I hate how I can't forget you.
MASH Unit 4077. January, 1951.
Night had fallen.
Virginia waited. Damp cold seeped through her coat and she huddled further in the doorway. How long had she been waiting? Had she misread his smile as acceptance? Maybe he wasn't coming…
Behind the hospital. Twenty-three hundred hours.
The words of her note were permanently burnt in the forefront of her mind.
Meeting Charlie behind the hospital was risky, but in the middle of winter she doubted anyone would talk a leisurely stroll around camp post-shift. Besides, the idea of getting caught sent a thrill down her spine. Still, if she checked her watch, she knew it was well-past eleven.
Across the yard, a single lamppost above the latrines illuminated the well-worn road leaving camp. A gentle snowfall began, the white flakes sparkling in the light. Footsteps broke the silence.
Charlie rounded the corner. His breath fanned her face in icy puffs, and his smile, bright and anxious, lit a fire in her core. For a moment, he stood before her, hands shoved in his coat pockets, his broad shoulders obscuring the lamplight. A wave of emotion crashed over Virginia. Her palms grew warm, her breathing labored. Her mind told her to flee, run back to her tent, and forget she'd ever proposed such a silly idea. But her heart—oh, her aching heart told her to stay.
She opened her mouth to speak first. "I wasn't sure if—"
Charlie silenced her with a kiss. At first, Virginia wasn't sure what to do. She stood still, arms at her sides like a schoolgirl in her first romantic encounter. Her mind drifted back as she tried to recall the last time Hawkeye had kissed her, really kissed her. Perhaps the last time had been when— She pushed him out of her thoughts as Charlie wound his arms around her waist.
She sighed into Charlie's touch and melded her body against his. He tasted of hot coffee and a hint of tobacco. His lips, soft, coaxed her to relax. She titled her head, curled her arms around his neck, and fell backwards into the darkness of the doorway. Her back thumped against the wall and, if she concentrated, she swore she could hear Radar talking to Sparky on the other side. Too close, her mind told her. She didn't care.
It felt like heaven to be touched, to have Charlie's hands roam her back, her waist, her chest. She reciprocated in kind and found herself running her hands along the muscles in his back and arms. His mouth was just as she had dreamt: warm, skilled, encouraging. Her toes curled in her boots.
He pulled back, cradling her face in the palms of his enormous hands. His towered over her, but she didn't feel intimidated in the slightest. "I take it this is what you had in mind when you invited me here," he whispered.
She swallowed a girlish giggle, opted for an unaffected shrug though her insides were rolling. "I thought we might exchange a few words first, but yes."
"Words are overrated."
His lips found her jaw. She dipped her head back, felt her eyes roll backwards in bliss. Her nails dug into his shoulders as his mouth moved lower, toward her collar bone. Sweet heaven, this was wrong. Yet as he kissed her skin and she ran her fingers through his hair, some part of her knew it was right.
"Oh… Hawkeye…"
The name fell from between her lips before she could stop it, almost like an unconscious prayer. At once, Charlie froze. Virginia's eyes flew open, her lips parted in humiliation rather than pleasure. Ice chilled her hot blood.
Charlie stepped back. His hands slid from her waist to her arms. He held her at a distance, his eyebrow quirked. "Hawkeye…" The word was slow, a question rather than an accusation.
She searched for an answer, some sort of explanation, but came up with nothing except for the truth. "Doctor Pierce…" she started. Her voice was thick; she cleared her throat. "Hawkeye and I are married."
Charlie scoffed. The white plume curled in the night sky as he backed out of the doorway. Brow tight in a frown, he shook his head as if in disbelief. "I'm sorry? You're married?"
"Yes." Virginia wrapped her arms around her chest as a frigid gust of wind tore across her body. "Hadn't you wondered why I never gave you my last name?"
"I just assumed it didn't matter." He tugged at his hair, distress coloring his face. "It's not like you or I would ever—It's not like I want anything serious."
Virginia lifted her chin. Rejection sat in the wing, waiting for its turn to take the stage. She refused to allow it. "Neither do I."
