Title: The Pregnancy of Margaret Houlihan
Chapter: 2
"You have to promise nothing will happen to her!" Radar was holding his rabbit, scratching under her chin.
"Radar, I've never done surgery on a rabbit before," Hawkeye said. "I am a human doctor, not a veterinarian."
"Sir, the only way I am handing Fluffy over to you is if you swear you'll be handing her back to me alive!"
Hawkeye sighed. "Fine, I swear on my Father's grave." He lifted the rabbit carefully out of Radar's arms.
"You're Father is alive, Hawkeye!"
"And Fluffy will be too," he replied, stroking her head, "A little morphine, a little surgical removal of the ovaries, and she'll be good as new."
"And you're sure you can't tell me what this is about? I promise I won't say nothin'." Radar reached over and rubbed Fluffy's head affectionately. The rabbit burrowed down further in Hawkeye's arms, looking quite content.
Hawkeye placed her on the exam table and uncapped the pre-filled syringe with one hand. "One of the nurses might be pregnant," he said as he slowly injected the rabbit. "But we need to know for sure before telling anyone."
"Well that's wonderful!" He fidgeted and adjusted his hat, clearly excited. "A baby! This place is always filled with people getting hurt and stuff. It's nice to hear some good news."
"Yeah," he plastered a smile on and gritted his teeth. "Wonderful." He hoped Radar would miss the sarcasm dripping from his voice.
"Oh! We should have a party," he said. "You know, so… whoever it is knows how excited we are..." Radar's trailed off suddenly and he and looked up at the sky through the laboratory window.
"Don't say it…"
"Choppers."
"You said it." Hawkeye recapped the needle and tossed it into the sharps' box.
"Sounds heavy," he said, lifting Fluffy off the table and placing her back into the cage. "It's gonna be a long night, Captain."
Radar hurried across the room and pushed open the doors, Hawkeye a few steps behind. Behind the door, he almost ran head-on into Margaret, waiting outside.
"Choppers," he said.
"I didn't hear any—," she started to say. Overhead, two choppers appeared, flying toward the helipad. Quickening her steps, she hustled behind Hawkeye. "Is it done?"
He nodded. "Just a waiting game now." They walked across the compound and stopped as two ambulances pulled up and started unloading wounded soldiers. Turning to Margaret, he offered a small smile, "No rest for the weary… or for the possibly pregnant."
"Quiet, Pierce!" She snapped, leaping forward and covering his mouth with her hand. Looking around to make sure nobody was in earshot, she let him go. "Someone might hear and think I'm a… a… hussy."
"Margaret," he said in a lowered voice, "you're a married person. Nobody is going to use that word." He stepped in closer, "let's not get our panties in a bunch without cause. We don't even know if you're…" he looked around and made the sign of an enlarged belly, "with child."
Just then, BJ rounded the corner and cleared his throat, "What's the big secret?" he said, looking at them expectantly and kneeling down in front of a wounded soldier, unbuttoning his shirt and inspecting the wound. "Chest," he said, "Prep him."
"There's no secret," Margaret said, stepping away from Hawkeye and looking at him pointedly. "Just don't worry about it, Captain Hunnicutt." Turning on her heel, she walked quickly away, heading toward the OR.
BJ stopped and looked up at his comrade. "What's eating her?"
Hawkeye did his best to look nonchalant, "No idea." He squatted next to an African-American marine and took a hold of his wrist, counting the pulse.
"It looked like the two of you were in deep conversation," BJ pressed. He moved closer to Hawkeye and pulled the soldier's pant leg up, exposing a deep laceration to the lateral tibia. "Open fracture," he said after a minute. "Give him 2 liters normal saline and put him in pre-op."
Two corporals responded quickly, each lifting a side of the stretcher, and carried the man toward the OR entrance.
BJ and Hawkeye stood, facing each other. Hawkeye wiped the dust off his palms and they turned to head toward OR.
"You wanna talk about something?" BJ asked.
Hawkeye laced his hands behind his neck and shrugged. "Maybe. When there's something to talk about." He pushed the OR door open and grabbed a pair of scrubs.
"So there's nothing going on?"
Pulling the bottoms on, he fumbled momentarily with his left boot and swore under his breath. "I never said there was nothing going on, just that I currently have nothing to say about it."
"Because if there was something going on, I just want you to know that there's someone here to talk about it with." BJ grinned before tying the strings of his mask behind his head and stepping toward the sink to scrub.
Hawkeye followed suit, "Well, rest assured, Beej, when I know what's going on…"
"So there is something…"
"And I decide to talk about it, you'll be the first person to know," he finished.
