All she wanted was to be able to tell him she was happy. It would be a finish and a start tied together neatly. This was not how the evening was supposed to go, this was supposed to be nothing more than a drink with an old friend. A nice memory to return to during endless dinner parties or when Peter grabbed her wrist, because he did that, and of course Pierce had noticed. His nickname so fucking well-earned. Why did this man have direct access to her most inner parts, the ones she had worked so hard to conceal? She used to be the queen of denial, when had she lost that ability?
Her hands felt sweaty in his, she wanted to pull them free. Wanted to want to pull them free and walk away.
"You have no right."
She also wanted her voice to sound strong and cold, let the wrath of Margaret Houlihan rain over him in cold shards, but of course she couldn't have that either.
"I know I don't. Tell me anyway."
She looked into his eyes, for a moment almost hypnotized by his gaze, and shook her head.
Then she tore her hands free and punched him in the chest before pushing him away.
"God damn it, Pierce, why do you have to do this? You keep messing up my life. I had it figured out back in Korea. At first, things were so clear to me, and then you came along and made me think and question. And then you were gone, only to pop back up and make me question things all over. Peter is a great guy, you know. He is kind and sweet and… kind. He's a great catch."
"But is he your great catch?" He was rubbing his chest where she punched him, and that pleased her. "Your honor, the witness refuses to answer the question."
The sarcasm in his voice lit a familiar flame within her.
"Stop it, Pierce, just stop it. No, he is not. Are you happy now? Did you get what you wanted out of this wonderful conversation? Can you go to bed happy tonight knowing that my life still isn't what I want it to be, that you won? What now, we part ways again, and you go back to your perfect life in your lovely little town and tell all the locals how you once again managed to fuck up Major Houlihan's life, got one last good one in on that bitch? Have a laugh about it with your sweet little girlfriend?"
He stared back at her, sighed, and let his arms fall to his sides.
"No. I didn't mean to fuck anything up for you, I really didn't. And she's not my girlfriend. She… there is no one. I just… you were with him, and I didn't want to be pathetic and alone, so I just blurted it out. I lied, okay? I lied."
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, everything suddenly felt too surreal to process. What world was this, had she stepped out on that balcony and fallen down a rabbit hole? Was there a tea party she needed to get to? The laughter that bubbled up inside was impossible to stop. And it felt good. She took a couple of steps backward and lost her balance when her heels hit a softer spot on the lawn and sank down a bit, which only made her laugh harder. He reached out and grabbed her arm, keeping her from falling over.
"Good God" she managed, "Hawkeye Pierce has an imaginary girlfriend."
He chuckled a little and punched her arm very lightly, like they were two kids at summer camp.
"Shut up, she's not imaginary, she just goes to another school."
That made her laugh even harder. She leaned her forehead against his chest, feeling her mouth turn into a clown grin and her nose starting to run. So very classy. She drew in air and snorted a little, which made him laugh too, she could hear the big grin in his voice.
"See, this is the Margaret I remember. The one who is violent and snort-laughs, I knew she was in there."
She looked up at him, suddenly not feeling like laughing anymore.
"I just wanted normal, Pierce. I truly did. Why can't it be enough?"
He got serious too.
"Because you don't settle for enough. You demand excellence, in others and in yourself, and if you give that up, I don't even think you are yourself anymore. And you deserve it. Excellence. Everything."
"I want to want this. This, with him. I really do."
"I know."
He let his hands run over her bare arms, and it made her skin tingle.
"Maybe what we think we want and what we actually want are two different things," he said in a low voice.
"And how are we supposed to know the difference?"
He shrugged.
"I have no idea. Maybe we don't until it's too late."
She leaned her head back and looked up at the stars. They were beautiful and offered no answers at all.
"I don't know what to do."
"Neither do I. Look, I had no plan for this. I know that I have missed you. That I have thought about you so much. Being home has been wonderful and so hard. Seeing you today was wonderful and so hard. I know that I am happy to be here with you now, but I am sad there is someone waiting for you. I have no right to be, but I am."
His hands stopped at her shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. She felt very small, him towering over her, her heels further down in the lawn. She sighed.
"I want Colonel Potter."
He frowned.
"That's… unexpected. I think you will have to fight Mildred, and I honestly don't know if you can take her."
She chuckled a little, even though she didn't really want to. He had a tendency of doing that to her.
"I want to talk to him. Back then, I always went to him for advice."
"I know you did. What do you think he would tell you?"
"To listen to my gut."
"And what does your gut tell you?"
Her gut was a black hole, filled with confusion and frustrations. Also fear, a healthy dose of guilt, and some giddiness for some reason. Everything sloshing around in there among the champagne, wine, and gin. Bad gut.
"That it wants another drink. Is there anything left of that gin?"
They walked back to the bench and he picked the bottle up from where it had fallen, held it up, and studied it.
"There might be some gravel in there."
He pulled up his shirt a bit and used it to wipe the bottleneck, a gesture that moved her for reasons she couldn't explain, and handed it to her.
"That's okay, so did that poison from the still."
She kept eye contact with him while taking a swig. A big one.
"Bite your tongue, Margaret." He grinned, and she knew he was thinking about the same continuation for that sentence as she did.
They looked at each other, and it felt like no time had passed at all, the past and present mingled. They might as well have been standing in the compound in fatigues. She had fully tapped into the exhausting experience of being around Hawkeye Pierce, that energy of a kid high on sugar combined with heaviness and ennui. It felt like home.
And yet there was something new. Something new in his eyes that went straight to a corner of her heart that had been unused for quite some time. Something in there stretched and blinked its eyes at the light. It was a good feeling.
Hours later, she was walking down the hall. The talk with Peter had been undramatic. Polite.
With Donald, there had been screaming matches in hotel rooms and over bad phone connections.
Frank tore a door off.
Peter wished her all the best and asked her to tell everyone he had an emergency at work.
For some time alone to pack his bags.
Such a clean break.
The hallway was quiet, the wedding guests fast asleep, dreaming about ice statues catching the glimmer of crystal chandeliers.
She knocked on a door and only had to wait a few seconds for it to open.
His hair was messy, and his shirt wrinkled. He had said he would wait up for her and he obviously had.
"I'm gonna walk around the lake," she said before he could say anything. "You wanna come?"
He smiled and nodded.
The lake was bigger than it looked, but that was good. They walked through the early morning fog while the sun rose and glittered in cobwebs, their voices mingling with the birdsong.
Her words flew easily in the stillness. His presence beside her, his steps on the path, and the rustle of his jacket made her relax. He put his arm around her when they stopped and looked at a swan, and there it stayed.
They speculated on why swans were the only acceptable animal to fold out of a napkin, discussed the importance of chilled salad forks, and laughed at all the names and numbers of the Winchester clan they couldn't remember.
The laughter died when they talked about all the wounded whose names they could remember.
The fog lifted and they shared longings, frustrations, and the bitterness towards a world that had moved on, and they talked about what had begun between them such a long time ago. The thing that had bubbled under the surface and came out that horrible and wonderful night in the hut. That thing that had happened slowly but held. That still held.
It was still early when the hotel came into sight again. The sun was warm, it was going to be a beautiful day.
Margaret thought of Peter in a taxi, heading towards the airport. She hoped he was going to be able to find an earlier flight. Or a car to rent. Get home safe. That he would be happy.
She thought about things ending, and things starting. Continuing. Things spinning in unexpected directions. And for the first time in forever, she wasn't tired. She felt hopeful. Curious. And very hungry. She had a blister on her heel from walking in shoes not meant for walking, and she really wanted a shower. She also had an arm around her and an invitation to come up north.
