I have to say, this is my favorite so far. It was also one of my favorite episodes of the series. Probably why this chapter is so long.
In which things begin to change...
A cave. Ever since Hawkeye heard about their little hole away from home he'd had an uneasy feeling in his gut. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was sweating buckets in his uniform as he looked into the dank cave.
"How are you holding up?" Margaret's whisper carried through the tunnel, and Hawkeye turned to look at her.
"Oh just dandy," he retorted, folding his arms tighter across his chest. "Everyone okay?"
"All the patients are stable. The move didn't seem to bring up any further complications." She was standing over him clutching a spare blanket, her eyes darting outside every now and then. "Colonel Potter says you have a problem with small spaces."
"Oh you know, just a little irrational claustrophobia. It's nothing I can't handle as long as I stay right here. I go in there I'm bound to collapse under the weight of my own fear." She let out a face-splitting yawn, and he patted the space next to him. "Take a load off, Major." She settled down beside him and draped the blanket over her legs.
"All that shelling and the move wore me out." She yawned again and slid the helmet off her head. "I'm going to lie down and rest. You should sleep with me." He grinned lecherously and raised his brow in surprise. "Not what I meant," she amended quickly.
"I'm alright, Margaret. You get some sleep." She stretched out next to him and sighed. Hawkeye listened as her breathing evened out, his eyes moving from her prone form to the cave beyond. He watched as BJ and Charles moved about effortlessly from patient to patient, and Hawkeye felt a surge of shame. He was a doctor and he couldn't get over his fear long enough to do what he was meant to do.
As he sat there looking in, he felt the ceiling above him looming over his head. His heart rate quickened and his breath started coming in short pants. Quietly, so as not to disturb the woman next to him, he slipped his helmet on and scooted toward the outside. But apparently Margaret wasn't sleeping as deeply as he'd thought, and her hand shot out to grab his arm. There was fear in her eyes when he turned his head back to her, but it was gone just as quickly.
"Where are you going?" her voice was laced with worry, and for a moment Hawkeye forgot about the cave behind them. One look over her shoulder, however, and his instincts kicked back in. But her presence had an odd calming effect on his racing heart, and she managed to convince him to stay close to the cave.
He knew she was curious about exactly why he was afraid of closed in spaces; he could see the question in her eyes. But he easily avoided the topic by joking about reincarnation and turtles.
"Can you imagine me as a turtle, afraid to get into my shell? I'd die of embarrassment, all the other turtles laughing at me in my underwear." She smiled with him, but as soon as he called her brave he saw her face fall. That's when she dropped the bombshell – so to speak.
"I hate shellfire," she confessed, admitting her sensitivity to loud noises.
"So naturally you join the Army," he joked. He couldn't believe it. He knew from their time in the hut that she didn't like shellfire, but he'd probably be hard-pressed to find anyone in Korea who enjoyed it. He had figured at the time that it was the proximity of the shelling, the fear of imminent death, that had scared her so much. But sitting here now, trying to convince her that they were okay, he saw how terrified she really was.
A particularly close explosion drove her into his arms, and he held her against him tightly as she shivered.
"I've got you," he whispered, just as BJ exited the cave with two mugs of coffee.
"I can't leave you two in the backseat of anything," he quipped. Margaret didn't release her hold on him right away, but gradually the coffee and conversation kept their minds off of what was happening around them.
"Hawkeye!" one of the nurses ran to the edge of the cave looking worried. "Private Lovett's blood pressure is dropping." BJ stood to take care of it, but Hawkeye had had enough.
"No wait a minute," he said sharply. "I'm a doctor and he's my patient. Let me try."
Margaret laid a hand on his shoulder. "Are you sure?" The concern for him was evident in her tone.
"Of course not." He stood up and walked to the entrance. "Just stay with me," he told BJ. "Not too close," he added hastily. Two minor episodes later, he was standing outside with Margaret and BJ looking on worriedly. Lovett needed help now, and there was only one place to do the operation safely. The thought of getting away from the cave and back to the camp was enough to calm his nerves, despite the artillery exploding around them. But when Margaret volunteered to go with him, his heart started pounding away again.
"Margaret, stay here where's it's quieter," he reasoned. And safer, he added mentally. But she was persistent, and Hawkeye looked out into the darkness as Margaret retrieved her helmet and bag. They packed a jeep quickly and secured Lovett's gurney to the back. Margaret was going to have to drive so he could keep an eye on the patient, and he just hoped she would be okay driving toward shellfire.
