Vacare
By: OneSongKatie
A/N: This is my first go at a post war fic, and I am extremely nervous about it. This part is just a prologue. I promise all details pertaining to time frame and other practical matters (such as what went on after the war that led to this moment, stuff about Margaret's family, etc.). IAll will be fully explained in the next few chapters, so don't worry if you have big questions after reading this first bit.
Prologue
Margaret walked tiredly through the apartment door and threw her keys in the jar on the kitchen table. She sifted through the mail lying on its surface, absent-mindedly glancing around the room. Something was different.
It was clean, she noted dryly. He did the dishes. God bless him. She thought heaving a little sigh of relief.
Margaret hated working late, but the one thing she hated more than working late was doing dishes when she finally got home. Well, that was arguable, actually, she amended. If the Army started paying overtime then maybe she would reconsider.
Margaret saw a new picture on the fridge, portraying what she could only assume was a duck. It was purple. She allowed herself a little smile. At the sound of steps coming from the direction of the hallway, Margaret turned toward the archway separating the kitchen from the rest of the house.
"See? I told you she'd be here." Hawkeye said, entering the room.
"Mommy!" A small voice cheered.
"Hi, Benny." Margaret smiled broadly at her son, taking him from Hawkeye's arms. "Did you and Daddy have fun today?" She asked, glancing at Hawkeye. He looked tired. Hawkeye smiled at her, leaning in to kiss her lightly on the cheek.
"Hi." She said quietly, searching his face. He rested a hand on her back.
"Tell Mommy what we saw today, Ben." Hawkeye winked at her. She smiled at the familiar gesture, feeling momentarily less fearful of the dullness she'd noticed in his eyes.
"Mommy, ducks!" The two year old exclaimed, clapping. "Ducks eat bwead!"
She turned her attention back to the baby. "Tell me about them, buddy." Margaret prompted, stroking his soft hair. Margaret felt Hawkeye's fingers tapping amusedly on her back.
"Tell Mommy what a duck says." He directed, glancing proudly at her. Ben quacked admirably. She kissed the baby's temple in appreciation, letting her face rest next to the silky skin of his cheek for a moment.
Ben, wearing blue footy pajamas, kicked his little legs impatiently. She pulled back to study him, noting that the dark blue of his eyes had lightened even more recently.
Ben kicked against her again. His face turned serious as he solemnly held up a finger with a small bandage wrapped around it. Margaret sighed dramatically.
"What happened?" She asked, kissing the finger, and cocking her head at Hawkeye. He smiled.
"There was an incident with one of the ducks." He said, smiling coyly at her and tousling the boy's hair. Margaret raised her eyebrows at them. Hawkeye shrugged. "We got too close," he finally admitted with a sheepish smile. "Did you know that ducks could bite?" He added, almost as an afterthought. Margaret stared at Hawkeye, trying to tell if he was joking. Something was strange with him tonight. Something she couldn't quite name.
Ben nodded seriously at her. "Too cwose." He repeated with big eyes, drawing her out of her thoughts.
Margaret looked at Hawkeye, an affable gleam in her eye. "Well, it's nice to see your surgical skills aren't going to waste, Doctor." Margaret said mildly, shaking her head in resignation.
She often regretted what she missed while at work during the day. Sometimes, not very much, but sometimes, Margaret wished Hawkeye would consider returning to work. For a multitude of reasons, not least of which because she missed his presence in the operating room. And she also understood his need to take a break, time away from having human pain constantly in his face.
And there was a much smaller, quieter voice inside of her that wished she could be here. Hawkeye watched Ben learn words and experience new things. She heard about them after.
Hawkeye was still smiling widely at her earlier comment, though, and for the first time that night his eyes seemed to brighten. He leaned in to kiss her mouth lightly.
"How was your day?" He asked, his voice quiet next to her ear. His breath was hot against her cheek, and she couldn't subdue the smile that began to pull at the corners of her mouth. Ben giggled into her shoulder.
"And what are you laughing at, Benjamin?" She turned back to the baby, tickling his ribs. He laughed more loudly, nuzzling his head into her shoulder. Margaret paused, cherishing the softness of his hair against her cheek. Still close to her face, Hawkeye shook his head, grimacing.
"Don't say it like that," he complained. Margaret looked at him blankly. "The name," Hawkeye explained. "Don't say it like that." He shuddered. "You sound like my grandmother."
Outwardly, she smiled broadly at this, rolling her eyes. Internally, however, she wondered about him. His voice sounded glib, but there was something strange in his eyes. She detected just beyond the lightheartedness something darker. Margaret couldn't place his expression. He looked as if he were smiling, but behind the smile was a lingering tiredness.
She knew suddenly with a small shudder of what it reminded her. It was Korea. She knew the look on his face because it was identical to a look she'd worn for a very long time.
Four years. It had been four years, she calculated, since she'd left that place. And there were times she thought she might be capable of forgetting. She often held to the belief that they were escaping it, with every day that passed, with every new word that Ben learned, she thought they might be able to unclench the firm grasp that place maintained upon them.
They hardly ever talked about it anymore. Even those first, shaky months, when there was nothing but confusion and purposelessness and trying to function on a human level, they only spoke of the war in short phrases.
