She walked slowly towards the door. Forced herself to walk slow, she couldn't have him think she was too eager. But she was. She had kept returning to the window all day, looking for his blue car. Not that she would ever admit that to anyone.
She had also wiped the kitchen counter for the hundredth time. Made sure the blanket on the couch looked nice, neatly folded but not too neatly. That the pillows on her bed looked fluffy.
It was stupid, really, but it was important that he liked her apartment.
His voice on the phone the last time they talked had sounded eager too.
"Tell Maggie I said hi," Daniel had yelled in the background.
She hadn't been Maggie with anyone since she was a little girl.
And now, Hawkeye Pierce was at her door. She looked around the living room one last time, making sure no chaos had erupted. The plants stood at attention. Good plants.
She ran her hands over her hair and opened the door.
He was leaning against the doorframe, breathing heavily.
"There are 96 steps to your apartment, did you know that? Lack of oxygen became a problem somewhere around 48."
She smiled.
"Well, luckily I'm used to finding you panting at my door."
He smiled back, took a deep breath, and kissed her.
They went out that evening, first to dinner and then to a jazz club they happened to walk by. Margaret wasn't really into jazz, she didn't understand why they couldn't just play the melody, but found herself really enjoying it. The bartender talked them into trying a specialty called "Bittersweet Arpeggio", which was colored an unsettling gradient from dark to light blue, tasted more sweet than bitter, and was strangely addictive. They talked and laughed while the Arpeggios turned their tongues blue, and tried to dance to obscure jazz songs not meant for dancing.
Back at her apartment, he had her blouse off before the door closed behind them, and she laughed and hung on for dear life as he picked her up and danced his way to the bedroom, singing something jazzy and out of tune.
Later she laid awake while he slept, the formerly fluffy pillows now sagging on the floor. His face in the crook of her neck, his steady breath warm on her skin, and his arm over her waist. His light, slender arm. She entangled her fingers in his and for once hoped sleep wouldn't find her. Just lying there felt too good to miss out on.
The bus pulled to a stop, and through the frosty window, she saw there were two Pierce's waiting for her this time. When she approached, they opened their jackets in a very coordinated move, and revealed incredibly colorful Christmas sweaters. She gasped, clutched her chest, and made a big show of turning her head and starting to walk in another direction, but found herself being caught in an enormous hug just seconds later. Hawkeye's eyes sparkled when he presented her with a gift bag from which she pulled another sweater. Hers had a bulldog with reindeer horns and a red nose on it. He insisted she would put it on right away. She could never resist him when he looked like that, so of course she did.
They spoiled her rotten the entire holiday. Crabapple Cove was beautiful in the winter, the Pierce residence looked like something out of a fairy tale. The Snow Queen, maybe.
Margaret and Daniel made gingerbread one day, and as the spicy aroma filled the house, she couldn't help but feel a bit melancholy. Holidays had that effect on her.
She remembered silent Christmas dinners in houses with moving boxes piled against the walls. Another doll she would never play with.
She remembered the silence of the nursing school dorm, the few of them not going home for Christmas moving around quietly, like ghosts, avoiding each other's eyes. The ghosts of Christmas Lost.
She remembered hers and Helen's first Christmas party at Fort Ord, how that had started their reputation as legendary hostesses and maybe something else for Helen.
So many Christmases, and not one of them smelled of gingerbread.
But this one did. It smelled of gingerbread and turkey and the big Christmas tree in the living room.
It sounded like footsteps in the snow, the creak of floorboards when Hawkeye snuck into her room late at night and the crackle of an open fire.
Late on Christmas Eve they sat by it, Hawkeye and her, his head on her lap. The fire caught the gray in his hair and made it glitter like tinsel when she ran her fingers through it.
She thought about telling him something, something important. Something that had been true for a while, that had started with the tiniest little spark a long time ago and had grown strong.
She was just about to tell him when he sat up, looked her in the eyes, and told her first.
