"Okay, this is not my fault." Margaret looked up from her book as Pierce stormed into her tent. He paced around like a caged panther, his hands flitting about as he spoke a mile a minute. "You have to believe me when I tell you I did not incite, provoke, or in any way encourage this. As a matter of fact, I wasn't even aware of it until just now, and I came straight here so you could hear it from me."
As he ranted, Margaret calmly closed her book and stood; she found it easiest to wait out the storm than try to stop it mid-thunder. When he finally stopped pacing he turned to find her standing there. She crossed over to him in three steps and grabbed his hands, holding them fast as she stared at him intently. The look in his eyes was unsettling, and she could tell he was one good raving away from hysteria. She waited until she felt his pulse slow before she spoke.
"Now," she said after a calm moment, "what's this about?"
"Marina," Hawkeye admitted. "She's smitten, and I don't know how to get her un-smitten. She seems to think I'm her prince charming come to whisk her away to the castle. Every time I'm in post op she's smiling at me, or complimenting my looks or my skill."
"Yes, I did notice her gazing at you dreamily during the performance," Margaret laughed, releasing his hands. She turned her back to him still smiling, but she didn't have him completely convinced. She'd been hurt in the past by men who'd claimed to love her, though he hadn't yet uttered those three earth-shattering words. His hands came to rest on her shoulders as he drew himself close to her.
"I can't control how she feels," he told her, "but I can control how I feel – and how I act. Do you trust me, Margaret?" She turned toward him to look him in the eye, and his hands shifted from her shoulders to her waist.
"Your honor isn't in question here," she answered immediately. "I know you would never take advantage of a patient like that, even if we weren't…" she trailed off, still unsure as to the definition of their relationship. At his look, she rushed forward. "But you have to be careful here. She's young, and very fragile."
"You didn't answer my question," he responded, his eyes darkening with emotion as he stepped away.
"Don't get defensive," she answered a bit too harshly. "Neither of us can go about casting stones. We've both lived our lives and there's nothing we can do about the past."
"You're really good with the evasive answers today." He was getting worked up again – she could see the agitation in the muscles of his shoulders. But she had never backed down in a fight, and she wasn't going to start now.
"What do you want me to say, Ben? That I trust you wholly and completely? I can't give you an answer because I'm not entirely sure myself. I've been hurt too many times in the past to dive in head first so fast." She knew her words were hurting him – hell, they were killing her to say them – but they needed to get this out in the open and deal with it before they moved any further.
"I would never hurt you, Margaret."
She replied with an empty chuckle and a nod. "I've heard that before," she replied honestly. He stiffened at that and his blue eyes bore into hers with an intensity she'd never seen in him before.
"Don't," he warned in a dangerously low tone. "Don't you dare compare me to Donald, or Frank, or any of the generals that have paraded in and out of your life. You're not some conquest, or a way to kill time, or a trophy to show off to the neighbors. You know I deserve better than that, and it's not fair."
"No, it's not," she agreed evenly. "But I'm not the only one who has a past to contend with. You don't think your excursions with my nurses don't cross my mind from time to time? Or what about Carlye Breslin?" He took a sharp breath and she took a step toward him. "Having all this baggage stinks, it really does. But neither of us would be here if we didn't have it, so we're just going to have to deal with it together." When he didn't move she took another step and reached out for his hand. He slid his into hers easily, and she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.
"I care a great deal for you, Margaret. I feel…overwhelmed by the force of it, but in a good way you know?"
The barest hint of a smile crept onto his face and she relaxed. "Yes, I do," she said honestly. "We just have to take this thing a day at a time."
"Fine," he pouted playfully. "In the meantime, what do I do about Marina?"
"You could talk to her," she offered, but he shook his head.
"I have a feeling that won't go over very well. I've tried putting her off but she just ignores me and continues to croon over me."
"She's young and you very literally swept her off her feet," Margaret chuckled. "It's a crush, it'll wear off. If not, she'll be gone in a week so what's the harm?" There was a glint in her eye that Hawkeye didn't much like, and he frowned as she ushered him out the door.
"You're going to love this, aren't you?"
"Every minute," she affirmed, raising up on her toes to kiss him quickly before she shoved him out into the compound.
"Oh, don't stop on my account," a sultry voice interrupted Hawkeye just as he turned back to embrace Margaret. Brandy sauntered up to the tent with a bag in hand and a sly little smile on her face. Hawkeye saw the look on Margaret's face and smiled devilishly.