As they got closer to the unit, Hawkeye could see Margaret's skin color fading, even in the darkness. Her eyes were wide and moving about rapidly, and her breath was coming in shallow gasps. He had to take her mind off of it or she was going to hyperventilate and collapse. He racked his brain for a really good story or anecdote, even a joke would work, but he couldn't come up with anything. Finally, as he saw the white-knuckle grip she had on the steering wheel, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
"When I was four my uncle locked me in a closet." His voice was quiet, but he could tell by the way she relaxed instantly that she'd heard him.
"What?"
"Oh, not on purpose," he amended. "I had snuck into his room to get something, I don't remember what. The night before, my cousin Billy had dared me to go get it but I wouldn't so he called me a chicken. Well, I was four and Billy was ten, so when he called me a baby I got upset. So I got up really early in the morning and snuck into my uncle's room. But my uncle had started to wake up, so I hid in the closet really quick so he wouldn't see me. He got up, got dressed, then went downstairs, only he had shut the closet door on the way out. I tried screaming and banging on the door, but no one heard. I couldn't reach the handle really well, and it was pitch black."
"How long were you stuck in there?" she asked, and Hawkeye was glad to see her breathing had returned to normal.
"I don't know, an hour? Maybe less. But to me it was weeks. Billy was the one who found me. I was crying and hysterical, but they eventually calmed me down." He turned to check on Lovett once more as Margaret made the last turn on their way back to camp.
"You must have been terrified. But I guess that explains your fear." Even out of the corner of her eye, she didn't miss the look that told her there was more, but she ignored it as they passed under their "Best Care Anywhere" sign. She pulled up to OR and jumped out of the jeep, her mind hyper-vigilant for any shellfire that was louder than the others. She helped Hawkeye haul the litter into the operating room, then they took turns scrubbing as they put him under.
Two hours and one operation later, they were grinning as they carried Lovett into post op. The shelling had stopped some time ago, and they wondered how long it would take for the rest of their unit to come home.
"It's really quiet now," Hawkeye noted as they hooked up an IV.
"Don't jinx it," Margaret shot back, nudging his arm with her elbow as they worked. "I think he'll be okay for the night. You wanna see what's left in the mess tent?" Hawkeye shot her a look and jotted something down on the clipboard.
"And ruin this perfect evening? I'll pass." He walked around and collapsed on the next cot over. He felt Margaret sit on the edge as he threw an arm over his eyes. "Now we rest safe in the knowledge that the ceiling won't close on us."
"Close?" she found his choice of words odd, and she saw his jaw muscles tense up.
"Close, collapse, I'm so tired I'm mixing up my words."
She reached out and took his hand, pulling his arm from his face. "No, it wasn't a mix up. Out there, just before we got here, you had a look in your eye. There's more to this claustrophobia than an hour spent locked in a closet." He exploded to his feet and stalked away from her, but she remained seated on the bed.
"Leave it, Margaret." There was a dark warning in his words, but they weren't threatening. He was hurting, and she knew if she dropped it now they could go on pretending nothing happened. But if there was one thing she'd learned from him, it was when to pry.
"Hawkeye…" when he didn't respond, she tried another tactic. "Ben." That stopped him and he turned on her.
"Don't," he choked out, and she could see the war in his blue eyes. "I can't…" Her heart broke for him as he walked back over to her.
"You can't just pretend you're not affected by this," she said. "All the times you persuaded me to talk it out, and now you're running. Well it's my turn to be the annoying, persistent friend." When he was close enough she grabbed his hand and squeezed. Margaret felt a surge of hope as he squeezed back, and she stood next to him to offer him her strength. His eyes darted to their patient, then to her face. Wordlessly, he tugged on her hand to lead her away from the sleeping man. Just through the door was Radar's neat but chaotic office, and the swinging doors stuttered closed behind them. They settled back against the clerk's cot, their hands still clasped together, and Hawkeye leaned his head back against the wall.
"When I was ten," he said finally, his throat working to fight back the emotion she heard in his voice. "My mom got sick," he tried again. "She was gone before I even knew anything was wrong. Dad tried to hide her condition from me, so her death seemed so sudden. I knew she was sick, and she'd gone into the hospital, but Dad kept saying everything was going to be okay." Margaret scooted closer so their bodies were touching from shoulders to toes, and the hand that was still in his tightened in support.
"After she died, I didn't speak to anyone, not even my Dad. I was angry, especially at him. He'd lied to me, and my mom was gone. The funeral was a week later, and I knew everyone was worried about me. I just sat in the front pew, not really seeing where I was. My dad said a few words, but he was such a wreck he only got a few words out before he broke down. I still didn't really register what was happening; I just kept staring at the casket, at my mom's face." His head was back and his eyes were closed, but Margaret could see him fighting tears. That shook her deeply; in all the time she'd known Hawkeye she couldn't recall seeing him cry.
