"I'm fine, really."
Hawkeye had arrived, at Sidney's suggestion, to escort Margaret on the short walk to lunch but she was proving an even more unwilling patient than usual.
"Please Captain. I don't need you to prop me up all the time. I can walk on my own."
"Indulge me? It does my reputation wonders to be seen with a beautiful woman on my arm."
Margaret didn't look impressed but she obliged, leaning gently on the proffered elbow as they made their way unhurriedly between the tents.
"I understand Sidney visited you earlier." Hawkeye's heart was thumping, his mouth dry. He felt as though the past two weeks had been building up to this moment and how he handled it was critical. He wished his voice sounded less like a ten-year old girl's. It had taken on that note of forced cheeriness far too often of late.
Margaret looked like she was going to say something but in the end closed her mouth and nodded.
"Potter's got him talking to the whole camp. Wants to make sure everyone's coping after… well, you know."
"Major Freedman is very good at his job. We're lucky to have him."
"Don't I know it. I'm one of his best customers. Just mention my name and he'll do you a great deal on a lobotomy."
"No thanks." No thanks? I wasn't serious toots. Sidney's prognosis had been that by suppressing her emotions, Margaret was also suppressing who she was. A fiery, opinionated pain in the arse whom we all care about. Someone needed to help her let go before they lost that women forever and Sidney seemed to think her friends were best suited to this task. Hawkeye wasn't entirely sure he qualified as a friend right now. He certainly wasn't having any luck getting her to open up. He hesitated now, unsure where to take the floundering conversation. He knew where he wanted it to go but couldn't see a delicate way of broaching the subject. There's always the direct route. Pulling her to a stop outside the mess tent, he plunged straight into the deep end of an icy pool.
"Margaret, will you please talk to me. I'm sick of being frozen out by everybody. I know I didn't handle… everything brilliantly but I really wish you could forgive me already." He had intended this to sound encouraging and gentle but his frustration, both with her coldness and BJ's distance, made the words hard.
"Forgive you?" Margaret was frowning at him in confusion. "This has nothing to do with you, Hawkeye." Well I'm Hawkeye again. That's a start.
"Really? Because it feels like you're punishing me here. And it seems to me that our … that night is what started all of this."
"That's quite arrogant and self-centred." Hawkeye would almost have welcomed this assessment of his character, had it been delivered with her usual fire. Instead it was a flat, emotionless observation. "Do you really think you have such an impact on my life?"
"Why can't you trust me then?" Hawkeye could feel his anger rising to meet the overwhelming tide of Margaret's indifference. When she offered no answer he pushed forward, resolutely ignoring the warning voice in his head. "Why can't you just say it? I know you want to. I know you've been thinking about it for weeks." The head nurse looked slightly alarmed but her doctor continued to rant, his grip on her arm tightening. "Say it, Margaret, just say it! You shot someone." The alarm in her face turned to wide-eyed fear as those three words settled like lead between them.
"How…?"
"Well you did, didn't you? Why is that so hard to tell me? If nothing else I thought we could at least be honest with one another. I thought maybe we were friends."
"We are-"
"Friends trust each other!"
"But you hate killing so much and the way you looked at me, through me, that was bad enough. I couldn't stand…"
He ignored the pleading note in her voice. "Oh, right. Blame me again. That's typical."
"You were the one who just thought it was all about you."
"What was I supposed to think? You won't talk to me; you won't look at me straight. I can't believe you thought I wouldn't understand. Even after all this time, you really don't know me at all!"
"Right, because you make it so easy. Hawkeye Pierce, the great pretender. Hiding behind the jokes and the lines and that strict moral code. It's no wonder you're still alone."
They stepped slightly away from each other, both shocked that she had actually said that. When Hawkeye finally spoke, his voice was dangerously low.
"I'm alone because I choose to be alone."
"You mean because you always run away when there's any danger of falling for someone."
"Oh sorry, I forgot that you're the poster girl for successful relationships. As if Frank Burns wasn't enough of a worm you were so desperate not to be alone you went and married an even bigger one." This time he knew he'd crossed the line. Startled gasps and whispers ran through the small group of onlookers forming nearby. Hawkeye winced at his own stupidity and at the tears that were forming in those beautiful blue eyes.
