CHAPTER 8: Meeting Margaret
The morning of Charles's shooting, the jeep arrived on the compound just as Frank was striding from the V.I.P. tent to the mess tent at around 7 am. He'd neglected to heed the announcement on the P.A. while in the Swamp last night, trudging tiredly back to the V.I.P. tent as Pierce, Hunnicutt, and Winchester sprinted into action; after all, he was no longer a certified surgeon. The blonde hair, the woman's figure; it was Margaret in the jeep! And unlike those three times before while in Seoul, Frank knew that this was Margaret. The jeep stopped in front of the building housing the operating room and the driver turned off its engine.
"Margaret," Frank called out, his voice almost a whimper. Much to his utter joy, the woman in the jeep turned her head to look at him. It was Margaret! It really was her! His heart leapt in his chest; his savior was here!
"Major Burns?" she said in a questioning tone. So that was why Colonel Potter had sent her away. She'd only returned a day and a half early because she'd heard of the ceasefire ending and now Frank Burns was standing before her like a ghost from the past. Frank jogged towards the jeep as she stepped out of it, his lipless maw curled into a strangely feline smile.
"It's Lieutenant Colonel now," he replied, grinning gleefully. "I forgive you for forgetting. You look even better than you did the last time I saw you, if that's possible."
"That's because it wasn't me you saw," she said with a little grin, remembering the three incidents he'd mistook someone else to be her. It had been simultaneously flattering and troubling, hearing about Frank's bout of insanity after she'd tied the knot with Donald Penobscott.
"Oh, you're just as lovely as ever, Margaret," Frank whined, now only an arm's length away from her. "May I hug you?"
Margaret eyed the man from head to toe. He was wearing his lieutenant colonel's uniform and yet looked just as pitiful as the moment they said goodbye. He certainly hadn't gained any weight, and in fact he looked at least twenty pounds thinner than he'd been at the 4077th. It was strange in light of the inedible food he'd had to eat in Korea as opposed to his wife's home cooking upon his return to Indiana. His eyes, her favorite feature on him, were as blue as ever and heartbreakingly sad as he waited for her reply.
"We're not alone, Frank," she murmured out of the corner of her mouth, taken aback by his desperate behavior.
"Please," he begged, the pitch of his voice noticeably higher. Why in the world was Frank putting on such a show, especially in front of another person? Margaret glanced over at the driver of the jeep, a sergeant who had turned his head not to blatantly watch the exchange but he was certainly listening intently in the meantime. She watched the driver's shoulders stiffen in the icy silence, and finally he turned to look at the pair.
"Driver, get the major's bags out of the jeep and be on your way! That's an order!" Frank suddenly commanded. Margaret jumped at the abrupt change in Frank's demeanor and watched the driver sigh with disappointment.
Margaret stood unsure of what to do as the driver removed Margaret's suitcases from the jeep and placed them on the ground. After he'd driven off, she was left standing across from Frank Burns on a seemingly empty compound. She knew very well that if she gave Frank Burns an inch, he'd take a mile; however, they were standing in the center of the compound and he wasn't one for blatant public displays of affection. Their entire relationship had been cloaked in secrecy. Surely he wouldn't try to accost her out here…
"Fine," she said in a deadpan voice, successfully holding back any emotion she felt at seeing him here. Quivering like an excited puppy, Frank took the extra stride needed to be nearer to her and wrapped his arms around the head nurse of the 4077th. His arms hugged her tightly, so tightly that it was difficult to breathe. Her arms, which had been haphazardly around his back, fell to her sides as she began an attempt to end the embrace. "Alright, Frank," she muttered.
"I have more than a year of hugs to make up for in this hug, Margaret. Bear with me, darling."
She felt his mouth nuzzling into her neck, his hands wandering out of the gentlemanly zone.
"Major—Colonel Burns," she huffed, "that's quite enough. What are you doing here, anyway? Aren't you stationed back in Indiana at some VA hospital?"
He allowed for them to pull apart, but only far enough for him to be able to stare deeply into her eyes.
"I was, but then I realized in this year since you've been divorced that I can't live without you."
She further distanced herself from him to glare at him.
"How did you know I've been divorced from Donald for a year?"
"I have my ways, Margaret. Anyway, how have you been? I've missed you more than you'll ever know. I was devastated when they told me you weren't here."
