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Hawkeye watched Margaret very nearly skip out of the mess tent in happiness. He tried to be happy for his friend, but he had an unnerving twitch in his gut that told him things weren't going to work out the way Margaret was planning them to. Donald was from a certain mold, and in his experience Hawkeye had never seen one worth his weight in manure.
"Earth to Hawkeye Pierce, you're clear for landing." BJ's voice broke through his thoughts and he took a deep breath before smiling at his friend. "Everything okay, Hawk?"
"Just peachy," he retorted, standing. "This breakfast has ruined my appetite. I'm gonna go see what they're serving in post-op."
"Bedpans and saline solution, most likely." BJ shoveled the last of his so-called breakfast into his mouth as Hawkeye waved.
"My stomach just grumbled. See ya."
When the choppers rolled in Hawkeye bit back the groan that rose in his throat. There was no need to let the wounded know how frustrated he was with this stupid war; God knows they didn't need reminding. He caught a glimpse of Margaret bursting from her tent, heading toward the triage area to get her nurses organized. Hawkeye was more interested in why Radar was exiting her tent behind her, and he collared the kid as he attempted to run by. Even without his gift, Radar knew what Hawkeye's question was going to be.
"Her Lieutenant Colonel husband is leaving for a week, so their date's postponed." And he was gone. Pierce filed that information away for a later conversation with Margaret and dove into the influx of broken and bleeding men that were streaming in.
Unfortunately, he never got to question her as Bell sidled up to his table. He looked around and found Margaret handing BJ a scalpel from the tray, so he listened to her tone. She seemed just as cheery and upbeat as she had at breakfast, so Hawkeye reasoned she was either hiding it very well or she wasn't too concerned.
"He's under, Doctor," his anesthesiologist said softly, and he checked the x-ray one more time before holding his hand out.
"Scalpel."
Five grueling hours later, Hawkeye glowered at Charles as they entered the scrub room. The last thing they needed was their CO chewing them out about getting along, and Hawkeye only half-listened as he was ordered to put on a happy face.
"Beej," he said with false-enthusiasm, "what do you say we head over Rosie's and spread the good cheer?"
"My good man, you read my mind," the other surgeon replied with a smile. "Charles?" BJ – ever the peacemaker – tried to include their bunk mate, but the Major's glare had him rethinking his offer. "Fine, let's go Hawk. We'll nab some more people on the way."
The two doctors linked arms and skipped merrily out the door, earning smiles and odd stares from the corpsmen cleaning up from triage. Radar came bursting from his office, glasses askew, frantic as he ran up to the doctors.
"Slow down, Radar, or you'll get a ticket. What's the rush?" Hawkeye stepped away from BJ and laid a hand on the poor boy's shoulder.
"I need to find Major Houlihan on account of her husband is on the phone and wishes to speak with her right away." The clerk's words were a jumble, and it took Hawkeye a few seconds to sort it out.
"She was in OR when we left, she's probably still there or in the scrub room." Radar took off once more, waving absently as Hawkeye shouted for him to slow down once more. "Must be important," he commented to BJ, who was looking around.
"Ah, I'm too tired to walk all the way over to Rosie's. How about the next best thing?"
Hawkeye stared at him blankly. "The latrines?"
"The still. Come on, Hawk, first round's on me. Besides, we have to make ourselves presentable for the colonel." He dragged his friend back to the Swamp where Charles was already in his robe, getting ready for a shower. As they stepped through the door, Hawkeye caught a whiff of Charles' aftershave and gagged.
"Geez, Charles, what is that? Odour de Chaps?"
"Gentlemen," he didn't stop his ministrations, and only glanced over as BJ picked up the bottle and inspected it. "I wouldn't expect two plebeians such as yourselves to be able to appreciate the delicate luxuries of a moneyed life, but I will ask you to respect it!" He snatched the bottle from BJ's hand violently, and the younger man held his hands up innocently.
"Hey, I was just looking. You couldn't pay me enough to smell like that." Charles clenched his jaw and staunchly ignored them from that moment on. Hawkeye, who had already downed a "martini" and was now reading an old book from the shelf, just looked up at his two tent-mates. BJ had begun gathering his toiletries to comply with Potter's orders to spruce up a bit, and it seemed Charles was content to ignore them as he sat down to pen a letter home before his shower. All seemed quiet for now, and if his luck held out they'd get some well-deserved rest for a while.
But it seemed the universe just couldn't leave them alone, and as Hawkeye stormed out of his tent in a rage he ignored the apology from Colonel Potter. He kicked the nearest object as hard as he could, only mildly satisfied as the metal canister flew a good ten to fifteen yards across the compound.
"45 points?!" He was beyond frustrated; this was full-blown anger. He paced up to the jeep parked nearby and decided that taking his rage out on an inanimate object would probably be a lot safer than grabbing whoever happened to be walking by. He reached into the back and grabbed the removable seat. "Why not 50! 60! A million!" He hurled it back down with such force that it shook the jeep, and sent Private Goldman scrambling to get out of his path. With one last defiant grunt, he kicked the jeep as hard as he could. Suddenly, the canister that he'd so ungraciously sent careening came crashing back to his feet, and he looked up sharply as Margaret stomped toward him.