"When the service was over, everyone walked up and paid their respects. Still I didn't move. When they were done, everyone filed out into the foyer to prepare for the graveside service. I wouldn't budge, wouldn't respond to anyone, I just kept looking at my mom. She was so beautiful." A small smile graced his face, and he took a shuddering breath before he continued.
"Dad left to talk to the priest, and I just kept staring at her. She looked so peaceful, like she was sleeping, so I got up and walked over to her." Sensing the worst part was coming, Margaret kissed his shoulder and laid her head down on the same spot. Tears were streaming down her face, but she was going to stay strong for him.
"At first, I tried shaking her to wake her up, like I would if I had a nightmare. When that didn't work, I did what I always did…I climbed into bed with her."
"Oh, Ben," Margaret whispered. She saw his jaw clench and his eyes squeeze tighter. Lifting her free hand, she ran it tenderly down his face. Finally the tears spilled from his eyes, but she caught them and gently wiped them away.
"I laid down with her, Margaret. She wouldn't wake up, so I just laid with her. But I guess I jostled the casket too much, and the lid slammed shut." Her heart seized with grief over the trauma he'd gone through, and marveled at how strong he was being now.
"I guess that kind of woke me up," he continued, "and I realized where I was. I started screaming. Not the scared kind of screaming like in the closet. This was sheer terror. Of course, everyone had heard and rushed back inside, and Dad opened the lid and pulled me out. I was hysterical, calling for my mom, screaming at my dad. I told him it was his fault I didn't get to say goodbye to her, and that I hated him."
"Well, your reaction was understandable. I'm sure he didn't blame you."
"No, he didn't. We made up later, when I'd calmed down. We actually got closer after that. I was holding on to the one parent I had left, and he was clinging to the only thing of her he still had. As I grew up, it got easier for us to talk about her. Every year, on her birthday, we still just sit and tell stories and kiss her picture." Margaret wondered briefly what it was like to have that kind of relationship with a parent, but she shook the thought away. Tonight was not about her; she was here to help her friend.
"Well, I know I'm not your father, but if you ever want to tell me about her, I would love to listen." He took a deep, cleansing breath and opened his eyes. They were bright blue and still wet from the tears, but she could see the calm behind the storm that was slowly settling.
"You're something else, Margaret Houlihan." He leaned down and kissed her softly, and she was unsurprised when he tried to deepen it. She responded to him, pulling him down to lie next to her on the cot, never breaking their connection. His hands roamed her body and her legs intertwined with his as she allowed him to find some sort of anchor in her. After a few heated moments he pulled away.
"As much as I'm probably going to hate myself for this later, I don't feel right taking advantage like this." She opened her mouth to protest, but his finger across her lips silenced her. "No, Margaret, please. You are probably the dearest friend I've ever had, and I'd never forgive myself if I ever gave you any reason to doubt my sincerity regarding our relationship, as it were."
"Which is what, exactly?" Her tone wasn't mean-spirited, nor was it pressuring. It was an open and honest question, and when he looked at her there were no jokes or smirks to hide behind.
"Friendship," he said, dipping his head slightly to kiss her, "and more, too. We've found something here, Margaret, that's special and singularly indefinable. Our relationship is…us."
"I like you this way," she told him honestly. "No deflecting jokes, no bawdy humor."
"And I like you this way," he returned. "Not yelling at me." She chuckled and slapped him on the shoulder lightly. "You're relaxed, free. I know I've never really said it, but I hope you know you don't always have to be 'Major Houlihan' with me."
"And you don't always have to be 'Hawkeye Pierce' with me," she said. His hair had fallen across his forehead, and she reached up and brushed it back quickly.
"You know, you are the only person other than my mother who has ever called me Ben. It was always Hawkeye or Pierce. Or, in the case of my grandmother, Benjamin Franklin. I never understood why that woman used both names all the time." He lifted his voice into a high falsetto. "Benjamin Franklin, come in for dinner. Benjamin Franklin, go upstairs and wash up. Benjamin Franklin, get out of my dress." Margaret burst out laughing at that, but her laughter was interrupted by a yawn.
"We should probably get some sleep. The others will probably be back tomorrow, and we'll have to help them get everything settled again." She rose from the cot and offered a hand, hoisting his lanky frame up beside her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they shuffled back into post op. Private Lovett was sleeping soundly, so the two of them each took a bed and collapsed rather ungracefully.
"Goodnight Margaret," Hawkeye mumbled, his voice already heavy with sleep.
"Goodnight Ben," she returned, watching as a small smile graced his features as they both dozed off.
Next up: "Preventative Medicine"