Rain pattered on the boards covering them. There was no light at all, not even a crack from where the earth had worn away around the edges of the trench. Through his teary eyes, he could just barely make out Margaret's form, slumped against the wall. Her breaths were jagged.
"I didn't have a childhood. It was push, push, push, go,go,go. Always on the move from pillar to post to post. Anytime I'd make friends we'd leave. I never even had a damn bicycle," she said. "I hear everyone talking about the friends and lovers they left behind. I'm here. This is all I've got. There's nothing in my wake."
Hawkeye shifted. He was cautious.
"After Frank and Donald I'm tired. I'm so damn tired. I'll just back to being who I was when the whole thing's over and done," she sniffled, her voice growing progressively weaker.
"Hey Margaret, I'm tired too, but I'm not going to shut people out. And I'm sorry about your childhood. Mine was fine until my mom died," he said.
"Oh, Hawkeye, I forgot about that. How did you and your dad pull through?"
"We just did the best we could. Not like the hurt wasn't there. It was there all the time. I still think of him, coming home after she died, having to clean out her things, seeing her clothes, shampoo. I can't imagine how he handled it."
He felt her move close. Margaret's soft hand covered his. "Pierce, sometimes you're a pain. Sometimes you're an insufferable drunk who throws up on people…"
"Sorry," he said, remembering an incident about a month prior.
"…but sometimes you're…well, I…"
She kissed his cheek. Hawkeye thanked God the trench was so dark because he felt a blush creep up his cheeks. Margaret sighed softly and leaned against him, still holding his hand. A thought, a simple fleeting odd thought popped up in his head. We'd have pretty babies. For a guy who usually vocalized everything, he showed an odd bit of restraint. Why would a sane person think like that, trapped in a leaky ditch with a woman who was possibly talking out of her head due to a wound?
Hawkeye kept his mouth shut. A sickly green light now enveloped them. Margaret clutched him tighter as the wind began to rise again. "For what it's worth, I don't regret us," he said.
"Neither do I," she replied, and he felt her smile.
Hawkeye leaned back, pulling her into his lap and she rested her head on his chest. He thought of his family home, the big white Victorian by the ocean, full of his history. Margaret's breathing evened out. The rain began again but the wind died down. After a few minutes, he dozed too, feeling almost content but wanting nothing more to let Margaret get her rest in that big house, to let her finally put down roots.
A few trenches away, Potter tentatively lifted the top off his little hidey-hole and looked out. The sky was still stormy but it didn't have that unsettled look anymore. The camp was battered. The water tower was smashed and the mess tent was completely off its foundation. Other tents were either non-existent or torn to bits.
"Great horny toads," he sighed. The others were eager to hear about the damage, but he just didn't have it in his heart at that moment. "Let's stay down here for another fifteen minutes or so, until I'm sure the coast is clear."