"Out of my way Pierce! I'm gonna kick every can in this camp!" She gave the item another good kick, and watched as it rolled pathetically out of the way in an attempt to surrender. He knew she was steamed if she was using his last name, but now was not the time for her to be testy with him.
"I don't know what set you off, but I'm not in the mood," he snapped. Minutes later, he was eating his words. He watched her anger dissipate into despair as she explained her tirade and the phone call she'd just placed.
"What do you mean he ran out on you?" He felt his temperature rising again as one of his closest friends detailed just how horrible her husband really was, and how much he'd hurt her. She was openly crying now, telling him her plans on divorce, and Hawkeye couldn't just stand there. He walked to her quickly but didn't touch her. She was crying in public, which was shocking enough, so he didn't expect her to dive into his arms. Instead he stood by her side, his heart breaking as she blamed herself for her husband's cowardice. His anger at the Army increased tenfold as he realized just how helpless they all were. This had to end now, and he was going to let someone know.
Spotting the jeep he'd so recently abused in anger, he darted over and adjusted the back seat quickly before starting the engine. He ignored her yells of protest as he drove away, determined to make someone see reason.
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Divorce. Even in this day and age it was a dreaded word. Marriages were sacred unions between woman and man, a promise to love forever and never give up. But Margaret had reached the end of her rope, and she knew with all her heart that she and Donald were never meant to go the distance.
She sat in Colonel Potter's office and listened half-heartedly to the three men outside as they tracked down their wayward surgeon. She was relieved to hear he made it to Panmunjom, and felt a mixture of shock and pride that he'd actually managed to make it through the gate. But busting in on the peace talks was sure to earn Pierce some serious reprimands and maybe even some time in the stockade. But maybe – just maybe – he'd be able to get through to someone there before they arrested him.
"Doctors, come quick!" it was Kellye's voice that ultimately snapped her out of her thoughts and she rushed through the office doors to assist in whatever emergency had popped up.
An hour later she was crowded into Radar's office in front of what seemed like the whole camp as he tried to contact the gate guards again. They'd heard nothing about Hawkeye since he weaseled his way in, and it seemed as if everyone was curious as to what happened to their Chief Surgeon. Charles and BJ had to go back in on one of Hawkeye's patients – something Margaret knew would not sit well with the man once they told him – but as Bell had assisted with that operation Potter called her out to help again, leaving Margaret free to find out just had happened to her friend.
"Really? That's it? Well, thanks a million! Bye now." Radar hung up the phone and looked back at Colonel Potter. "They let him go." There was a collective sigh of relief, as well as a few shocked outbursts. "He went in, talked a bit, then they escorted him out. The guard said he just got in his jeep and drove away." A cheer went up and Potter clapped the boy on the shoulder.
"Good news! That's just what I like to hear. Alright, you folks clear outta here and get back to your duties. I'm gonna go tell the boys." He bustled out of the office and over to the OR, leaving Margaret to usher everyone out of the clerk's office. Once everyone was gone, she turned back to the corporal. He seemed nervous now that they were alone, and she silently cursed herself for losing her temper…again.
"Radar, I want to…" It was hard apologizing to an enlisted man, but she knew she had to do it. There was no need to take anything out on him, even if he was a little aggravating at times. "I shouldn't have kicked the door down. I lost my temper and it will not happen again. Clear?" Her tone made it sound as if he was the one at fault, and when he cringed and nodded she sighed. "I'm sorry." And she left, completely missing the look of surprise on his face.
Potter was racing across the compound toward her with a big, toothy grin on his face. "Major, BJ's putting together a pow wow for our returning stray. He says he needs as much red dye as we can lay our hands on."
She shook her head. "Red dye? What on earth for?"
"I'm not sure, but he said something about livening up the place."
"We may have something in the store room that will work, but I don't think we should waste it on a party," Margaret was warring with the Major inside, but eventually Margaret won. Her face softened at the hopeful expression on her commander's face and she sighed. "I'll go look," she said finally, trotting off to fulfill the request. Behind her she could hear Potter barking orders to get the mess tent ready for a party.
Finally, they were all gathered, and as Margaret looked around she had to stifle her giggles. BJ had really outdone himself this time; there wasn't a speck of green in the place. She laughed as Charles sidled up to her, grumbling profusely about having to participate in this "charade." She handed him a glass of punch and told him to lighten up.
It seemed like no one wanted to wait for Hawkeye, especially Charles. By the time the jeep pulled up in the compound, the stuffy Major was teetering by the punch bowl. She grabbed his arm and turned him around slowly.