"You bozos are making my head spin," Colonel Potter's voice startled the pair. "Is there something going on that I should know about?"
Hawkeye turned the sink off with an elbow and shook his head, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Colonel."
BJ snorted.
"Alright, alright," Potter said, "Let's get this over with. Chopper pilot says it's gonna be a long night."
Ten hours later…
"Hawkeye," came a whisper.
He grumbled something unintelligible and pulled his blanket over his head.
"Hawkeye!"
Rolling over, he squinted into the darkness and found Radar hovering over him, face inches from his own.
"Radar, I fell asleep three minutes ago. What could you possibly want?"
"One of your patients in post-op isn't doin' so good," he said hurriedly, "The nurse said his heart rate is fast and his blood pressure is dropping."
Hawkeye leapt up, knocking Radar backward, "Next time, lead with that." He fumbled around on the floor for his boots and crammed his feet down into them while hopping toward the door. On the way out, he threw on what he thought was his bathrobe, but ended up being a dirty lab coat.
"Pierce, could you please keep it down," came Charles voice.
"I wish these patients would let me stay down," he retorted on the way out the door, "in my bed!"
He and Radar made their way across the quiet compound. Inside the OR, he found Margaret sitting on the edge of a patient's bed, holding a cold washcloth to his forehead. "Low-grade temp," she said. "I've given him fluid, but his BP is still 70/40, pulse 150's. He lost consciousness a few minutes ago and his breathing is labored."
Hawkeye rubbed his eyes and looked over the chart. "Leg fracture…" he said, thinking out loud, "I wonder if it's a pulmonary embolism."
Radar squeaked, "A pulmonary embolism?" he said loudly. "But sirs, we can't fix that!"
"No, but maybe…" Hawkeye was cut off by the soldier's sudden gasp of air.
"He's not breathing, Captain!" Margaret said as she stood and pulled the blankets off, uncovering him. Quickly, she bent down and checked for a pulse. "No pulse."
Hawkeye jumped on the chest and started pumping, suddenly completely awake. "Radar, grab the cart," he shouted, nodding to the small red cart in the corner of the room. "I need epinephrine and the bag-valve-mask."
Radar was back in seconds, rolling the cart toward the bed. Margaret wasted no time, tearing into the bag and pulling out the BVM. Tossing it to Radar, she said, "10-12 breaths per minute."
"But sir… I mean, ma'am, I can't… I mean… I'm not…." he panicked.
"Do exactly what I say, Corporal," she demanded, "You have to breathe for him."
Radar brought the equipment to the head of the bed, took a deep breath, sealed the mask over the man's face and squeezed.
"His chest is rising!" Hawkeye said, still depressing the chest. "Good work!"
Margaret, in the meantime, was drawing up the epinephrine. "If it is a clot, Captain, this isn't going to do it."
Hawkeye nodded and watched as she injected the patient with the medication. "I know," he replied. "But we have to try."
They waited a few seconds before Margaret asked him to stop and checked a pulse. She shook her head. "Want to switch?"
He started CPR again, "No, you shouldn't be… you know… in your condition."
"I am completely capable of pumping a chest, Captain!"
"Just give another round of Epi, Major. We can debate restrictions at another time."
And so it went. Hawkeye gave the soldier three rounds of Adrenalin and two pericardial thumps without any response. Ten minutes later, he was covered in sweat, hair plastered to his face. Margaret checked her watch and gently touched his arm. She motioned for Radar to stop bagging.
"It's over, Hawkeye," she said.
He stopped CPR and stood. "Damnit."
Margaret pulled the blanket back over the marine, covering his face and head. "Corporal," she said, "Go wake Father Mulcahy. He'll want to do last rights."
Radar nodded and hurried toward the door.
Hawkeye tore his lab coat off, exposing a sweat stained t-shirt underneath, dog tags swinging as he strode purposefully across the OR and out into the night. Margaret followed, jogging to keep up. "Hawkeye!" she called.
He didn't slow. Rounding the corner of the Mess tent, he stopped suddenly and kicked at the dirt. "Damnit!" he hollered again.
"Shhh," she hushed, "You're going to wake the whole camp up."
"He was just a kid!" he threw his arms into the air. "Just a kid with a leg wound! A leg wound, Margaret!" Hawkeye sounded incredulous; like he couldn't believe something so simple, so ridiculously simple could have possibly caused a patient to die. He sat down heavily on a bench, folding forward into himself, head in hands.
Margaret moved forward, crossing the distance between them, and sat down next to him. "You can't save every one of them, Captain." She reached out and laid a hand on his back, cold sweat under her fingertips. He looked defeated.