"Margaret…" He reached out a hand but she pulled away and disappeared into the crowd. Smooth, Pierce. Real smooth.
-o-
He knocked nervously on the door of her tent. No reply. Hesitating briefly, he stepped inside.
"I don't remember saying 'come in'." She was sitting at her desk, her back to the door.
"You didn't. I thought since you were out it was a perfect opportunity to rifle through your underwear."
"What do you want?"
"To apologise." No answer. Why did she always make him do all the work? "That was a really low thing to say. Especially in front of everyone." Not that you were patting my back and calling me Superman. "It just frustrates me that you keep acting so stupid."
"Did anyone ever tell you, you're rotten at apologies?"
"I don't get much practise… You know, because I'm right all the time?"
"If you have to explain it, your joke's a flop."
Hawkeye suppressed a smirk even though she wasn't looking. "I just mean you deserve better than these creeps. You do," he cut short her sceptical snort. "What you did…" He struggled to find the right words. Even for Margaret's sake he was finding difficult to justify any form of killing. Don't be an idiot. Would you prefer she was dead? "This is a war. People die. People get killed. By other people. And those people are usually trying not to get killed themselves. It is lousy. I can't say this is all okay but it doesn't make you a bad person. And I have no right to look down on you." She half turned in her seat, inviting him to continue although he didn't know what else she wanted to hear. "I've done things I'm not proud off too. I'm no saint."
Margaret's agreement with this statement was momentarily written all over her face, reminding him of the women he so enjoyed locking horns with. "True, but have you ever shot someone? Killed someone?" Only the seriousness of her question kept him from smiling at the burgeoning fire in her eyes. "You can't possibly imagine what it feels like to watch another life slip away knowing you're responsible. I put my survival before someone else's, a boy's. A boy who probably had a mother, a father, family, friends, maybe a sweetheart. Is my future more important than his?"
"I don't think that soldier was exactly putting your survival first. He shot you too Margaret."
"After I shot him." Her voice quavered and the eyes that finally met his were awash with long-awaited tears. "Only after I shot him."
As the tears began to flow faster, Hawkeye risked enveloping the sobbing nurse in his arms, murmuring reassurances into her hair. She offered no resistance.
-o-
BJ drummed his fingers impatiently on the arm of his chair. Radar had disappeared over half an hour ago to organise the captain's jeep and the ailing doctor was getting very bored, abandoned in the Swamp. He allowed himself a moment of indulgent self-pity before the door finally opened again.
"Sorry I took so long sir." Radar came bustling back into the Swamp. "Mail just came in."
"That's nice Radar but couldn't you sort it after I'm on my way to Tokyo."
"Well yes sir, I could sir, but I thought you might like this." The young man held out a thick looking package. BJ's heart began to thump. It had to be… He seized the parcel greedily and ripped at the brown paper. Sure enough, inside he found a small bundle of letters tied neatly together with a length of blue ribbon. My favourite. There had to be five, no six, and all with the beautiful cursive of his beautiful wife. He ran his fingers reverently over the first one, lifting it to his face to inhale any traces of her which had survived the long journey.
"I'll just go see about that jeep now sir." Radar left with a triumphant grin that was not entirely lost on BJ. The little devil. He notices more than he lets on. Turning his attention back to the long-awaited correspondence resting in his hands, he carefully opened the first with trembling fingers.
"My Dearest BJ…"
Tears of relief obscured the rest of the letter and he laughed nervously brushing them away. Until this moment he hadn't realised quite how much he missed his wife. He knew that he missed her warm body beside his, the sound of her laughter. He missed her apple tea cake and the way her hair glowed in the California sunsets. He even missed the little crease she got in her forehead when he'd done something to displease her. Now though he realised what it really meant to miss someone. With even the tenuous link of her letters denied to him, he had lost himself wholly in an unsettling cloud of confusion. Three little words and he was restored.
"My Dearest BJ…"
AN: Well there it is folks. I think the next chapter will be last. Do I hear sighs of disappointment? Hey you in the back! Stop cheering. Anyway, thanks for tuning in. Hope you like it and I'd love to hear from you. (It's the little button to the left down there.. hint hint).