"Well, I guess I'll leave you girls alone. I know how you love to gossip." Margaret swatted his shoulder a little harder than necessary, rolling her eyes as he yelped and rubbed his shoulder as if injured.
"Pierce, get out of here," she ordered lightly. He delivered a sloppy salute and danced off as Brandy sidled her way past Margaret into the tent.
"He's a cutie," the older woman remarked and Margaret sighed.
"It's gonna be a long night," she muttered to no one as she closed the door behind them.
A few days later, Hawkeye had had just about enough of Marina's hero worship. BJ had noticed his friend's tension and alerted Margaret so she could talk to him. After a few minutes of searching, Margaret caught him pacing around the trails behind Rosie's still in his doctor's garb. She stood off at a distance just watching his restless form prowling about. He seemed to be debating something, and every now and then he'd stop for a moment before shaking his head fiercely and resuming his route.
Finally, she couldn't stand his distress anymore and padded softly over to him. He'd stopped again with his back to her, his eyes roving the thick forest just beyond the field in front of him.
"Ben," she called softly, not wanting to startle him. He lifted his head slightly, the only indication he gave that he'd heard her. When she moved to stand next to him, however, he reached out and took her hand.
"I have to talk to her," he said quietly. "It's getting out of hand."
"So you're out here practicing?" she joked lightly, but it fell flat. "It's only going to be harder the longer you wait."
"I know, I'm just trying to figure out what to say. This isn't something I'm familiar with," he admitted. She watched him work things out in his head as she processed his words. Usually, Hawkeye Pierce would be in heaven if a young girl swooned over him. But something in him seemed to have tempered with time and experience, and he was no longer the Casanova he'd been when he'd arrived. Margaret liked to think she had something to do with it, but now was neither the time nor the place for that conversation. Instead, she just gripped his hand tightly as the sound of choppers cut through the silence.
"Looks like I just got a reprieve of sorts," he sighed as he let go of her hand and led their dash back to camp as the ambulance came rolling in.
After ten grueling hours of surgery, Hawkeye stumbled out of the scrub room tiredly. He caught sight of Margaret's blonde head darting around in OR organizing the clean up and marveled briefly at her energy. He could barely shuffle his feet across the floor as he made his way across the compound.
Halfway to the Swamp he stopped and sighed. He always checked on his patients before he hit the sack. It was a routine of his he'd come to crave the longer he was here; he liked being reminded of just why he was enduring this hell day after day.
The phrase "now or never" popped into his head as he eyed the dim lights of post op. Marina would no doubt be sleeping, so Hawkeye redirected his aching feet to take him through the recovery ward. He glanced at the sleeping soldiers as he passed, carefully watching for any signs of distress. Finally, after reassuring himself that no one was in danger, he walked around the divide that separated Marina from the rest of post op.
Just my luck, he thought wryly as he caught Marina's smile. It seemed she'd waited up for him and he didn't miss the enamored smile she tossed at him as he smiled back wearily.
"I wanted to see how you were feeling before I went to sleep," he told her. "Did I make it?" He tried to lighten the mood with a joke, but his fatigue interfered with his humor. Instead of cutting the tension, however, his presence seemed to only increase it.
"You're sweet to take such good care of me, Hawkeye." Her voice held nothing but adoration, and he stifled a groan as he realized he was going to have to bite the bullet sometime. He grabbed the nearest stool and eased down onto it with a humorless smile.
"That's one of the things I wanted to talk to you about," he told her. "The travel restrictions have been lifted; your friends are going to the 121st EVAC tomorrow morning. You'll be able to join them." He watched her carefully and saw immediately the effect his words had on her.
"But I'm not well enough yet," she protested softly.
"Yeah, you are," he shot back a little harshly. "I wouldn't send you if you weren't ready to go. But if it'll make you feel any better you can take the rest of your medicine in a doggie bag." Once again his joke fell flat as Marina sat up in bed.
"Do I really have to go?" She sounded so sad and Hawkeye kicked himself for letting her innocent attraction go this far.
"We have this whole new batch of wounded who are taking numbers for beds," he reasoned. Yeah, hide behind medicine, he berated himself silently.
"Well, I can stay in the VIP tent. I'd be out of everybody's way there, and still near you." She tried a charming smile that might have worked on him a year ago.
"What do you mean?" he asked softly, trying so hard not to crush this sweet young girl in front of him.
