Hawkeye paced back and forth as far as the phone wire allowed, silently cursing the miles between him and Crabapple Cove. Ever since his mother died, he'd always harbored a deep fear of losing his father as well, and now it seemed to be becoming a reality. After several frustrating hours on the phone, he was nowhere nearer to finding out what had happened to his father and he was beginning to feel the fine tendrils of that childhood fear gripping his heart. The sun was setting outside, and his stomach grumbled for having missed lunch and probably dinner, but he couldn't walk away from the phone now. Any moment now, the Military Affairs Radio Station would connect him to Portland, and from there it was a quick jump to Portland General and his dad.
"Yes, I'm still here. Over." He could hear himself screaming into the receiver, but his anxiety wouldn't allow him to lower his voice. He was sure Charles could still hear him, but as long as he stayed facing away from the post-op door the Major probably wouldn't disturb him again.
"What's taking so long? Over." He listened for a minute before shaking his head. "What do you mean the line's busy? It's a hospital. Over." Another beat. "Yeah, I'll keep holding. Over."
He reached over and grabbed the letter, reading it for the tenth time in the last hour. No matter how many times he looked at it, it never got any better. His father was dying, and there was nothing he could do about it from where he was.
"Can you believe that man?" Margaret stormed through the outer door in a huff, but Hawkeye didn't even look up. "I mean, he won't even give me a chance."
Hawkeye angled his body away from her, unconsciously trying to block her voice out to hear the other end of his phone conversation. "Yes, I'm still waiting. Over." The line blanked again, and he fought the urge to hurl the entire unit across the room.
"What are you waiting for?" Margaret's voice was closer, and he could feel her presence just behind him.
"Phone call," he answered. "How goes the begging Colonel Potter to let you bowl for the team?"
"He won't even listen to me," she fumed. "I could bowl him out of his socks and he won't even give me a lousy tryout!"
"Have you tried yelling at him?" He tried not to let his frustration leak into his tone, but the waiting combined with his complete lack of information about his dad's condition had frayed his nerves. He looked up to see her face tight with anger, but he couldn't take a breath to apologize. It wasn't fair to take it out on her, and he knew it, but his mind was whirling with so many thoughts that he couldn't filter his words.
"I don't know what's got you all wound up, but that's no reason to snap at me."
"You're right, Margaret, I'm -" The operator cut off whatever he was about to say, and he hunched over the phone as if it could bring him just a little closer to his father. "Yes, that's right. Korea. I'm in Korea. Over." He listened for a moment, then shook his head. "No, I don't want to talk to another operator. I want you to connect me to Portland General right now! Over!"
"Portland General?" Margaret's tone softened instantly, and he felt her hand on his shoulder. He knew she could probably read his father's letter from her vantage point, but that didn't really matter. She was going to find out eventually, he'd just hoped to have some better news to give her when he told her. "Ben?"
"Gimme a minute," he murmured over his shoulder. "Yeah, sure, that's fine, as long as it gets me the hospital. I don't care if you connect me through Timbuktu. Over." He tilted the phone so the receiver dropped below his chin as he turned toward her. "My dad's going in for an operation, but he won't say what." He handed her the letter to read as he fiddled with the phone. "I've been trying to get through to the hospital for the last six hours, but I don't think they realize I'm in another country."
"Six hours?" she looked at the clock. "It's almost seven-thirty."
"Which means it's noon tomorrow in Portland. My dad could be going in for his operation right now, and -" Her hand tightened on his shoulder as she stepped closer, sliding her fingers over his back and up to card through his hair. He accepted the gesture of comfort from her and leaned his head against her hip for a brief moment. "I can't lose him, Margaret. Not now. Not twelve thousand miles away."
"You can't think like that," she leaned over and kissed the top of his head before laying her cheek against his hair. "It'll be alright."
"You can't promise me that," he whispered, and she knew he didn't mean it harshly.
"No, I can't," she told him, standing up to run her hand through his hair again. "But whatever happens, I'm right here."
He looked up and saw nothing but sympathy and concern in her eyes. There was no pity or hesitation, and he offered her a small smile. "Thanks, Margaret. Look, I'll keep you posted. There's no reason for both of us to be cooped up in here."
"Major, there you are," Klinger poked his head through the door. "The Colonel is looking for you."
