A/N: Thank you to nursejoh, bobcatwriter, Elena, and atperhach for your encouragement! Also for past and present readers and feedbackers who have made the words flow! Please enjoy!
CHAPTER 13 – BENJAMIN BOSTON
Charles and Margaret sat in the lobby of the Langham hotel at 11:45 am, she in a ravishing blue dress and he in a short-sleeved button-up shirt and trousers.
"Might you excuse me for a moment?" Charles asked, receiving a nod from Margaret as he strode over to the front desk. He was gone for a couple of minutes, all while she nervously awaited the arrival of Hawkeye Pierce.
When Charles finally returned, he looked glum, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously with his hand.
"What's wrong? Did something happen?" she said, standing up.
"My parents left a message with the hotel."
"I didn't realize they knew you were here."
"They know everything, Margaret," he said, sitting down on a couch in the lobby, clutching his forehead, very real anguish behind the act. Would he be able to pull off this ruse? If Margaret was to walk over to the front desk to confirm what he was telling her, his entire story would instantaneously fall apart.
"Well, what did they say?" Margaret replied, sitting down next to him yet again.
"I am to return to Beacon Hill tonight by seven-thirty in the evening for a family meeting."
"But what about Hawkeye? What about dinner?"
He could only shrug miserably.
"I must attend, Margaret. This may very well be a follow-up meeting in regards to those accounts. Perhaps you are correct about my not being able to regain access to my inheritance."
"Don't say that," she said, gently rubbing his leg. "You don't know how this will go."
"At the very least, it will establish to Pierce that I in fact still dwell on Beacon Hill," he muttered, planting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. And with that, the flurry of questions had ended. Margaret sat next to him, her hand on his leg. He leaned back now, placing his hand on hers, releasing a breath of air he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Perhaps everything would fall into place.
The rotating door began to turn at exactly twelve noon, and in strode Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce in civilian attire, sending a shockwave through Margaret's body. Hawkeye's Hawaiian shirt notwithstanding, it was odd to have seen so many long-time friends and companions clad only in army issue uniforms and not in their preferred civilian attire. Today Hawkeye wore brown trousers, black shoes and a plain cream-colored button up shirt and his salt-and-pepper hair had been trimmed back somewhat. Even though he'd allegedly been getting lots of sleep these past two months or so, Hawkeye's eyes still held that same tiredness in the last weeks of the Korean War.
Margaret stood up and smoothed out her dress as soon as Hawkeye's face came into view, a big smile on her face.
"Margaret! Charles!" Hawkeye called out, striding toward them with arms outstretched. "Fancy meeting you two here, and… at the same exact time."
"Hawkeye!" Margaret cried as she moved toward him in kind. Charles smiled guardedly and stood up from the seat as they all converged in the middle of the expansive lobby.
"You know, I haven't been called that since I left Korea," Hawkeye admitted, embracing her without also kissing her as well, much to Charles's relief. "My dad's gotten away from using the nickname—he just calls me Ben now, like he's been doing in his letters."
"You don't look like a Ben to me," Margaret admitted, as they broke their hug. Now it was Charles's turn to awkwardly pat Pierce on the shoulder. "I mean, I know that Benjamin Franklin is your name," she continued, "but it just… doesn't quite suit you."
"Yeah, well, Charles here would have more of a chance of getting the hairstyle right. And you may be shocked to know that I never could fly a kite."
"Well, I can see that your sense of humor hasn't matured," Charles groaned, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. "Would you care to get something to eat?"
"This place is something else," Hawkeye admitted, looking up to admire the giant chandeliers hanging throughout the large room. "I never realized elite places like this let strangers sit around in their lobbies to impress out-of-towners. Guess I learn something new every day."
"Ha," Charles chuckled, exchanging a glance with Margaret. "Shall we go then, before they catch on?"
The trio walked across the hotel parking lot, with Charles leading the way, using his key to unlock the Cadillac. Gone was the lovestruck man of the last two days, Margaret noted, as she watched Charles striding alone ahead of her, his hands in his pockets. Perhaps it was better that he'd chosen to refrain from acting in such a way in front of a man still recovering from a nervous breakdown.