A few seconds later, he sat up and sighed heavily. "Death is hiding around every corner—infection, embolism, hemorrhage—even if they make it out of surgery, there's a hundred more ways to die around here." Turning to look at her, he reached up and touched her face, thumb massaging her temple, fingers weaving through her hair.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up. He was so close; she could feel his breath on her face. She felt a fluttering in her chest that was all too familiar and pulled herself back, away from his eyes, away from his lips, away from… all of him.
They sat there, looking at one another for a few seconds before he spoke again. "Thanks," he said. "He'd have been a lot worse off if you weren't there."
"It certainly didn't make much of a difference."
"It did to him." Hawkeye rubbed the back of his neck for a few seconds, trying to form the words he needed to say next. A minute went by before he found his courage. "Look, Margaret," he started, staring ahead into the darkness, "I just… you need to know that I'm sorry."
She sighed and turned to face forward, running a hand through her hair and tucking it behind her ear. "Pierce, it's not your fault—people die…"
"Not about that," he said softly.
"Oh."
"About the other thing."
"Oh."
"You remember the other thing?"
She rolled her eyes and nodded, "You don't have to say it."
"Yes, I do." He stood up and held out his hands. "It seems I have been messing up all kinds of stuff lately... that I don't normally mess up. In fact, this… type of mess up has never happened to me before."
"Well, it was bound to happen to you eventually." She raised her eyebrows and looked up at him.
"I feel like that's an attack on my character," he said.
She took his outstretched hands and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. "Well. If the shoe fits."
"Come here," he said, pulling her toward him. Hawkeye wrapped his arms around her, giving her a squeeze. "Whatever this is… whatever you need from me, I'll do. Just call it another notch in the friendship belt."
She rolled her eyes but didn't pull back.
He loosened his grip ever so slightly and looked at her, pushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. They stood, faces inches apart. Margaret held her breath as he leaned forward slowly. Softly, their lips met for a few brief seconds before…
"Ahem…"
They broke apart and stepped backward, widening the gap between their bodies. A few steps away stood Father Mulcahy, arms crossed, looking at the pair with a mix of anger and confusion.
"I performed last rights for your patient," he said, looking at Hawkeye.
The surgeon ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat. "Thank you, Father."
After a beat, Father Mulcahy added, "I am sure the two of you were on your way to bed and I'd hate to… interrupt you."
Hawkeye and Margaret started backing away slowly.
"Goodnight, Father," Hawkeye said.
"Captain Pierce," he said.
Hawkeye stopped and turned back slowly, internally wincing. "Yeah?"
"I think maybe we need to talk. Tomorrow sound okay to you?" He furrowed his brow, not waiting for the answer. "I'll see you for confession at 18:00."
"Yes, Father," he mumbled, glancing back momentarily toward Margaret, making her way toward her tent.
"And Hawkeye?"
"Yes, Father?" he asked.
"I will stay right here and make sure the two of you get to bed safely."
And so he stood there, alone in the road, until both Margaret and Hawkeye were out of sight.
Hawkeye was spared having to confess his sins, as a seemingly endless stream of wounded flooded the compound over the next few days. The hours were filled with rounds, surgery, and minimal sleep. Finally, a few hours after the last helicopter had landed and the last soldier was sutured closed, he was able to sneak away and perform his (hopefully) final surgical procedure of the day: a bilateral salpingo-oopherectomy… on Radar's rabbit. Thankfully, the whole thing went smoothly and he was able to return Fluffy to her owner without incident. Radar, in turn, was happy that Hawkeye was able to keep his promise. Now, he and Margaret sat side by side at the microscope as he adjusted the fine focus and studied the tissue, flipping between lenses every few minutes.
"Well?"
He sighed and pushed the microscope toward the wall, leaning back in the chair. "No matter which way I look at it, the answer doesn't change."
Margaret inhaled sharply. "And you're sure?"
He nodded, looking up at the ceiling. "Accuracy is the great part about the rabbit test. Unfortunately, it's also the worst part of the rabbit test in our case."
She leaned back heavily in the chair and shook her head. "Well there goes my army career. How could I be so… stupid?"
"My sentiments exactly." He turned off the microscope, collected the slides, and tossed them in the sharps' bin. After wiping everything down and placing the cover back on, he crammed his hands into his pockets and leaned back against the wall, not knowing what to do or say next.
After a minute, Margaret stood to face him.
"I guess I should offer my congratulations." He regretted saying it as soon as the words left his mouth.
"That's the last thing I need, Captain," she snapped.