She looked up at the clerk, then back down at Hawkeye. He waved her off with his free hand. "Go, go. I'll be fine."
"You're sure?" she asked, and he knew she would give up her chance to be on the team if he so much as hinted he wanted her with him.
"Yeah," he told her sincerely. "I'll find you if I need you." She knew it was more of a "when" than an "if," but she recognized his attempt to regain some control in an uncontrollable situation.
"Alright then," she straightened herself up and squeezed his hand one more time. "Keep me posted." She followed Klinger out the door, leaving a part of her heart behind her.
A few hours later she was sitting with Marty Urbancic, listening to him slur through thinly veiled compliments as he regaled her of his bowling exploits, but her thoughts were with Hawkeye. Had he gotten through to his father? Was Daniel Pierce alright? She knew how close Hawkeye was to his only remaining parent, and she wasn't sure what losing him would do to the man she'd grown to care for. She thought about her own father and tried to imagine being in Hawkeye's place, and all of a sudden she knew where she needed to be.
"Marty, will you excuse me? I seem to be feeling a little under the weather." She stood up and didn't wait for the Marine's reply before moving quickly toward the door.
She found him in the Swamp, slumped over on his cot with his head in his hands. Charles looked up as she entered and even though he was in his night robe, the elder surgeon made a discreet exit with little more than an understanding nod. She wasn't sure what had passed between the two men, but she was grateful for Charles' compassion, however fleeting it might be.
Margaret perched on the bed next to Hawkeye, sitting as close as she could manage without touching him. It only took him a few seconds for him to break down and snake an arm around her waist. She pulled his head to her shoulder and held him as he sobbed silently, thanking God that the camp had holed up in the Officers' Club for the pre-competition party. As he clung to her tightly, Margaret wondered for the millionth time just how strong Hawkeye really was. He pretended to be aloof, occasionally mustering up his indignant ire when it was called for. He was aware how many people in camp looked to him for morale, whether he was morale officer or not, and acted accordingly.
But over the last two years he'd begun to show signs of wear. He was still young – only just older than her by a year – but his hair was already peppered with gray from the stress of the devastation they were exposed to day in and day out. She managed to keep hers from showing by bleaching her dirty blonde hair almost white, but the Italian features he got from his mother were no good at hiding it.
He had been here from the beginning, since the 4077th had first laid out its welcome mat, as he would say. Only she and a small handful of others could boast the same, but it was Hawkeye they all turned to when they needed to know they weren't alone in this madness. He gave them a distraction when they needed it most, and he was always there for them when it became too much. His ranting and raving allowed them their own outlet, and no one could deny that the man threw a hell of a party. He balled up all of the frustration and fear that he felt and tossed it onto an ever-growing pile in the back of his own mind, choosing instead to play the flippant protagonist in an increasingly tragic production.
"I want you to stay with me tonight," she told him. "You don't need to be alone."
He composed himself quickly and looked at her through red-rimmed eyes. For a moment she thought he might make a joke, but just as quickly the mirth was gone and he nodded his thanks. She stood and offered her hand, hauling him up from the bed when he took it. She waited patiently as he scribbled a note to BJ letting his friend know where he was. He joined her at the door, and she slipped her arm through his and tried to anchor him in this turbulent storm, letting him know physically that she wasn't going anywhere.
It was a short walk across the way to her tent, but she could feel him looking around to see if anyone was watching. Their relationship wasn't a secret, not after he'd returned from Battalion Aid and all but confessed to her. They'd requested their passes to Tokyo, and though Colonel Potter was happy for them he was still working on getting them three days off together. In the meantime, they had been seen together at the camp movies and dinner but Hawkeye had never slept in Margaret's tent. Anyone brave enough to ask them outright had gotten honest answers from the two, but they didn't advertise themselves to the world.
"It's alright," she told him, opening her tent door without hesitation. It closed behind them with a soft click of wood on wood as she stepped in behind him, and almost immediately she watched exhaustion sweep over him. His face split into a yawn as she slipped her boots off and grabbed her things for a shower.
