She had to talk to him. She had tried to tell herself that it might be better if she didn't, that the air would clear after awhile and everything would go back to the way it was. That she wouldn't have to ask him that question. She had sat in her tent all afternoon, telling herself those things; it hadn't gotten her anywhere.
Margaret lay back on the small bunk and stared blankly up at the ceiling. Why? Why did it have to be so difficult? Why did she have to love him so much? Why did it have to hurt so much? She frowned, and sat up again. It was ridiculous, really. Margaret Houlihan, tough-as-nails, had somehow been reduced to a whimpering, timid woman who was afraid to talk to the person who knew her best.
She sighed. Damn this war. Damn Korea. She had been just fine before she got here, and now... she didn't think she could ever be all right again. Never. Not after everything she'd seen, everything she'd done... everyone she'd come to know. Margaret punched her fist into the palm of her hand. Damn that Hawkeye Pierce.
The boom of Radar's voice coming over the PA interrupted her thoughts. Annoyed, she crossed her arms and listened.
"Attention. Attention all personnel. It's seven o'clock and... no, wait... it's six o'clock... well, whatever time it is, it's that time, and the supper tent is now serving a mess... I mean... the mess tent is now serving supper. Please report for... yeah. Thank you."
Margaret rolled her eyes, but she couldn't hold back a small smile. You could always count on Radar to lighten the mood a bit, especially if he wasn't trying to. She stood up and looked at her watch. It was 6:15. Breakfast had been hours ago and she'd had nothing but a cup of coffee for lunch; having something to eat probably wouldn't be a bad idea. Reluctantly pulling on her jacket, she unlatched the tent's small door and stepped out into the evening air.
Halfway to the mess tent, she decided to turn back. The beginnings of an awful headache were throbbing in her temple, and she didn't feel like facing everyone right now; not when she was tied up in so many knots. It would probably just make her feel worse. Margaret ran her fingers through her hair, and started back to her tent. She knew that she wouldn't feel better until she had sorted everything out, and Hawkeye could wait... she hadn't decided what to say to him yet.
She didn't have time to. She was fumbling with the doorknob, annoyed that it wouldn't turn, when she felt the gentle touch of someone's hand on her back. Startled, she whirled around, and there he was. Hawkeye. Standing in her doorway like it was the most natural thing in the world. Margaret let out a long sigh, and shook her head.
"Do you have to sneak up on me like that?"
Hawkeye smiled. "Absolutely. I've gotta keep you on your toes." He crossed his arms in what she knew was meant to be mock dissatisfaction, but he wouldn't meet her eyes. "Where were you this afternoon? You were in pretty bad shape when I left you in the mess tent, but I dropped so many come-talk-to-me hints, I thought for sure you'd show up at some point. There I was, sitting in the Swamp like an idiot, waiting for you to come running to my open arms. BJ thought it was pretty funny, but I told him you'd come." He frowned, and looked at her slowly. "He thought it was even funnier when you didn't show at all."
Margaret tried to glare at him, but she had to look away. His deep blue eyes, usually so warm, were sad and hollow. She shivered involuntarily, and turned back to the door.
"What's going on, Margaret? Why can't you just talk to me? I thought we were so close...."
Close? She cocked her head and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "You did?"
He shrugged. "Yeah. We were together so much; I don't think you let go of me for a whole couple of weeks."
Her cheeks flushed. How could she have let herself get carried away like that? She thought she had hidden her feelings for Hawkeye pretty well, and it angered her to know that she hadn't. She shook her head, turning her attention back to the door handle. All wrong, she thought. This is going all wrong.
"What?"
God, had she said that out loud? She could feel Hawkeye's gaze on her back, and Margaret felt her whole body stiffen. She tried to concentrate on the door, but she knew she couldn't stand here like this much longer.
"What did you say, Margaret?"
"Nothing."
"You're lying to me. You said something about this 'going all wrong.'" He let out a long breath, and put his hands on her shoulders. "What's wrong, Margaret? Talk to me. Please."
Slowly, she turned to face him. "I can't. I... I don't know. There's nothing to say... there's too much to say...." She trailed off, wishing that he wouldn't look at her that way. Those sad eyes, so full of confusion and concern... she wasn't sure how much longer she could handle the way they studied her.
Hawkeye stepped closer, his hand gently touching her cheek. "You're not making much sense," he whispered, and she shivered again. He sighed. Silently, easily, he pulled her into his arms.
She melted into him, her body wracked with sobs before she was even aware that she was crying. He wrapped an arm around her waist and lightly rubbed her back with his other hand. They stood like that for what seemed like hours, gradually becoming engulfed by the evening air. When Margaret finally lifted her head, she was surprised to see that the face looking back at her was as tear-stained as her own. Hawkeye had been crying, too; he plainly understood the way she was feeling. She reached a hand up and stroked his cheek.