"Look, this isn't easy for me either, Major," he snapped back, mimicking her tone.
"What part of this won't be easy for you, Pierce?" she asked, voice starting to rise. "The part where you get to stay here? The part where I have to go back home, disgraced, pregnant, and alone?"
"Margaret…"
"Don't Margaret me!" She shouted.
"At least you have a say!" he shouted back
"What are you talking about?"
"Only you get to decide what to do, Major," he said, pointing a finger at her. "You're a married woman. You could easily make this go away by telling Donald he's about to be a father. Go home and wait for the end of his army career… play the adorable little housewife and live happily ever after."
"Lie to him for the rest of our lives, you mean?" She huffed and put a hand on her hips. "I suppose that's what you want. Get out of this easily. Return to your pathetic, alcoholic, womanizing ways!"
"That's not fair…"
"This situation isn't fair!"
"If lying means less grief for you, then I'll do it! I'll do whatever it takes to cause you the least amount of pain, Margaret."
"It's a little late for that now, Captain."
They stood across from one another, breathing heavily, for a few seconds before Hawkeye spoke again. "Yeah," he said. "I guess you're right." He crossed the room and opened the door to the lab before turning back toward Margaret and adding, "I'm sorry. Really, I am." He left her standing there, red-faced and glassy eyed, and stalked across the empty OR suite. Outside, the bright sun beat down, searing into his retinas. Halfway to The Swamp, he glimpsed Father Mulkahy stepping out of the Mess Tent. Picking up his pace, he pretended not to see him.
"Hawkeye!"
He groaned, "Lord have mercy."
"I heard that!"
Hawkeye pushed the door open to the tent, not bothering to hold it open for the priest, now hot on his heels. Crossing the space in a few steps, he grabbed a glass.
The door swung open and Father Mulkahy admitted himself, expression grim. "Captain Pierce, I have been looking for you everywhere."
"Now's not the best time, Father," he said, pouring gin into his glass and taking a long drink. He winced.
"We need to talk about what I saw the other night!" Father Mulkahy sat down on the edge of Hawkeye's bed and took off his hat. His bright eyes looked sad, expression worried. "Captain, I am concerned about the wellbeing of your soul."
"My soul would thank you," he replied, raising his glass in the air, "But, I am busy drowning it.
"This is no laughing matter, Hawkeye!"
"Who's laughing?" he asked.
Mulkahy lost his composure momentarily, throwing his hat down on the floor and shouting, "She's married!"
Hawkeye finished his martini in one long swig and poured himself a second glass. "Trust me, Father, this is so much worse then you think it is." He held the pitcher in the air, "You sure you don't want to indulge?"
Father Mulkahy held his hand up and shook his head.
"Fine, more for me." He sat down in an empty chair, facing the priest.
"The Lord forgives all transgressions, Captain," the Father said, "Especially those of the flesh."
Hawkeye sunk further back into his chair, "I'm not worried about the Lord, Father. I'm worried about everyone else I care about. I've really screwed up this time."
Mulkahy patted Hawkeye's knee and chuckled, "One slip up is not enough to send you into the hell-fire, Captain. Please, you can confide in me."
Taking another big swallow and emptying the glass, he set it down next to the still. "Okay, here we go. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It's been… oh, who am I kidding. I've never been a first confession, much less a last one."
Father Mulkahy nodded. "Go on."
"Fine." He rested his head on his hand for minute, thinking of how to put his thoughts into words. He had a feeling that the man would not rest until he had divulged. His heart was in the right place. "I had a moment of weakness while Margaret and I were lost behind the front lines," he said. "You know, my flesh… and her flesh… and the sin."
"Oh."
"I'm not done yet."
"Oh. Well… go on then."
Hawkeye took a deep breath, stood up, and began to pace. "Father, I… Margaret's pregnant…." He raked a hand through his hair.
"You… sinned in the flesh with a married, pregnant woman?" he let out a long breath, "Hawkeye… I… I don't know what to say!"
"Apparently I need to be more clear." He turned to face the priest, "Margaret is pregnant with my child, Father." He leaned against the support beam, adding, "And still married to somebody else."
"Oh."
"Now you see the predicament."
"I think… I might need to take a little break for today, Captain. I need to put some prayer into my… response."
"Probably a good idea."
"I… if you'll excuse me," he grabbed his hat off the floor, brushed off the dirt, and placed it back on his head. Before leaving, he added, "I will be praying for you, Hawkeye."
"Thanks," he said.
Apparently this was not in-canon enough, so I won't be putting up the last chapter. Glad I had so many readers, sorry I couldn't make it more realistic! Hope you find something else you like!