"I'll be right back," she told him. "Lie down." It was a testament to his fatigue that he didn't argue the soft command, and she left him to undress as she strode quickly across the compound to the showers. She rinsed quickly, throwing her hair up into a hasty bun as she scrubbed the day's grime from her body. She used the scented soap she saved for special occasions, and her eyes closed as she inhaled the lavender fragrance. She stood under the hot water for a moment more before shutting it off and toweling herself dry. She slipped into her soft pink pajamas, then into her robe. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders, and she quickly packed up her things and made a beeline back to her tent.
Hawkeye was facing away from her on the cot, his lanky frame pressed up against the wall as if to allow her as much space as she wanted. His breathing was deep and even, but she couldn't tell if he was asleep or not. He didn't stir as she put her things away, and as she slipped her robe off of her shoulders and turned off the lights he didn't budge.
The army cot held their weight easily, and she laid on her right side as she pressed herself into his back. He mumbled something unintelligible as her arm slipped over his side, and he spread his hand over hers on his chest, holding her to him even in his half-conscious state. Her other arm was trapped underneath her, and it took a few attempts to find a position that was comfortable for her.
"Hang on," his voice was thick, but he was agile enough as he turned over to face her. She left her arm over his waist as he pulled her body against his, intertwining their legs as he tried to get her as close as possible. His head was right next to hers on the pillow, and she could feel his breath against her face as he slipped under again. She only had to lean forward a little to caress his lips with her own, and even half-asleep he responded. She lingered for a moment before pulling away and settling into his arms.
"Goodnight, Ben."
Movement woke her, and she realized with a start that it had been a while since she'd shared a bed with someone. Faint sunlight was peaking around her shade, and a quick glance at the watch on her nightstand told her it was just after dawn. Hawkeye was attempting to get out of bed without waking her, but she yawned and grabbed his hand.
"Where are you going?"
"I need to check and see if my dad called." She sat up with him, moving to sit by him as he pulled his trousers on, then his boots. He stifled a yawn, but it wasn't one borne of sheer exhaustion. His face looked less drawn than the night before, and some of the color had returned to his cheeks. Still, his blue eyes looked haunted and she laid a hand on his arm to still his movements.
"You need to eat," she told him.
"I need to talk to my dad," he retorted sharply. "I'm sorry," he said immediately, "I'm not very good company right now."
"It's alright," she told him as he stood and pulled on his trusty robe over his t-shirt. "Let me get dressed and I'll bring you breakfast in the office." He stopped then, turning to face her as she stood next to him. Without warning he kissed her, his arms wrapping around her to support her body. Her eyes closed immediately, responding to the kiss eagerly.
Thank you," he said as he pulled away, kissing her once more quickly as she regained her composure. "See you later." He left her standing in the middle of her tent, completely stunned by his actions. She shook it off quickly, dressing in a clean uniform before stepping out into the brightening compound.
Charles was half-sitting, half-lying in Klinger's bunk when she walked into the office bearing breakfast. Hawkeye wasn't on the phone, but it was sitting out as if he'd just tried and failed to connect to his father. She set the tray down in front of him and stared at him pointedly until he started to eat.
"Margaret, no tray for me?" Charles joked, and she shot the older surgeon a half-hearted glare. He acquiesced immediately and leaned his head back against the corrugated wall as she turned her attention to Hawkeye.
"Still no word?" she asked, and Hawkeye shook his head as he spooned up a mouthful of powdered eggs. "Do you want me to stay here and wait with you?"
"Nah," he said around another mouthful. "I've got Charles here keeping me company."
"Really?" she glanced back at Winchester, who was doing his best to ignore the conversation. "Alright, if you're sure. I'll be in the mess tent if you need me." She squeezed his shoulder once and left the two men alone.
Once he was sure Margaret was gone, Charles opened his eyes and looked right at Hawkeye. "I don't know what she sees in you, Pierce, but you'd better cherish that woman like a precious jewel."
"Believe me, Charles, you don't have to tell me. She's probably the only good thing that's come out of this whole damn mess of a war."
"Does she know that?"
Hawkeye wondered about his bunkmate's sudden interest in his love life, but since they weren't sniping at each other he wasn't going to break the tenuous peace they'd achieved. "I…yes, I think so. I mean, I've told her how much I care about her. She knows she's the most important person in the world to me – right up there with my dad." He looked down at his hands, then back up at Charles. "You know, I don't remember the last time I told my dad I loved him. I mean, I've said it a thousand times. 'Talk to you later Dad, I love you.'" Hawkeye looked away, unable to keep his own emotions in check as Charles stared at him intently.