"Well, I don't want anything serious or unserious with a married woman! Least of all with a woman married to a doctor I highly admire." He waved his hand, as if to keep her in the shadows. "You should have told me."
"I don't see why. He and I are barely on speaking terms, much less physical or emotional terms." She hugged herself tighter and whispered, "He's practically a stranger to me now."
Charlie's shoulders dropped. He swiped a hand down his face and cast a look to his right, toward the chopper pad. Snowflakes settled in his unkempt hair. "Be that as it may," he finally said, "I won't fool around with a married woman." Perhaps to soften the blow, he shot her a sideways grin. "No matter how much I like her."
He was right, of course. She was wrong to have suggested anything. She was sure if she thought about it long enough, guilt would tear a hole through her stomach. But she wouldn't think on it, not any of it. She would take the whole embarrassing ordeal, wrap it in a box complete with a bow, and throw it in the middle of the fighting. It would be taken care of there—for good.
The sirens blared, breaking the bubble surrounding Virginia and her would-be paramour. He startled at the sound.
"That's my cue."
Charlie nodded. He shuffled, unsure, on his feet. "I'll…" He sighed. "I won't say anything to him."
The thought hadn't crossed her mind that he might. She was thankful, nonetheless.
A flurry of footsteps headed toward the chopper pad sent Charlie on his way without another word.
Virginia's jaw tightened and, for the briefest of seconds, rejection, despair, and regret coiled together in a knot in her stomach. She let the knot linger and the emotions spread through her body. Her eyes fluttered shut; a tear broke free and slid down her cheek. She wiped it away with an angry hand.
She wasn't sure what made her cry. Charlie's rejection? No—though he was a handsome devil, she didn't give a damn about his opinion. Hawkeye's rejection? No—it would always hurt her, but she'd long ago forced herself not to cry when she thought of it. Perhaps she cried because she never expected her life would turn out this way. She never expected to be in Korea, in the middle of winter, having just been rejected by a British soldier while her husband slept two buildings away.
It wasn't supposed to be this way.
She opened her eyes as the sirens continued. Stepping out of the shadows, she shook herself free of the evening's events. She promised herself she would never think on it again. It had been a silly mistake, an unsuccessful and unsatisfactory attempt at vengeance.
Across the yard, Father Mulcahy stood beneath the lamplight. He caught Virginia's eye, and she stilled. He lifted a hand in a wave, his face pinched in discomfort. She swore under her breath, turned on her heel, and rushed for the hospital.
.::.
No one spoke in the scrub room.
Sometime during the night, a North Korean battalion had gotten confused and bombed a local orphanage instead of their intended target. Now, doctors and nurses prepared themselves to meet child after child on the cutting table. If Virginia normally dreaded her hours in operation, tonight, she would rather cut off her own hands than have to witness the horrors of war forced upon children.
Father Mulcahy entered the room, robed in white, his purple sash the only spot of color amongst the somber medical staff. He shouldered his way to Virginia at the washstand. She tensed when he neared and hurried her washing.
"Father," she said in acknowledgement. The water pouring over her skin burned.
Mulcahy bent close as he, too, began to prepare for the operation room. "Would you like to talk about it?"
Virginia straightened. So, he had seen…
She shook the water from her hands then waited as Kellye rubbed her arms dry. Once Kellye was gone, she skewered Mulcahy with a dark look. He blanched but held her stare.
"No, I wouldn't."
He pressed onward anyway, ever diligent to his job. "I can understand how you must be feeling, Virginia," he began. "Lonely, afraid—"
"Stop right there, Father." Virginia held up her hand and lowered her voice, though the last of the nursing staff had already entered the hospital. She was late to her post; Henry would have a fit. Still, she wanted Father Mulcahy to hear her loud and clear.
"Don't presume anything about how I feel. I know you're here to help us… feel better… but—" She stopped short, considering. "Have you ever been in love, Father?"
Mulcahy tilted his head in confusion. "I—Well, I suppose—" He sighed. "Before I took my orders, there was a girl… That was a long time ago."