"Hawkeye," she breathed, and he pressed a finger to her lips.
"Shh... you don't have to say it, Margaret. I know."
She closed her eyes, and rested her head on his chest. His shirt was wet with tears, and it felt cold against her cheek. "Chilly?" she whispered.
He nodded. "A little."
"Want to come in for awhile?
Hawkeye's face brightened. "Sure."
Margaret slipped out of his arms and reached for the door handle. This time, it opened effortlessly. "Ironic."
"What's ironic?"
They stepped inside, and Margaret shut the door behind them. She wrapped her arms around his neck.
"You know when you snuck up on me earlier?"
He nodded. "Mm-hmm?"
"I was trying to get in here... the latch was stuck."
Hawkeye drew her closer. "You see? Destiny. If you had been able to get in before, we wouldn't have had this whole conversation. And I never would've known how you really feel."
What? She pulled her arms away from his neck and wriggled out of his embrace. How she really felt? She wasn't even sure how she really felt! How dare he presume to know so much about her? How dare he? Margaret could almost feel her blood boil. She glared at him, placing her hands roughly on her hips.
"What the hell do you mean by that?"
Hawkeye was clearly alarmed. He stared at her, his expression slowly changing from one of hurt and confusion to one of disgust. Deliberately, he clenched his teeth.
"What the hell do I mean by that? What the hell do you mean by this? Damn it, Margaret, you make it so hard for me! You make it so hard for everyone! You're like this... this roller coaster, up and down, up and down, and I never know what you're gonna say! I never know what you're gonna do! One minute you won't talk to me, the next you're crying on my shoulder, the next you're wrapping your arms around me, and the next you're pushing me away! I don't even know why I try anymore. Oh, that's right: because I care about you! I care about you, Margaret! I care about you. But the second I try to show you I care, the second I try to get to know you better, you freeze up faster than a popsicle! Let me tell you something, I know you better than you think. And I would love to be closer to you, but you won't let me in. You won't let me into your head, into your heart. It's like you've got this damn... emotional armor, that's what it is. This damn shield! And nobody's ever gonna reach out to you if you keep fighting them off this way!" He ran a hand over his face in exasperation, and folded his arms. "Do you understand?"
Margaret didn't know what to say. She knew that everything Hawkeye had said about her was true; that she froze up when he showed her affection; that she pushed people away.... Her lip quivered, and she could feel the tears stinging her eyes. She had been awful to him, and she knew it.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."
He sighed. "I know."
"No," she said softly. "You don't. You don't know what it's like to owe a lifetime's worth of apologies. To know you've hurt so many of the people you love."
"I know you don't mean to do it. You're a beautiful woman, and I know that somewhere under that tough exterior, you've got a heart to match. It's... it's okay to let it show."
Somehow, that had never really occurred to her.
"Come on," Hawkeye said, and she followed him to her bed. They sat down, side-by-side, and she leaned wearily into his shoulder. He took her hand out of her lap and held it in his own. "I know how you feel. I may not owe a 'lifetime of apologies' but I've hurt my fair share of people, too... you, for one. And I'll never be sorry enough for that."
"Hawkeye?"
"Hmm?"
She swallowed. "Can I tell you something?"
He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "Anything."
"I... I love you." She looked up at him, trying to gauge his reaction to what she was saying. "I would've told you before, but... I guess I wasn't really sure. I wasn't sure I knew how to love anymore. But I've realized that I do, and... and I love you, Hawkeye." She breathed nervously. "Say something."
His face shattered into a warm smile, and he drew her into a tight embrace. "Oh, Margaret... I love you. I love you so much." He kissed her temple, breathing in the smell of her hair. "I... I don't know what to say. I've loved you ever since we've been stuck in this place. I've tried to tell you, but... I suppose I was afraid you would turn me down." He lifted her chin, and leaned his face closer to hers. "I love you."
Their lips met. Hawkeye kissed her softly, and she wrapped her arms around him, tenderly kissing him back. It was the sweetest kiss she had ever had, and the most meaningful. The man she loved, the wonderful man she loved, actually loved her back. Honest, true, beautiful love. It was something Margaret Houlihan had never really known before, and she kissed him with increasing passion, unwilling to let go. When they finally broke apart, she gazed into his eyes, drinking in their intense shade of blue. She was alarmed when she realized that they were full of concern.
"What is it?" she asked.
Hawkeye held her face in his hands, and ran his finger down her cheek. "You're crying."
She smiled. "Am I?"
"Yeah."
"Tears of joy," she said, and he grinned. "I've never been so happy in all my life."
Their lips came together again. He held her so tightly, she thought he would never let go. And suddenly, she realized that she hoped he never would. She wanted to hold onto Hawkeye for the rest of her life. Maybe this moment, this one perfect moment in Margaret's life, could be the one that lasted forever.