"What, no chauffer?" Hawkeye commented, looking both amused and surprised, as they reached the vehicle.
"No," Charles replied, unlocking the doors so they could all get in. "I told him to take the day off."
Margaret frowned—was Charles trying to kid around or was he still attempting to appear to be incredibly wealthy? It was difficult to tell. The playfulness Charles had displayed yesterday was nowhere to be found, instead replaced with the dry wit that characterized Major Ego.
"That's a shame," Hawkeye commented. "I wouldn't mind your being back here with me, Margaret. You know, I remember what you said about my Hawaiian shirts. Do you like this shirt? Kinda matches your hair, eh? Apparently this color is called flaxen."
Charles winced as he slid into the seat, wondering if this was another hollow flirtation from Pierce or if he was sincere in his wish that he sit with Margaret. It seemed that anyone of the female persuasion was a potential victim of Pierce's come-ons, and Margaret Houlihan was no exception.
"You apparently remember better than I do. I never thought I'd see you in a shirt like that," she quickly added, thankfully taking a seat up front next to Charles. It was a blatant lie that she did not remember; she recalled every detail of that conversation they'd had while huddled together in the rain after their night in the hut so long ago. The question was, how had he remembered?
Hawkeye could not help but be a bit startled by Charles sliding into the booth next to Margaret at the restaurant the native Bostonian had chosen for lunch. Even so, he made sure to sit across from the former head nurse, noticing the closeness of his two friends' bodies in spite of there being ample room for them to sit at least a foot apart. They were in fact seated shoulder to shoulder, and he suspected hip to hip as well.
"So, Charles, how's the Chief Surgeon position going?" Hawkeye managed to ask Charles, as he settled back into his seat. "Is it anything like my chief surgeon gig at the 4077th?"
"In fact, it could not be more different. For one, I have actual responsibilities to attend to."
Hawkeye laughed a bit at the retort.
"Oh, is that right? Margaret tells me you like working weekends now. That doesn't sound like you at all."
"Yes, well, as Chief of Thoracic Surgery, I have additional roles within the department regarding oversight, scheduling, requisitions; you name it, I have a hand in it. And unlike the previous Chief of Thoracic Surgery, I have also opted to participate in surgeries."
"I see that you're overachieving in the art of overachieving," Hawkeye responded. "I wish I could say the same."
"Tell us about what you've been up to," Margaret said, reaching out and touching Hawkeye's hand. "I know you shared a little with me on the phone, but Charles didn't get to hear about it."
There was a pause as Hawkeye appeared to consider what he would talk about first.
"Yeah, so I'm seeing a shrink," Hawkeye blurted, Charles and Margaret now gaping at him.
"Is that right," Charles murmured, his statement coming out as more of a statement than a question.
"It's just, I can't shake this feeling that I don't belong here. Like, what makes me so special that I get to be released back into the wild, ya know?"
Margaret briefly glanced over at Charles; this had essentially been his exact sentiment as well, though perhaps described in a different way.
"I can't help but think about what we went through, day after day after day," Pierce continued. "All those unending rounds of surgery. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I start putting on my clothes, thinking I can hear an incoming wounded announcement. Not to mention any time I hear helicopters. Man, I hate helicopters! They get me every time."
"You mean, there are helicopters in Maine?" Charles commented, making a face of mock amusement. "I would not have guessed that."
He felt a sting as Margaret slapped his arm from beneath the table.
"But that's not the worst part," Hawkeye continued. "What really gets me is—get this—crying babies. And working in the clinic with my dad, I hear an awful lot of it. It's like I go catatonic or something. I can't even move. That's actually the reason I decided to call up the shrink. And now, instead of freezing, I just start crying along with 'em."
Charles and Margaret knew very well what Hawkeye was referring to, the very reason he'd ended up in the Korean psych ward for a time. Hawkeye had instructed the Korean refugee woman to keep her baby quiet, and she'd ended up smothering her own child.
"So as you might imagine, I've lost my dad several patients with my blubbering. The parents aren't sure if I'm just off my rocker or if I'm mocking their kids. Either way, the less of 'em in the office, the better I am."
"I can understand why you'd still be upset by—" Margaret began, but was interrupted again by Hawkeye.