"Still, do you know what it feels like to be hopelessly in love with someone, to know on some level they love you in return, but watch them..." She trailed off, unsure if she could finish the sentence.
He stayed quiet a moment, his brow puckered in thought, as if he truly were considering Virginia's position. "No, I don't know that feeling." He looked up, met her eye, and understanding glimmered there. "But I may feel tempted to look elsewhere, too."
She felt her chin quiver as Mulcahy looked on her with such kindness. She set her jaw hard.
The door banged open. The angry voice of Henry Blake ruptured the moment. "Virginia, get your ass in here!"
Mulcahy grimaced. "You'd better go. I'll be right behind you."
Practically running, Virginia entered the operating room, one hand tying her mask, the other wiggling into a glove. Every operating table hosted a body much too small to be there. The tables were built for men, not children. The air circulating the doctors and nurses was heavier than normal; the normal ribs and jokes were few and far in-between. She swallowed hard.
From his place over the body of a young teenage girl, Henry nodded to Hawkeye's post. "Assist him."
She was in too much trouble to argue.
Virginia took up her post, relieving Allison, who left with a sympathetic smile. The child on the table—all but five and smudged with blood dirt—looked like an angel in his drug-induced sleep. Virginia slipped a glove on her ungloved hand and waited for Hawkeye's first instructions.
"Where were you?"
She looked up from the child's mangled chest. Hawkeye remained focused on his work, his hands steady, his gaze intent. "I… Father Mulcahy wanted a word."
"I see. Gauze here." He pointed to a portion of the boy's exposed ribcage. "I'm gonna have to cauterize this damn thing. Won't stop bleeding."
"Do you want a Kelly clamp? For those muscles there?"
He shook his head. "No, not yet." He shifted, flicked his sweat-matted hair off his forehead. Virginia wiped his brow. "Thanks." A pause. "I wanted to apologize," he started. "For last night and what I said—Well, didn't say. Suction."
Virginia's hands shook as she put the tube on the underside of the wound. He continued.
"I should have said something, anything—I don't know. It's just… Billy… I think of him every time I come in this room."
"Hawkeye—"
"No, Beth, let me finish."
That damned nickname—it stopped her in her tracks every time. She was powerless when he used it.
"I'm sorry. I should have comforted you. That's what I'm supposed to do… as your husband. I—I wanted to, but things have been strained between us. I didn't know how you would react."
"Coronel, tell Pierce to keep his domestics out of the O.R.!"
"Can it, Frank!"
With a sigh, Hawkeye lowered his voice. "That's it. That's all I rehearsed." She looked up, met his clear eyes over the child's body, and felt tears blur her vision. "Crying is going to mess up your work, Doctor," he said, an amused glint in his eye. "I may have to fire you. We only take the best in Korea, you know. That's why we have Frank Burns."
"What was that, Pierce?"
Hawkeye spoke up, waving the scalpel in his hand. "I was just telling Doctor Pierce here how lucky we are to have you, Frank."
"Oh, well, thank you. Glad you finally recognized my vital role in the outfit."
Virginia held Hawkeye's stare. A slow smile spread across her lips. "Yes, Frank. Hawkeye was just telling me how lucky we are to have a living example of what not to do as a doctor. You really are vital."
"Ah!" Frank's offended cry broke some of the tension in the room; muffled chuckles filtered throughout the staff. "Gee, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Or something like that."
Hawkeye shook his head side to side, slow, as if in amazement. His eyes glowed. "I could kiss you, Mrs. Pierce."
Virginia's heart tumbled in her chest. All thoughts, all wishes and fanciful dreams of other men whisking her off her feet, were gone. Hawkeye had been and always would be her one and only. Perhaps, if he had truly mended his ways as Trapper claimed, forgiveness wasn't out of the question. Still, she had been burnt before…
With a slight edge to her voice, more for her own safety than Hawkeye's, she lifted an eyebrow. "I dare you to try, Mr. Pierce."
A/N: Well... things seem to be progressing between the two. Thoughts? Opinions? Does Hawkeye deserve a second (er... third?) chance?