"What are you talking about?" she countered, her eyes narrowed. "I was in Tokyo."
"What for?"
"I don't think that's any of your business, Colonel," she replied coolly, grabbing the handle of a suitcase. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to unpack."
"Let me carry your things, Margaret," Frank earnestly offered, grabbing her hand. "Please. I'll bring them right inside your tent so you don't have to lift a finger."
"No, Frank," she replied coldly, pulling her hand away. "I can manage on my own."
"Speaking of which," he said, "is that what you're doing?"
She looked at him with confusion.
"What are you talking about?"
"I mean," he spouted, "you're single now, right?"
Margaret froze.
"Like I said, I know you're not married to Lieutenant Colonel Donald Penobscott anymore," he added with a smirk.
"That's just creepy that you've been keeping tabs on me, Frank."
"What's creepy about that? I'm looking out for the one I love."
"I'm sure your wife appreciated that," Margaret spat bitterly.
"I wouldn't know anything about that," he replied with a smirk. "I'm single now."
Her eyes instinctively went wide. Had Frank left his wife for her? She waited for explanation before feeling flattered by the gesture.
"What?"
"You heard right, Margaret. Louise is no more." At that he grabbed Margaret's hands in his own. "Now we can be together with no distractions, no secrecy…."
Margaret's face was sympathetic and he took this as encouragement, until she spoke.
"Are you a widower?"
"God, I wish I was," he blurted. "I would have inherited—"at the look of horror on Margaret's face, he changed his statement. "—the children's love, completely. You know, just Daddy and the girls." He followed it up with a high-pitched nervous giggle.
"How can you say such a thing?" Margaret fumed, tearing her hand away from him once more. It was a vile statement for even Frank to make, and it sickened her. "She's the mother of your children!"
"And the bane of my existence," Frank replied nonchalantly with a roll of the eyes. He followed his indifference up with a hopeful smile. "So what do you say, Margaret? Can we give it another go?"
"Are you kidding me?" Margaret said with a laugh. "First of all, you're stateside now. And everything I liked about you is gone."
"No, it's not!" he blurted. "I still have my baby blues, and my endurance…"
She rolled her eyes.
"It was your upholding of the rules. Discipline. Patriotism. Your sneaking away from your job in the States goes against all that you stood for."
"I still stand for it. It's just—you're more important than all that, Margaret. I would join the Commies if it meant I could be with you."
"Now that's exactly what I don't want to hear, Frank," she retorted. "What's left for me to cling to, once all that I admired in you is gone?"
He froze for a moment, thinking.
"My leg?"
She exhaled with frustration.
"I'm not the same woman you left behind."
"Huh, that's what Pierce said," Frank replied thoughtfully. "But as you recall, it was you who left me! You flew off in that helicopter with Donald Penobscott, remember? You left me standing on the ground with only a short hug as an end to all that we've been through together! Do you know what that did to me?"
"Well, you stole my alarm clock and my ruby ring and you lied about having both of them. You were going to give that ring to your wife, remember?"
"That was after you got engaged and rejected me. You forced me to do it!"
"I didn't force you to lie about it, Frank. You have no conscience. And now that you've gone AWOL, you're no longer loyal to your country. Where does that leave you?"
"Here," he replied with a shrug. "I'm loyal to you, Margaret," he added, reaching out to her and grabbing her arm. "You're my only hope. You're my sole connection to humanity. You're my rock. I want to marry you, Margaret. I mean it this time."
"What?" she sputtered. "Do you realize how late you are with that proposal? If you'd done that two years ago, you might have gotten away with it."
"What's changed in two years?" he said with a humph. "You're still here, and you're still single."
"You make being single sound like a bad thing, Frank."
"Oh, it is a bad thing. Men and women are meant to be together. And speaking of together, Margaret," he added nervously, "I'll spend the first hours of our engagement lavishing every inch of you with praise and gratitude for making me the happiest man alive. If you'd like, I can start now," he said, moving forward to lick her ear. She blanched as she glanced anxiously around the empty compound.
"We are in public, Frank! I don't need any rumors going around!"
"Rumors, Margaret? They could be stone-cold fact! Please, Margaret," he said, getting on one knee and grabbing her hand again, "marry me."
