Margaret ran into the mess tent closing the door tightly against the freezing wind and sleet. She found a seat as far from the door as possible and sat down as Colonel Potter signaled for everyone's attention.
"Alright folks, let's get settled down and get on with the gifts!" A volley of cheers went up and Margaret looked around the tent. The party had been going on for almost three hours but Margaret had been sulking in her tent. Every holiday just reminded her that she was alone. The bitter cold winds had finally convinced her to come to the only place within miles where it was warm.
"Alright, the first up…" Potter paused as he squinted in the dim light, trying to make out the name. "Nurse Kellye." Kellye giggled shyly and made her way to the center of the tent. Colonel Potter began to call out other's names while Margaret silently watched Kellye. She eagerly pulled off the wrapping paper and discovered a heart shaped box of chocolate, wrapped inside a cheery Hawaiian shirt.
Margaret smiled as Kellye looked around the room frantically, wondering who gave her the gift. Margaret's eyes wandered toward Charles who was looking disdainfully at a large wheel of cheese. By the size and smell there was no mistaking who could have given it.
"Margaret Houlihan," Margaret jumped at her name and decided to stay put.
"Margaret, he just called your name," BJ nudged her arm slightly. Margaret rolled her eyes and reluctantly began to make her way towards the pitiful tree. Colonel Potter handed her a package, the right shape and size of a book. Margaret smiled cynically, no surprise there. She ripped off the red paper carefully and smiled as she saw a book of famous love poems.
She looked at Charles, knowing he was the only one in the camp who shared her interest in poetry. She began to make her way towards him while flipping aimlessly through the pages. Three pictured fluttered to the floor and Margaret stooped down to pick them up. She glanced at the first one and her mouth went dry. She jerked herself up and scanned the room quickly. Tears began to prick the back of her eyelids and Margaret hurried from the tent clutching the book and pictures tightly under her coat.
When she finally reached her tent she flicked on the light and sat down as close to her heater as she could get without burning herself. She hurriedly pulled the pictures from the book and stared at them in shock.
Memories came flooding back into her mind. She could see herself so clearly as she posed for the picture, David's arms wrapped tightly around her. The second picture was her in full costume, bowing along with Matthew, her dance partner. And the third… Margaret could barely even stand to look at the picture. She was at the dance school. David was standing behind her, staring happily at the pink bundle in her arms. Margaret traced the pink blanket with her finger; it was almost as if she could still feel the soft cotton and her baby's smooth skin.
Margaret couldn't take it anymore and she dissolved into tears, the salty teardrops leaving marks on the old photographs.
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Margaret stepped out of the jeep and looked around the barren compound nervously. She felt as if she were about to cry. How did she end up here? It all seemed like such a blur to her now. A young boy, probably no older than eighteen approached her nervously.' He reminded Margaret of a skittish puppy.
"Are you Major Houlihan?" she nodded silently and the boy picked up her luggage. I'll take these to your tent; Colonel Blake's office is right through there."
"I'll show her the way," Margaret turned in surprise as a tall, dark haired man slipped his arm around her shoulders. He smiled at her and Margaret frowned, she didn't like the feelings that this man was causing to pulse through her body. She shrugged his arm off and glared at him.
"I'll find my own way…" she glanced at his captain's bars, which only increased her anger. How dare he treat her like an equal? "I'll find my own way Captain." She stated firmly, emphasizing his rank. He shrugged and smiled cockily.
"Fine, have it your way. But if you change your mind, I'll be in the mess tent getting some coffee."
"I wont." She assured him, before walking inside the building. Once inside, she leaned wearily against the wall, fighting back tears. "Damn this place," she muttered quietly. "Damn him!"
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Hawkeye watched eagerly as Margaret opened her gift. He saw her look at the book and quickly head towards Charles who was staring disdainfully at his wheel of cheese. Klinger jostled Hawkeye's arm and he looked away for only a moment. When he turned back he couldn't see her. He scanned the room quickly and caught sight of her back, quickly disappearing outside.
Hawkeye pulled his jacket closer to his body as he braced himself against the cold wind. He sprinted to Margaret's tent and quickly knocked on the door. The light was on but she made no response. He hesitantly opened the door and saw her sitting in the middle of her tent sobbing, her arms wrapped tightly about her legs.
He sighed and sat down beside her, placing a hand comfortingly on her shoulder.
Margaret hadn't even heard him come in; when his hand softly touched her back she gasped and jerked away.
"What happened Margaret?" he asked softly, placing his hand on her back again. She didn't jerk away; instead she hesitantly leaned towards him. "What happened to your little girl?"
"You gave me the pictures?" she asked shakily, avoiding his question.
Hawkeye refused to budge. "What happened Margaret?" he repeated, staring intently into her eyes. Margaret choked down another sob and blinked away her tears.
"A car accident…" Trying to keep herself from crying was useless. It had been years since she had even allowed herself to think of her husband and child, much less speak of them.
Hawkeye pulled her even closer to him as she sobbed pitifully. He rubbed her back slowly, and rocked her gently, while whispering soothing words into her ear. When she calmed down a bit he looked back into his eyes.
"Is that when your husband died?" he asked gently. Margaret nodded and Hawkeye sighed. "What was his name?"
Margaret stayed silent for a moment and then closed her eyes. "David," she whispered. "His name was David."
Margaret laid her head against his chest and Hawkeye pried his eyes away, wondering why his heart was beating so strongly.
"I'm sorry," he muttered quietly. "I didn't think the pictures would upset you like this. I thought…"
Margaret shook her head, cutting him off. "No, I love the pictures, really." She wiped away her tears and looked up at him. "I don't have anything else to remember them by. As soon as I got out of the hospital I went straight home, I didn't even have time to get my clothes."
Hawkeye frowned, fighting against himself, wanting to spout off a bitter remark about her father.
"I know what's it is like not to have anything to remember a loved one by." He said instead. Margaret's silence bid him to continue. "Those albums I loaned you are the only things of my mother's I still have. Right after she died my dad started drinking a lot and one day I cam home from school and he had passed out in the living room, everything that was hers he had burned in the fireplace, bit by bit." Hawkeye shivered slightly in remembrance.
"He even burned her slippers." He muttered, more to himself than to Margaret.
"Slippers?" Margaret though it was strange Hawkeye would care about something like that.
"Her ballet slippers; her favorite pair of toe shoes. Right after she died, when I really missed her I would take those shoes into bed with me and play with the black ribbons and picture her as she tied the around her ankles."
Margaret smiled, able to picture the scene he was describing clearly.
"It'll be okay Hawk," she said, comforting herself rather than him. "It'll be okay." She snuggled into his chest and Hawkeye tilted her head upward. He hesitated, every single part of his body screaming at him to stop as he leaned his head down and kissed her softly on the lips.