"Well," she gave a soft laugh, "you are my doctor." He tried to think of something to say, anything to stop her adulation, but she beat him to it. "Hawkeye," she crooned, and he was stupid enough to look up into her doe eyes. "I'd love to get to know you when I'm healthy." The implication didn't go unnoticed and Hawkeye found himself feeling flattered and overwhelmed. The combination was enough to get him fidgeting and he adjusted his seat a few times as he cleared his throat.
"Yeah, um, that's another reason I think it'd be a good idea if you went." Her face morphed from hopefully to heartbroken in an instant, and Hawkeye steeled himself against his first instinct to comfort her.
"But why?" Her eyes dropped from his in a moment of uncertainty. "I thought…I thought you cared for me."
"I do," he answered immediately, cursing his instincts even as the words flew from his mouth. "Of course I care, so does everybody," he covered quickly, adding some quick praise about her work with the wounded.
"That's not what I'm talking about," she told him firmly, and he could see she was getting upset. "You mean a great deal to me." It was time to get things straightened out, and he adopted his best no-nonsense tone.
"You don't even know me," he countered.
"I know enough," she shot right back.
"Marina, when you came here, you were sick," he returned as he remembered Margaret's words. "I literally swept you off your feet! All you see is a miracle man in a white suit." She scoffed at him then, her tone rising in distress.
"No! Come on, Hawkeye, I'm not a kid. I see who you really are." She laid the charm on again and he decided to play his hand straight.
"All you've seen is the bedside of my manner – you haven't seen the bad side. The real Hawkeye Pierce is an egotistical, irresponsible martini guzzler." She shook her head and he sighed heavily. It was time to bring out the big guns.
"There is someone here, someone I care for very much, who has seen me at my worst and still she…" he trailed off, realizing he didn't really know if Margaret loved him or not. It didn't matter right now, not to him. All that mattered was that Margaret had chosen to let him in, and he wasn't going to destroy that trust for anything in the world. He could literally see Marina's heart breaking as she realized she'd been chasing an impossible dream, and he apologized with a look he'd perfected on terminal patients. Sometimes, letting them know was the hardest part, but in the end it was best for the patient.
"It's Margaret, isn't it," Marina laid back down on her cot dejectedly. "I caught the looks you were sharing at the performance, and the way your eyes sparkled when she got up to sing with Sarah."
"We've both seen too much to ever be as innocent and wide-eyed as you again. We hold each other up, comfort each other. We're friends and something more I can't describe." Looking at Hawkeye's face as he spoke about the nurse, Marina realized she'd been fighting a futile battle. Hawkeye was never hers for the taking, nor was he even available. Margaret had his heart, even if neither of them knew it yet.
"Do you love her?" It was a simple question, and yet the most complex one he'd ever been asked. He thought for a moment before running a tired hand down his face.
"I think I could love her, yes, if she'll let me." At Marina's confused look, he clarified. "We're both…damaged. This war has embittered us and left us wandering in a world where men deal in death and blood. We found each other, and I'm not letting her go until she tells me to. She grounds me and keeps the nightmares at bay, and there's nothing I wouldn't do to spare her pain. Is that love?"
"The best part," Marina smiled sadly. "You should tell her." Hawkeye patted the girl on the hand and stood.
"You just rest, Yenta. I'm gonna go catch some z's." His face split open in a yawn as he leaned back to stretch a particularly painful kink in his spine. Marina grabbed his hand just before he stepped out of reach, and he looked down on her with worry.
"You tell Major Houlihan from me that she's a damn lucky woman. And if things don't work out between you…" Marina's coy smile didn't fool him, and he chuckled at her attempt to clear the air between them. He squeezed the young girl's hand affectionately.
"You go home and try out for musicals, dazzle young, starving actors with your charm and knock 'em dead." She settled back down into her blankets and smiled sleepily at him as he walked away. He'd come here intending to solve a problem and here he was walking away with a whole new one – how to tell Margaret he loved her without ruining whatever it was that was brewing between them.
He knew from experience she was gun shy when dealing with real, honest feeling; hell, he wasn't much better himself when it came to uttering those three little words. He wrote them down all the time in the letters to his dad back home, signing his name beneath a hastily scrawled "All my love." But this was different – monumentally different – and he had no intention of screwing anything up by rushing into it.
He stumbled into the Swamp and onto his cot without so much as a grunt of hello to the other two surgeons in the tent. BJ was already snoring loudly from his face down position and Charles was buried underneath his eye mask and several blankets. Hawkeye slipped his boots off and had only a split second to start formulating a plan before his mind shut down and he drifted off into his dreams.
Next up: "Birthday Gifts"