," she finally said. She brushed it out of his face. "I like to be able to see you when I look at you."
"You messed it up, not me."
She had leaned in and kissed his lips, stifling any further conversation. "Mmm."
"Mhmm." She was threading her fingers through his hair as they kissed. They had to stop before they ended up making love on the kitchen floor. It was tempting...bare skin on the cold tile. That was almost as inviting as the pleasure that would come with it. "Baby..." He broke the kiss but she only moved to nibble on his ear. When she started licking his neck he put his hands on her shoulders. "Margaret..."
"Hmm..."
"The nachos are going to burn."
"Mmm Hmm."
She was turning up the heat on him. The floor didn't seem as cool. "Stop."
Stopping didn't seem as fun, but she did it anyway. She could feel the heat from the oven on her back. The tone in his voice wasn't quite what she was expecting either. She pulled her mouth away with one last kiss on his lips and sat back on his thighs. "Stopped."
He smiled at her and gave her a kiss. "I think the floor was a better idea then I thought."
"Maybe later." Now she could smell the nachos.
All he wanted to do was turn the oven off. "What?"
She stood up and opened the oven. "Oh wow. Feel that heat?"
"Nothing like a moment ago," he mumbled.
She smiled to herself. "I think they're ready to come out."
Hawkeye put on two oven mitts and pulled the tray out. The cheese was bubbling and popping. Luckily they didn't look too brown. "They look okay." He hadn't turned the heat up very high. Hawkeye set the tray on the stove.
"They look delicious," Margaret purred and carefully pulled one off the top. The hot cheese stretched and pulled along with the chip. Upon biting into it she gasped, "Ooo, it's hot."
"That's because they just came out of the oven."
"Mmm, but it's good." She took a tiny bite off the tip.
Taking off the oven mitts he said, "We should let them cool for a minute."
Margaret was working her way around the bubbling cheese. "O-kay."
He smiled to himself as he watched her. She was certainly encouraging. "Don't burn your tongue."
"Don't worry; I'll let you kiss it if I do."
"You do and you might regret it." He was standing in the middle of the kitchen in only his underwear and she was wearing his shirt. There were no real barriers of clothing to stop him from finishing what she started on the floor.
"I never have so far." She smiled and blew on the cheese before popping it into her mouth.
He winked at her. "I aim to please." He reached in the pan and grabbed one, blowing on it before taking a bite.
"Not always."
"What?" He turned and eyed her.
"We should bring these back in the living room so we can watch TV."
"I have a better idea." He took the chip out of her hand and put it down. Then he pulled her into his arms kissing her neck. "Let's get back to the floor."
"You were the one that wanted to stop." She smiled when he hit a ticklish spot.
"Only to shut the oven off." He kissed her throat.
"Aren't you hungry?"
"The food isn't going anywhere." His breath was warm on her neck.
It wasn't very often that he was in a mood such as this one. She worried about him constantly. His depression could have such a hold on him at times. "But..." He was hard to resist.
"Mmm..." He had dipped his head lower.
"Ahhh," she gasped in surprise. Suddenly the intro to the Ed Sullivan Show could be heard emitting from the other room. "It's starting!" She exclaimed and pulled away from him.
All of a sudden she was out of his arms. He was left standing there confused and alone. "Perfect," he grumbled. What was wrong with missing The Ed Sullivan Show to make love?
"Will you bring in the food?" She yelled from the other room.
He sighed heavily. He wasn't sure if it was him or her. One minute she was all over him and then the next she ran off to go watch a television program. He grabbed the plate of food and the two glasses. When he walked in he sat the food on the couch cushion next to her and handed her water to her. "There."
"Thank you." She had fully expected him to sit down next to her and watch the show just as they had been before. It caught her off guard when she looked and he was no where to be seen. Maybe he made a stop in the bathroom. She was sure he would be back.
Margaret watched the monolog and still Hawkeye wasn't there. That's when she thought something might be wrong so she got up and went to find him.
She found him in the bedroom sitting in the darkness on their bed. He was hunched over with his elbows on his thighs and his hands in his hair. Almost instantly she grew worried. "Honey?" She called to him softly as she stood in the doorway. He didn't answer, he didn't even move. "Ben?" Margaret walked across the room and sat on the corner of the bed. She put a hand on his back and rubbed it soothingly. Margaret tried for a third time, but still she got no response.
His mood could change instantly and without much warning. At times it was difficult to know how to respond and how to push or pull him out of certain moods. She tried to lean in and give him a kiss on the cheek, but he only moved his head away. Her hand was still rubbing his back; he wasn't saying anything but he wasn't trying to stop her from doing that. She had hoped his day was a good one, and he had said he had been okay but this was telling her otherwise.
"Ben," she said in a whisper. "What's wrong?"
"I don't want to talk."
This was going to be tough. She didn't want to aggravate him, but at the same time she didn't want to let him be. Margaret sat closer to him and wrapped her arms around his body. "Honey please, talk to me." She felt his shoulders and back muscles tighten, but he didn't say anything. "I'm right here." She leaned in and kissed the back of his neck. But that seemed to be the wrong thing to do. Before she had time to react he had ripped himself away from her and was on his feet.
"Don't touch me."
She sat there on the bed for a moment to see what he was going to do. He walked over to the dresser and leaned on it looking at himself in the mirror. He wouldn't look over his shoulder at her nor would he look at her through the mirror. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."