And never about what had happened to him during their last days. Margaret knew something terrible had happened to him, had pressed its darkness upon him. He'd only mentioned it once, when she'd first seen him again a few months after the war. She hadn't known what to say then, and she still didn't.
Every once in a while she'd flash back to something, usually something small, seemingly insignificant—the way rain fell for days and days one spring, pelting their tents, their skin. She'd be at work, or driving home, and a color, or a random thought would make her remember, would flash through across her eyes with blinding clarity.
She never spoke of these incidents to Hawkeye, though. There was too much.
And she didn't want to be the first one to bring it up.
Margaret tightened her grip on Ben, breathing the scent of his hair. Maybe it was time. Maybe they should talk about it. She had to try. Even if it meant, well, Margaret wasn't prepared to really consider the consequences of discussing Korea, actually. But she could try.
"So what else happened today?" She asked Hawkeye casually, setting Ben down. The two year old immediately ran over to where a plastic ambulance lay overturned on the living room floor, shrieking loudly. Hawkeye looked at her for a moment, and Margaret again wondered at his expression.
"Mommy! Amboolince!" Ben yelled from the floor, waving his toy in the air, then setting it down and making siren noises. Margaret smiled at him across the room.
"Your sister called." Hawkeye's voice sent a jolt through her body. Margaret sharply looked up at him. Hawkeye was gazing at her intently. She quickly recovered, trying to stifle her initial discomfort.
"Oh?" She replied, with all the nonchalance she could muster. "How is she doing?" Hawkeye continued to watch her with that infuriatingly unreadable expression.
"She rented a house in Virginia Beach for the summer." He paused, cocking his head thoughtfully. "She wants us to come stay with her family." Margaret stared at him silently, frowning. He looked down. "I think we should go." He quietly added, still watching the floor.
Margaret was speechless. Was he crazy? Her family? She had spoken to her sister only a handful of times since Korea, and this—this call from nowhere—upset her carefully established equilibrium. She had expressly avoided her entire family for the last four years of her life, and there was no way she was changing that plan. Not now, not when she was actually beginning to think they might be okay.
Something occurred to Margaret. Why would her sister call now? What could she hope to achieve by trying to reestablish contact? There must be something at stake. Was this all a ploy to corner her and pick apart her life? She knew it had to be, why couldn't he see that?
"Did she mention who else would be there?" Margaret tried to keep her voice neutral, and almost succeeded, though she could not temper the slight tremor at the end of the sentence.
"Your mother." Hawkeye answered simply. Margaret opened her mouth to say no, resoundingly no. No way she was going to allow her mother the opportunity.
But before she could voice her protest, he interrupted, adding matter-of-factly, "She wants to see her grandson."
Margaret's voice was barely a whisper when she dumbly replied, "I don't want her to."
Hawkeye's hand tightened on her back. "I think we should go," he said again with more resolve.
Margaret was silent a moment, considering this. "I don't know." She met his eyes, willing him to understand with the forcefulness of her gaze. "Do you really want to face all that? And what about Ben? Do you want to subject our son to that?"
Hawkeye's blue eyes stared intensely into her own. She realized suddenly that those were the eyes she'd seen on her son a moment ago. It didn't seem possible for such a thing to be replicated, and yet, there was no doubt. It was strange, and she contemplated for a moment if Ben had actually received any genes from her, he looked so like his father. Hawkeye's voice tore through her thoughts.
"Margaret, he's almost two and a half. They've never seen him." He was saying in even tones.
He was being way too rational about all this for her liking. When had he become the rational one? She wondered, growing more and more astonished with his behavior.
Margaret shook her head. "No. You don't understand." She glared at him, saying more vehemently than she really felt, "They just want an open arena to pick apart my life, and I'm not going to give them the satisfaction." She halted, starting to feel things swirl out of her control. She began to tear away from where he was standing but Hawkeye swiftly pulled her into his arms, pressing his lips to her hair. When he spoke, his voice murmured next to her ear. She closed her eyes against that feeling, immediately sensing calm returning to her body.
"Margaret," he was saying slowly, methodically. "Your sister said specifically that they don't want to impose on us, they just want to meet Ben." He paused, and Margaret felt him smiling against her face. "And get to know me." He added softly, sounding more surprised than anything.
She pulled back to look at him. From this distance she noticed how tired his eyes appeared. Shadows cast by the table lamp framed his face, highlighting little lines that had begun to form around the edges of his features. How long had those been there? She wondered, pressing her face against his chest. She didn't want to look at that anymore.
"Well, I do have some leave I can take," she murmured into the soft material of his t-shirt. She felt his hand gently push aside the hair hanging over her shoulders, finally resting on the warm skin at the base of her neck.
This was the easy part of their relationship, this was what always made sense to her. She didn't want to talk about what was making his eyes dark and tired.
Maybe a vacation could be a way to figure things out, she thought closing her eyes against the soft cloth of his t-shirt. Margaret tucked her arms up between their bodies, wanting to be completely encased in the circle of his embrace.
"We could use a vacation." When he spoke, Margaret felt his low voice resonate in his chest. She nodded against him. Okay.