"Hawkeye's back," she told him plainly, and quieted everyone down as BJ stepped outside. The look on his face as he entered the mess tent made Margaret's heart beat faster. She loved his smiles – though she would probably never admit it aloud. They were broad and joyful and contagious, and immediately everyone was smiling and chortling as Hawkeye burst out into loud, gleeful laughter. Carefully, so as not to drop him, she led Charles over to the gathered group.
"Pierce?" he slurred.
"Yes?" Hawkeye answered, turning to look at them. He was still smiling as Charles called his name a couple more times. The drunkard sloshed his head over to look at the other man and said words Margaret knew he was going to regret in the morning.
"Oh, I do now," Charles answered as Pierce voiced her thought. She let the major go and he stumbled away as Hawkeye reached for her. She embraced him, realizing fully for the first time just how close she'd come to losing him. He could have been shelled, captured, arrested, or any number of things on the trip out there and back. But those thoughts were pushed aside as he asked about her divorce.
"Best thing that ever happened to me!" she replied truthfully. She watched his face morph from concern to happiness as she told him how free she felt.
"That's great, that's fantastic! That's just I wanted to hear. I needed to hear. I'm proud of you, Margaret." She embraced him again and grabbed his hand.
"God, I need a drink." He laughed and let her lead him over to Colonel Potter, who held out a glass of red punch. She stayed near him the rest of the night, and other than once instant when Major Goss first showed up, they had a ball drinking, laughing, and dancing into the night.
"Where's my tent?" Margaret was leaning heavily on Hawkeye and BJ as they left the mess tent. Only a few stragglers were left, but Hawkeye knew they had to get Margaret home before she started dancing on tables again.
"Where's your tent? Heck where's our tent?" BJ slurred, stumbling only slightly less than Margaret. Hawkeye was nowhere near sober, but had a bit more stability than his two companions. Deciding the Swamp was closer, he set Margaret down in one of the wooden chairs outside and literally dropped BJ into his bunk.
"Good night, sweet prince," he mumbled before shuffling back outside to take Margaret home. In the ten seconds it had taken him to deposit BJ she'd fallen asleep sitting up with her head lolled back.
"Margaret, get up."
"No." Her voice was firm, but no other part of her moved. "I'm good here."
"Here? Outside the Swamp? Like that? Margaret, you'll wake up with a crick in your neck so bad you'll need a platoon of masseuses just to get it uncricked. Come on, lean on me, I'll help you." He slid his arm around her shoulders and felt her shift her weight enough for him to get her to her feet.
"You always do that," she said suddenly. He couldn't decipher her tone, so he didn't know if she was upset or not. To his recollection he'd done nothing that warranted irritability, so he guessed not.
"Do what?" His curiosity was piqued now, and he glanced sidelong at her.
"Help me. Let me lean on you. Why?" She was speaking in short sentences, probably trying to sound less drunk than she was, but she wasn't fooling him.
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe I've got a niceties quota to fill and you're handy." He knew that wasn't it, and she did too. But in time-honored tradition, he hid his feelings behind jokes and sarcasm.
She scowled at him, an effect that was softened somewhat by the drunken blush on her cheeks and her slackened face.
"I'm not 'handy'…I'm sturdy, remember?" Hawkeye didn't really want to have this conversation right now, but it seemed Margaret didn't care. "So says my no good account of a husband. Ex-husband. Who needs him?" She was rambling right now, but as he opened her tent door she stepped away from him and carefully walked over to her desk. On it was a framed picture of her and Donald in Tokyo after their quick wedding. The doctors had just managed to get the full body cast off of him, and his skin was still raw in some places where he'd perspired underneath.
"Margaret?" Hawkeye's soft voice pulled her from her thoughts, and the more she stared at the picture the angrier she became. With a short yell of rage, she hurled the photo across the room, satisfied when the glass frame shattered against a tent support. Strong arms grabbed her from behind before she collapsed to the floor, and she felt herself being led sideways, then to a sitting position. The arms were still around her, and she turned around into the warm body behind her.
"Why?" She wasn't sure exactly what she was asking, so expecting Hawkeye to respond was absurd. The hand that wasn't currently snaked around her waist moved up to hold her head against his shoulder as he took a deep breath.
"Because he's an idiot, that's why," he whispered. The joker in him fought for control, but he stamped down on his cynical impulses and spoke honestly. "I don't want you blaming yourself for this, okay? I know before I left that you thought you'd picked a crummy place to have a marriage, and you were right. But that doesn't give him any excuse to treat you like this." His words weren't really penetrating her haze, but the timbre of his voice and vibration in his chest relaxed her as she half-sobbed into his shoulder.
"Margaret, I'm going to lay you down and clean up that broken frame, okay? Just stay here for a minute." He pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and set about collecting the small pieces of glass into his hand. Once he was sure he'd gotten them all, he piled them on her desk to throw away tomorrow. By the time he turned back around, she was snoring softly with her mouth hanging open. Chuckling to himself, he tucked her in more tightly and dropped a kiss on her forehead.
"Good night, Margaret."
Next up: "Inga"