A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews! I am glad you approve of my vision of things, and I hope this chapter makes you smile a little…
My thoughts go to Bev (hope you're no longer sick!) and everyone else who provided me with feedback and help on both of my stories. I love you all!
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Colonel Sherman T. Potter groaned quietly and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Is this week going to get any weirder? For if it is, tell everybody I've gone fishing. Be back next decade."
"But sir," Margaret protested fiercely, "this is a serious matter!"
"Major Houlihan, are you going to tell me you'd fallen head over feet in love with Pierce, overnight, if I may add?"
The blonde bit her lip. "No, sir. That would be a lie."
"Then why the heck do you want my permission to marry the man?! Haven't you had enough of bad relationships?" He stood up and circled the desk to stand in front of her and take hold of her trembling hands. "I would like you to be happy, Margaret, not to sacrifice yourself for some noble cause."
The Major sighed and gave her CO a brave smile. "I know, Colonel, and I do appreciate your concern—but I know what I'm about to do, and I'm well prepared to do it. We have it all figured out. It's going to be a white marriage, of course, but we respect each other well enough to create a healthy relationship and bring up a baby. I won't have to resign from my commission. Hawkeye would have his daughter. The Army would have to let us send her back to his father's place, where she would be loved and taken care of. I'd say this was a perfect plan, if you didn't mind my boldness on the matter, sir."
Potter gave her a long, considerate look. He did care about the girl—though we would never refer to her as a 'girl'; he was as fond of his teeth as BJ—and although his best wishes were with the child recently named Kimberly Pierce, he wasn't sure whether the marriage between the Major and the girl's surrogate father would be the best possible solution.
On the other hand, he knew better than to oppose her when she was this determined—and though he had seen her focused on something, even desperate, before, this was the first time her eyes really begged him for consent.
"Alright, have it your way," he said with a small sigh. "You can talk to Father Mulcahy, and get married as soon as he is able to perform the ceremony."
"Thank you, sir," she beamed at him, visibly relieved, and shook his hand. "Thank you so much."
"Margaret… make sure he doesn't hurt you in any way, would you?"
"I know he won't," she told him, confidently, and left his office, half-running across the compound, feeling genuinely happy for the first time in weeks.
0o0o0o0o0o
After having a serious conversation with Father Mulcahy, dropping over at Klinger's to check on Kim, and grabbing a cup of tea, Margaret was no longer that sure and confident. Hawkeye had a shift in post-op, and she didn't want to interrupt him, so she simply sat down on a bench outside and pulled up her knees, gazing off dreamily into space and remembering the previous evening.
She took a great deal of time to fix her looks the way she knew he'd like, before she finally gathered up her courage and walked over to the Swamp. Her heart was pounding fast and strong in her chest, her lips were dry—why the heck was she so nervous? It wasn't a real proposal after all, more of a business deal. And she wasn't actually attracted to Hawkeye, was she?
On the other hand, why did she feel so disappointed when all he said, after gawping at her for a long while, was: "Huh?"
She had rolled her eyes then, and explained slowly, "This isn't about you, it's about little Kim and her future. You need a wife right about now, which is why the best possible solution is that I marry you, so that Kim could be sent over to live with your father until the end of the war. It's an excellent idea."
"I still don't understand," he said in a reserved, cool tone, "what's in it for you?"
She blinked at him and snorted, as if he was a child to whom she had to explain the simplest thing. "I'll have a baby, what else could there possibly be in it! I'll have this wonderful, beautiful daughter, and I won't have to resign my commission. It's a perfect plan! One day, when I'm ready to have my own family, I'll probably call the whole thing off, but as of now it might be an answer to all my problems."
Hawkeye scratched his chin, obviously stunned by her sudden proposal, and gave her a shy (shy?!) glance. "Are you sure about it?"
"Of course I am!"
"You won't despise me for… restraining you?"
Margaret rolled her eyes, the anxiety in her body reaching top levels. "Hawkeye, all we're talking about is an arranged white marriage, and not one imposed upon me! People do things like that all the time, for whatever reasons—and we have a very good one, if I my remind you. This is my choice, and I'm ready to take the responsibility for it. Do you really want to help that child, or will you just chicken out?"
His eyes seemed to harden, and he shook his head. "She means too much to me." A long, pointed look. "Alright, Miss Houlihan, I will marry you."
That was when she felt it—both the relief and a painful sting deep in her heart, realizing he probably was forcing himself to do it, that he wasn't attracted to her in the very least. The sensation was alien, cold, leaving her empty and yearning for something to fill the void that has suddenly been planted around her heart.
Margaret groaned at the memory and banged her head against the wood. Since when did it matter what Hawkeye thought, and more important—how he felt about her? This was a business transaction, a win-win cause, not a romance! Hadn't she decided long ago that men weren't worth all the fuss made around them? All her relationships until now had been nothing more than catastrophes, and why? Because she was far too emotional about them! The way she threw herself at Frank, Donald, Scully, whoever came handy—it gave her shivers every time she thought about it. What she needed was logic. Something simple and clean, with boundaries and rules, drawn by cool consideration, not by irrational emotions.