"But I never told that I mean it, th-that I…I really do love him, with a love that I could never feel for anybody else in the world." Hawkeye's voice was full of emotion, his blue eyes snapping back to his companion as if trying to convince the only other person in the room that he was sincere. Tears blurred his vision but he refused to let them fall; not in front of Charles. But the dread that had filled him since he'd opened that damn envelope yesterday was suddenly too much for him bear alone.
"What if he dies now without my having a chance to say that to him?"
Charles tried valiantly to stay optimistic, even sharing his own parental experiences in an effort to hearten his normally confident and cheerful companion. But even the silent and compassionate understanding shared between them wasn't enough to lighten Pierce's heart, and the sudden announcement of wounded shattered their quiet respite.
He could feel her eyes on him as he stepped through the doors into the OR. She was assisting Colonel Potter, and he managed a reassuring smile as Kellye tied a gown around him. As he stepped up to the table he felt an odd sort of calm wash over him; this was where he was meant to be. For once, the deluge of wounded that never seemed to end was a soothing reassurance rather than a frustrating nightmare. Here he could make a difference. Here he didn't have to sit around uselessly waiting for news.
Ten hours later, he closed the last stitch on a bowel resection and stepped away from the operating table. Margaret had assisted on the surgery, and she waited with him as the young man was carried out of the OR to post op.
"Come on," she nudged him toward the scrub room. "You've got a bowling game to win."
He bit back a groan as he remembered his offer to take over for Father Mulcahy. His legs were protesting from standing for over ten hours, but he couldn't just go back to the office and wait. He tossed his soiled gloves into the bin and held the door open for her as she reached back and untied her own mask. Belatedly, he felt bad for taking the spot she so obviously wanted, and as he washed his hands he glanced at her.
"Listen, I know how much you want to play. Let me talk to the Colonel and maybe he'll let you stand in for me."
"No," she shook her head and stepped behind him, letting her hand linger on his back for a moment, "you don't need to be sitting around waiting for news. You'll drive yourself crazy. It'll be good for you to keep your mind occupied." She untied his gown for him before moving to wash her own hands.
He returned the favor, settling his hands on her shoulders briefly in weary gratitude. Once their gowns and masks were wadded up and stuffed into the laundry basket, Margaret grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the mess tent. He spared a glance at the office as they passed, hoping to hear the shrill ring of the telephone. Silence met him instead, and he forced himself not to dwell on all of the horrible possibilities that had begun to race through his mind.
The raucous in the mess tent was almost overwhelming, and Hawkeye forced himself to smile as Klinger and Potter welcomed him.
"Good, you're here," Potter shoved the ball into his hands. "You're up. Pierce in for Mulcahy!" Klinger marked down something on his clipboard as Hawkeye stepped outside. Margaret slipped into the crowd next to BJ as he lined up his shot. It had been a while since he'd bowled; the last time had been with his father at the Spruce Harbor Bowling Alley almost three years ago. As he released the ball down the lane, he wondered idly if he'd ever get the chance to bowl with his dad again, or go fishing off the pier near the house, or crack open a freshly prepared lobster at the annual festival.
Cheers broke him out of his thoughts, and he was surprised to see all the pins lying on their sides at the end of the lane. Potter was clapping him on the back jovially, but Hawkeye just nodded and stepped into line behind BJ.
"You alright?" BJ asked.
"Yeah, yeah," Hawkeye waved him off. "I'm fine. Just worried, you know? I still haven't heard from Dad." He saw Margaret glance at him out of the corner of her eye, but she didn't say anything to indicate she'd overheard their conversation.
"It's gonna be alright, Hawk," BJ clapped his friend on the shoulder, then glanced over his shoulder. "I…I'll be right back." He slipped out of the mess tent followed shortly by Charles, but Hawkeye didn't have the energy to wonder about whatever scheme they'd obviously concocted. Whatever it was, he was sure to hear about it later over drinks, hopefully after Hawkeye shared good news of his own.
"Captain Pierce? Your call has come through." He had never heard more beautiful words, and he offered only a quick apology as he raced out the door and across the compound. At least Margaret will get her chance to play, he thought idly as he heard Colonel Potter substitute her into his place.
