The boy wouldn't stop bleeding. He didn't look a day over 16, and he wouldn't stop bleeding.
His chest was full of shrapnel, the pieces kept slipping away as Hawkeye tried to get to them, the blood filling up the cavity seemed to be coming from everywhere, like every tissue bled. The boy moaned and started to squirm. He needed to be put under again, where the hell was the anesthesiologist? And the nurse, where was Margaret? Where was everyone?
Hawkeye looked around the room but couldn't see anyone else, except for the wounded. There were so many of them, all moaning and squirming. He looked down at his hands buried in the boy's chest. Blood was pooling up around them, and he couldn't move. He tried to speak, to call out for help, but his mouth wouldn't move either. He tried to cry out from behind closed lips and felt like he was choking, there was no air.
"Ben."
The voice was soft and close to his ear.
His lips still wouldn't move when he tried to scream, and he fought to free his hands, couldn't stand the warmth pooling up around them. The blood was inside his gloves now.
"Ben, honey, wake up. You need to wake up now."
Margaret's voice. The nurse-version of it he had heard her use a thousand times before, to let the patients know they had her sympathy but would not tolerate anything but a full recovery. He was always Ben when she used that voice, never Hawkeye. Never Pierce.
And it worked. Once again, it worked. He could move again, move and breathe.
He almost cried with relief when the air didn't smell like blood, only the familiar scents of their bedroom. The ocean air drifting in from the window they had left open. Margaret's lotion, the coconut one that came in a white jar with a brown lid, whose scent lingered in the house and often stole his concentration away from chores and paperwork.
He was enveloped in it now, enveloped in her as he sat up and felt her move in behind him, her arms around his chest, her hair tickling his shoulder.
Margaret gently pulled him back towards her, and they both leaned against the headboard. They sat in silence while his breath calmed down and fell into rhythm with hers, and then she started to hum. Her voice was soft and low. He had heard her sing that tune many times before, an Irish lullaby her grandmother taught her. He felt her voice resonate in her chest, the small vibrations spread into his body and filled him up with the melancholy melody, while her fingers drew slow circles on his chest. Their bodies vibrated together and banished the ghosts back into the shadows.
"Are you okay?"
She let her hand rest over his heart and kissed his temple.
"Mmhmm, I'm okay."
His voice was gravelly, but it was there, he was able to use it, and it felt wonderful.
"It's been a while. Which one was it?"
Her voice didn't have any of the nurse in it now, it was only her. He sighed and leaned back even further against her, into her warmth and the scent of coconut. He couldn't help but smile a little at the effect she had on him.
"Our wedding."
She scoffed, her breath hitting his neck in a short little puff.
"That explains the screaming."
He chuckled, grabbed her hand with his own that moved at his will now, and kissed it.
"I did make you scream, didn't I?"
"Well, you did your best."
He could hear the smile in her voice, and it pushed away the last remains of the moans and the pleads for help, pushed them back to the dark corners of his mind. He loved her. In so many ways, for so many reasons, and at that moment he loved her a little bit extra for playing along with him. For knowing when he needed to not talk about the ghosts. When he needed it to be easy.
"Thank you for getting me out of there." He turned around and gave her a quick kiss.
"What time is it?"
"A little after five."
"Well, that's a stupid time to be awake. Or…" He turned around more so he could face her, and let his hand slide up her thigh. He longed to be even closer, to be truly enveloped by her.
"A very good time to be awake."
"Hm, I guess it can be." She smiled at him in that slow, seductive way that always drove him crazy, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "A great time for dirty deeds."
"Oh yeah? What did you have in mind, Houlihan?"
"Well…" Her mouth was so close to his. "I'm thinking…" Even closer. "We could maybe… clean the bathtub again," she whispered in an incredibly sultry voice, her breath hot against his lips. "I really think it could sparkle more."
She leaned back and looked at him with a big grin and eyes that glittered. The grin and the glitter were infectious.
"Ah, well, that is a tremendous idea, but I was thinking more along the lines of making very different kinds of sparks together."
"So, maybe take some of that junk out of the basement and burn it out on the lawn? That would make some sparks." Her eyes were big and innocent now, and she batted her eyelashes at him.
He laughed and pulled her closer. In the years he had known her she had gone from huffing angrily and stomping her foot at his quips to developing her own special sense of humor. She was funny, sultry, and tantalizing in a combination that kept surprising him, in a way that always made him want to find his way home. She was irresistible.
"Ah, sorry, let me rephrase that, I understand how it can be confusing. I am talking about making some husband and wife-sparks, right here in our marital bed."
He patted the mattress.
"Fine!"
She sighed very dramatically and flopped down on her back.
"Just do what you need to do. Meanwhile, I will think of really clean bathtubs, and that way we both can have our fun."
The laughter that bubbled up again filled him completely, and the ghosts of his mind shuddered.
"Why you saucy little minx you!"
He got on top of her and tickled her ribs until she squirmed underneath him, both of their laughter making the quiet morning air come alive. Before she could retaliate, he kissed her.
"Yuck. Boy cooties." She was still smiling when he drew back.
"You know, nurse, I am a doctor, and I can safely tell you there are no such things as boy cooties."
"Well, doctor, you are sadly not up to date on current research. Boy cooties have indeed been found and deemed yucky."
"Oh well, in that case."
He kissed her again, very sloppily this time. She whined a little and wiped her mouth when he pulled back.
"Yuck! I need a bath!"
"Yes you do, too bad about the state of the bathtub."
She chuckled and flicked his nose.
"Ow!" He rubbed it and looked down at her. Her hair fanned out over the pillow and in the semi-dark room, she once again looked like a creature from another realm.
"You know I love you like this."
"What, half-naked and underneath you?"
He caught a strand of her hair and ran it through his fingers.
"Like this. Keeping me tethered. Laughing, joking, being you. Bringing me back. But the half-naked thing is most definitely a very big plus. Now, close your eyes and think of bathtubs."
Luckily, she didn't seem terribly worried about cooties anymore.
Afterward, they were lying close together, her head on his chest. He shivered a little as the breeze from the window dried the sweat on his skin. He could feel her relax more and more against him and could tell from her breath that she was falling asleep.
He felt selfish for it, but he didn't want to be the only one awake.
"Margaret," he breathed against her hair and shook her shoulder.