She hoped that her second marriage would be like that. After all, although she and Hawkeye liked each other a lot, they'd never expressed any intentions for a romantic relationship… that is, if you chose to ignore that one night in the old shack behind enemy lines, and some kisses, and constant teasing, and the way his eyes would lighten up every time she wore something new… But even if there had been some attraction between them in the past, it was most definitely not there anymore, judging from the way he reacted to her words the other night. So yes, a logical, well-balanced relationship they would have. A child to spoil rotten by both of them even after the inevitable divorce some time in the future, an ersatz of a family.
Until something better came along.
The thought made Margaret shivered uncontrollably, which she chose to ignore, pulling her knees even closer to her chest.
Next thing she knew, somebody was putting a jacket around her shoulders.
"Are you cold? Why are you sitting here, brooding?" Hawkeye's voice sounded behind her, as his hands tugged the hems of the clothing around her body. She raised her head to look at him—he looked tired, but there was a warm light in his eyes that made her smile.
"I was waiting for you," she responded, moving on the bench to make like some space. "I talked to Father Mulcahy."
"And? Did he want to excommunicate us for getting married without such necessities as, let's say, love?" The bitterness in his voice stood in opposition to the gentleness of his face, but there was no time to ponder on it.
"As a matter of fact, he said we were doing a noble thing, and that he would be quite happy to marry us," she said somewhat stiffly, avoiding his eyes in confusion. "He could perform the ceremony tomorrow, if you have a ring to give me."
"I have a ring, but I'm not sure it's what you'd want," Hawkeye said calmly and reached to his dog-tags, separating one item from the chain. He gave it to her on his opened palm to examine: a simple band of gold, with the smallest ruby encased in a flower-shaped base.
"It's beautiful," she said, smiling, and fingered it with attention, pads of her fingers slipping onto Hawkeye's palm from time to time. "Your mother's?"
"No," he answered softly, "just something I've had for a while."
Margaret lowered her eyes, slightly disappointed that her wedding ring would be something bought with an intention of giving it to another woman, but since the whole thing wasn't exactly a standard fall-in-love-and-get-married procedure, she figured she would have to deal with it.
"It's very nice," she repeated, and moved her hand away from Hawkeye's. "You sure you don't mind giving it to me?"
He gave her a long, thoughtful look before shaking his head. "I don't mind."
"Thank you," she said, standing up and rubbing her (suddenly sweaty) hands against her thighs. "What time would you like to get married?"
He probably thought the very same thing she did: that it sounded more like scheduling an appointment with the dentist than arranging a wedding. Flickers of laughter shone in his eyes, and he smiled at her, getting up and reaching for her hands.
"How about noon? We can invite everyone to a not-so-special wedding lunch at the mess tent afterwards."
"Sounds nice. What are you going to wear?"
"That bruised and battered tux of mine. Yourself?"
"I was thinking my Class A's… but I think I'll wear a dress."
"Highly approved by the groom," he joked, rubbing his thumbs against her skin. "Father Mulcahy's tent?"
"The Father, us, BJ, and Colonel Potter?"
"Perfect company."
"People are going to talk, though, seeing us dressed up like that."
Hawkeye shrugged and released her hands. "I don't really care about people talking. Come on, I'll buy you a drink—it's a little uncommon for the newlyweds-to-be to spend their last night of freedom together, but hey, we're not exactly 'common' types, are we?"
"We most certainly aren't," she agreed and followed him to the O'Club, a small, unconscious smile lingering on her lips.
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She was beautiful.
The dress she wore was pale blue, like the robe that used to make him crazy whenever he caught a glimpse of her wearing it, and clung to her body in all the right places. Her make up, her hair, a small nervous smile—everything about her was perfect.
He ached to touch her, hold her, kiss her like a real groom would do with his bride, but he couldn't. She made it crystal clear: it was all business to her, and that gave him no right to impose his feelings on her. It was quite a challenge, to keep his feelings off his face (and some of it was probably escaping through his eyes this very moment), but he was willing to take it if it meant she'd stay with him.
As his wife.
This really was happening, he thought, watching Potter, BJ and Father Mulcahy croon over Margaret's appearance. He was marrying Margaret Houlihan, the woman for whom he'd bought that stupid little ring quite a while ago, knowing all too well she deserved a diamond as big as her heart. He never intended to actually give her the ring, just enjoyed the feeling of keeping it next to his heart, tangled with his dog-tags—only that now it was about to happen, she'd be his to have, even if you could never as much as touch her the way he wanted to.
She looked up at him, and he saw her eyes were laughing; there was no hesitation, no doubt. She trusted him to make things good for them, for little Kim.
He would not disappoint her.
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"You may kiss the bride… if you want, and she won't oppose, that is," Margaret heard Father Mulcahy say and turned to Hawkeye with a questioningly crooked brow. He smiled at her, taking hold of her arms and lowering his lips to hers, a gentle touch, hardly any pressure in it. She kissed him back, equally gently, and stepped back, lowering her head, afraid that he might see the longing in her eyes, read from the flush of pink covering her face that she wanted much, much more than just this.
I cannot impose anything on him, she thought, and gave the assembled group a happy smile, not realizing she was still holding Hawkeye's hand.
"Gentlemen, I give you Mr. and Mrs. Pierce," Mulcahy chuckled from behind them, and the tent exploded with congratulations.
They never let go of each other's hands.
TBC…
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