"Hello, Dad?" He was saying the words before the phone had reached his ear, and he held his breath as he waited for a response.
"Hawkeye?" The gentle rasp of his father's voice was like a warm, summer breeze sweeping all the doubt and fear away.
"Yeah, hi, it's me. Can you hear me okay?" he rattled off quickly, sinking down into his chair. He heard the door behind him open, but his sole focus was on the man at the other end of the telephone wire. "How did the operation go?"
"Fine, fine, everything's fine. Doc expects a full recovery."
"Oh that's great. That's great!" He felt the tension of the last few days seep out of his body as his father told him about some of the particulars. "Oh yeah. Yeah, listen Dad –" Daniel tried to talk over his son, but Hawkeye refused to be out-stubborned this time. "Dad, I can hear how tired you are. You just relax, let me talk for a while okay?"
It was a testament to the elder Pierce's condition that he didn't argue, and Hawkeye felt the stab of worry hit him again. "You really had me worried."
"That's why I didn't want to write you," his dad said quietly.
"If…If something like this happens again, will you please let me know?" Hawkeye replied. "I'm not ten anymore."
"I know you're not," Daniel whispered. "I just didn't want you worried about me ten thousand miles away."
"Alright –"
"I guess it didn't work." Daniel laughed weakly at his own joke.
"Will you promise, Dad?" Hawkeye knew his father meant well, but the last couple of days had been the most nerve-wracking moments of his life.
"Sure, son. I promise." Daniel fell silent then, and Hawkeye spoke the words he'd been thinking about for a while now. Memories of happier times had flooded his mind as he faced his worst nightmare, and now, as he spoke about them aloud, he felt the last of his tension and worry lift away. Hearing his father's laugh was a balm to his soul, and he was so elated that he didn't really care when the operator gave them the one minute warning.
"I love you, Dad." He said suddenly. "I love you."
"I know, son," Daniel's voice was tired and fading. "I love you, too. But I think I have to go, now."
"Yeah, okay," Hawkeye could feel tears stinging his eyes, but they were tears of relief. His father was going to be just fine. "Alright, okay, you rest. Listen, remember what you always told me," he continued quickly. "You know, you tell all your patients: do what the nurses tell you to do," Hawkeye ordered his father. "I'll see you as soon as I can."
"Take care, Hawkeye."
"Okay, goodbye Dad." He slipped the phone back into the case, unable to wipe the contented smile off of his face. He stood after a moment and turned, stopping short as he took in the figure sitting on the edge of Klinger's bed.
"I thought you were bowling."
Margaret stood and gave him a soft smile. "I just thought..." she gestured toward the phone. "I wanted to be here in case...I..." He closed the small distance between them and wrapped his arms around her, and she gave a quiet laugh as her arms snaked around his waist.
"Thank you," he whispered.
She stayed in his embrace for several quiet minutes, content to share this moment with him. Finally, when her curiosity finally got the better of her, she pulled away from him.
"I guess he's fine?"
"No complications," Hawkeye confirmed, "and he says the doctor thinks he's out of the woods." He couldn't help the grin that split his face, and her face mirrored his own as they laughed in giddy relief.
"That's wonderful, Ben." She hugged him again, shrieking as he lifted her off the floor and spun her around until she was dizzy. "Put me down!" she ordered sharply, but there was no anger in her tone. When her feet touched ground she swatted his shoulder playfully. "You're lucky I love you, mister."
She didn't realize what she'd said until she saw his face slacken in shock. Instead of trying to stammer her way into an explanation, she seized the front of his gray sweatshirt and pulled him in for a kiss. He lifted her up again, forcing her to grip his shoulders tightly to keep from falling despite his arms holding her fast against him. When they needed air he set her down and loosened his grip on her, though he didn't let her go.
"Come on," he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door. "Let's go see how the bowling game turned out."
Next Up: "Hey, Look Me Over"
Dearest Readers,
I wanted to thank you all for your unending patience as well as your support during this long hiatus. I have made a New Year's resolution to see this story to its conclusion by the end of the year, so feel free to kick my virtual tushie via review or PM if the time between chapters stretches on. I am already working on the next chapter, so it should be up within the next week or two. Thank you again, and enjoy.