"Don't talk to me." His tone was deep and firm.
Margaret sat there, her hands in her lap looking on helpless as he pushed her away. Looking at him like that made her heart ache for him. He seemed to be fine earlier that evening, but that didn't really matter anyway. His moods didn't have a pattern and even so more often than not she could sense when they were coming on. This one took her by surprise. It was hard to get close to him when he was insistent on pushing her away.
"Did I do something?" She asked him softly.
He was looking out the window into the night. He had a restless look to him; his hands were planted on his hips and his hair was disheveled. "Go back and watch your show," he told her lowly. She could hear a certain darkness and weariness in his voice.
She looked at him oddly for a moment. Could it possibly be the show? "I'd rather be with you."
He sighed deeply and shook his head. "Just go." She made it clear where she wanted to be. She had a choice between him and a dumb television show and she picked the TV.
"Ben..." She stood to her feet and walked over to him. She tried to put her arms around him, but he pushed her away again. "I would never pick..."
"Margaret," he said firmly. "Get away from me." His words came out slow and deep.
"I just want to help you."
"You can help me by getting out." He turned and looked into her eyes.
Margaret was slightly taken aback. Even in the darkness she could see the anger in his eyes. She knew he would never hurt her, but there was something frightening in this. "Honey..."
"Margaret..." There was a hint of danger in his voice.
"Sweetheart, I love you," she told him softly.
Her tone of voice was breaking his barriers. He never wanted to hurt her. "I know."
"I just want to help."
"Margaret go." He was still standing strong.
Tears started to form in her eyes, but she kept that from him. All she ever wanted to do was help him but he could be so hard headed about it. "Please." She knew if she could just get him to soften up some then he would talk to her.
"I don't need you right now."
"That's not true." A tear slid down her cheek. A few years ago she would have taken something like that to heart, but she knew he didn't mean it. She knew how much he loved her and needed her.
Hawkeye closed his eyes for a moment trying to will his harsh feelings away. They weren't meant for her and she shouldn't have been on the receiving end of them. He was mad at himself now for always hurting her. His hand moved to his forehead and he scratched the top of his head. That was when he opened his eyes and looked directly into hers.
He loved Margaret more than anything, even more than his own life. She was all he had. She was all he ever wanted. And here he was, pushing her away. He didn't want to hurt her, but it seemed like he always ended up doing that in the end. Hawkeye hated himself for that, he really did. He felt like such a terrible husband, she deserved a man so much better. Why was she with him anyway? The sex seemed to be the only answer he could divulge, he wasn't good for anything else.
"Ben?" Her voice was soft and her eyes were looking right into his. She wasn't sure if he was looking at her or staring right through her into space.
Hawkeye saw three tears roll out of her eyes and down her face. Without thinking he reached out and brushed them away with thumb; first the left side and then the right. "Don't cry." The first word came out hoarse, but the second was soft and tender; almost a whisper.
Her hand gripped his wrist forcing him to continue touching her face. He stiffened at first, but soon relaxed and cupped her face in his hand. She let go of him. His eyes met hers again, then moved lower to her lips. He ran his thumb across her full pink lips and then leaned in and kissed her. She closed her eyes at his touch, forcing another tear out of her eye. When the salty water rolled down and came in contact with his cheek he kissed her harder. How could he push this woman away?
They parted lips, but remained close. He rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Margaret moved her arm around his shoulders and held him close against her. Much to her relief, he didn't pull away, but seemed to be drawn to her. "Why don't we lie down?" She suggested softly. Still pressed against her, he nodded silently.
When she moved out of his arms he was reluctant to let her go. That was a step in the right direction. Margaret pushed back the covers and lay down. She pulled on his hand to get him to lay down with her. When he moved she pushed closer toward the center of the bed so he would have room. His mouth opened and he started to say something, but he gave up.
"Come here." Her arms were open to him. She was open to him.
There were not words to express how much she meant to him and he felt that no matter what he did he never once managed to express how much he loved her. He lay on his side and looked at her. "I...Margaret...you..." He sighed deeply, frustrated by his lack of words.
"It's okay. I know." She noticed his eyes were beginning to moisten.
She rubbed his arm soothingly, running her hand along his forearm and bicep. He closed his eyes again and took a calming breath. All he needed was to be reassured that she was there. Her touch was comforting; he usually fell asleep when she did so. "I'm sorry," he breathed. His eyes were still closed. Her caressing was putting him at ease.
"Shhh." They didn't need to talk. She knew.
Her hand went up to his shoulder and around to caress the back of his neck. She moved closer so she rub his back, his muscles were so tense. After a while she felt his breathing go shallow and he relaxed against her. Her fingers moved under the elastic of his shorts and ran along his waist line until she reached his hip. Moving her hand up his side, she began rubbing his back again.
He started to relax inside and let go of the anger he had been holding onto. He hadn't actually been mad at her, just in general. His temper would flare up at the littlest things. Some people looked at him like he was crazy, but she had never done that. Not once. Without her he would be lost and alone.
After a few moments she felt his body begin to relax. His eyes stayed closed as he moved closer to her, laying his head on her chest. She scratched his head gently as he drifted off to sleep. Margaret knew it was the first time he had really been calm in the past few days. He had been very restless, and it didn't seem to be getting any better.