"Yeah, so, I'm working my way through the stages of grief, I guess. I covered the denial part in Korea, moved on to guilt, and I guess I'm onto depression now. Depression, generously seasoned with a layer of guilt, accompanied by a hot cup of stupor."
"I'm so sorry," Margaret commented, her face full of sadness.
"As am I," Charles added.
"But it does seem to be helping, little by little, talking it out," Hawkeye replied. "Though I guess it's probably better getting to talk it out with people who've actually been there. I gotta admit, I'm kinda jealous you guys have each other."
The fact that Pierce had addressed the two of them in such a way made the next thirty seconds or so incredibly awkward, in which Charles took a very long sip of his drink as Margaret attempted to figure out how to reply to his comment. Hawkeye was clearly hurting, and bringing up their relationship at this very moment would only serve to make her friend feel lonelier and more isolated.
"So, Margaret, tell me about what brought you to Bean Town," Hawkeye asked, his natural loquaciousness making the conversation move forward in spite of the awkward silence from Charles and Margaret. "What made you stop here, rather than, say, driving another two hours up the coast to my neck of the woods? Any way I can convince you to migrate north? To undo you guys's hip-to-hip anastasmosis?"
Charles's hand moved beneath the table, clutching Margaret's knee as if halting her from divulging the actual explanation involving Honoria's panicked phone call to Tokyo. The unexpected touch made Margaret look down and then over at Charles with irritation in her eyes. So he was going right back into the Major Ego scab and enclosing himself in it like a cocoon in the presence of the vulnerable, suffering Pierce. When she returned to face Hawkeye, she could see that he had witnessed the whole wordless exchange.
"Is there, uh, something going on between you two?" Hawkeye asked, seeing their obvious discomfort at his question. "I'm detecting some kind of odd tension here."
"Yes, as a matter of fact, there is," Charles replied quickly, feeling Margaret poking him in the side with a sharp fingernail. "Very perceptive, Pierce."
"What are you saying, exactly?" Hawkeye muttered, narrowing his eyes as he looked at the pair.
"Margaret and I are together."
"Wait," Pierce said, shutting his eyes in disbelief, a little shake of the head accompanying, "as in, together together?"
"Yes." Now Charles had crossed his arms, appearing much smugger than Margaret would have liked.
Hawkeye blinked several times in a row, his mouth now hanging open ever so slightly as he stared off into space. It wasn't often that Hawkeye looked so disturbed.
"Funny, that," Hawkeye muttered now, focusing in the distance. "I didn't get that impression at all from your letter, Margaret. Is this a, uh, recent development?"
"Since last Friday," Margaret answered.
"Ah, so it's like an extended one-night stand or something. Aw, I remember those," Hawkeye said, grinning devilishly as his body relaxed back into his booth seat. "I never thought you would go for something like that, Charles. Propriety and all that."
Now Margaret attempted to interrupt.
"It's actually—"
"No, I get it; I get it," he replied, gesturing dismissively. "He was in the right place at the right time." Now he directed his toothy grin at Charles. "Why, you lucky dog, you."
"Excuse me, Pierce," Charles interjected, "but I resent your idea of attributing it to little more than luck. In fact, it involved—"
"Let it go, Charles," Margaret snapped. Clearly exasperated now, Margaret rolled her eyes. This had gotten ugly and confrontational very fast, courtesy of a newly-returned Major Ego.
Just then, the waitress brought over their food, thankfully clearing some of the tension as she handed out their steaming plates of food.
"Impeccable timing," Charles muttered, taking his plate. Before anyone could say another word, Charles had already stuffed some food into his mouth, a surefire way to prevent him from speaking during the duration of his chewing.
"I'm just thinking out loud," Hawkeye commented as he picked up a French fry, pointing it at Charles and then Margaret, "but, uh, how did this whole thing happen between you two, of all people? Did you just so happen to get a bit too close in some cozy, temperature-controlled O.R. after hours? Or did Charles put you under some kind of love spell?"
A/N: this and especially the next chapter have been my absolute favorites to write in this whole story. I can't wait to post chapter 14. What did you think of the Charles/Hawkeye banter? I love writing their exchanges and the next chapter has tons more!