She could only stare down at him, aware of the fact that he didn't produce an engagement ring.
"Wait… uh," she murmured, "aren't you forgetting something?"
He looked down at his clothing and saw nothing out of the ordinary.
"A ring, Frank," she muttered.
"Oh, right," he replied sheepishly. "I had a ring for you, I really did—it was a diamond and was way bigger than the one Colonel Penobsnot gave you, though that's not saying much... Anyway, I had to—"
"The wife get it in the divorce?" Margaret interrupted.
"No—I had to pawn it to fly over here. It's probably still at the pawn shop as we speak."
He saw that she was frowning at him now. Did he not have any money? Predictably, he began to babble in the ensuing silence.
"Eh, you know what? Forget about that ring. Right when we get back to the States I'll buy you one that's double the size of it and—"
"Don't bother, Frank," she replied crankily. "The answer is no."
"How can you say that?" he cried. "You've been waiting for a long time to hear those words—you told me that yourself!"
"I'm different now. It's been more than a year since I've seen you. It's not just you; I'm no longer dependent on a man to be happy."
"Well, what about me?" he whined shrilly. "I'm dependent on you to be happy! When you're happy, I'm happy!"
Margaret sighed at him. This was yet another version of their tired arguments.
"Well, I'm happier without you, Frank."
The guilt at this point was enough to make Margaret nauseous. That and the fact that she had lost a pulse on Major Winchester, who had lost so much blood that his skin was nearly gray. Her face, on the other hand, was stark white, her hands clammy and fumbling with the diaphragm on the stethoscope. This was all her fault! Her most civilized friend, a lover of music and culture and the deliverer of the driest and yet most delicious retorts to Hawkeye and B.J., had left the world of the living…
"He's got no pulse, Doctor," Margaret cried, her eyes wide as she gaped at Charles lying there, so near her and yet seemingly far away. "Do something!" Colonel Potter looked up with shock, taking his focus off of his patient. Father Mulcahy, who'd been lingering near a hesitant Frank Burns, jogged over and stood with his hands in prayer by Charles's side.
"What? No," Hawkeye muttered, his gaze far off. It snapped to focus on Charles. "Ease up on the anesthetic—maybe it's too high—"
"It's the fact that he's not holding down the blood we've been giving him," B.J. cut in. "That and the fact that I can't find the damn bleeder!" He leapt forth, placing his hands on Charles's sternum.
"Compressions," B.J. said with a grim nod, glancing at Margaret to see that she looked much like a ghost. Hawkeye pushed Hunnicutt out of the way, putting his own hands where B.J.'s had been.
"I can manage this part myself, Beej. Just try to find that bleeder. Nurse, another unit of whole blood!"
A wide-eyed Nurse Able replied to his request.
"We don't have many more, Doctor, and there are at least forty more patients outside—"
"I don't care!" Hawkeye yelled, his eyes wild. "Go get it!"
"Frank's got the same blood type. Drain him if you have to!" Margaret raged. She looked over at Frank's wide-eyed stare, his hands not yet bloodied from his own patient. "You wouldn't mind that, would you, Frank? You're already heartless," she growled.
Frank was rendered speechless, his mouth opening and closing with no sound being uttered. He could feel the hatred of everyone around him due to the fact that no one had bothered to try to smooth over Margaret's cutting remark. The palpable animosity in the room was enough to make him physically ill at ease and he attempted to take it in, saying nothing in the process.
"That's the best thing you could've said, Burns," Potter called out. "Now, get cracking! Those gloves better look like they've been through surgery—not lily white!"
Frank was now completely frozen in his spot, his eyes locked on Charles's face. Major Winchester hadn't been nasty or vindictive towards him, and in fact, he had extended an olive branch to him several times and yet he was the one hanging onto life by a thread. Frank felt increasingly ill, keeping his mouth shut and eyes wide. Hawkeye continued to apply compressions to Major Winchester, his hair wild and sweat dripping down his face. Frank could see that Margaret also looked physically sick.
"Anything, Margaret?" Hawkeye asked, his face red from exertion. She could only shake her head, the glimmer of tears in her eyes. Hawkeye couldn't bear to watch her in such a state, and he shut his eyes as he continued to administer chest compressions. Silently he prayed that Charles would be alright. Unlike Frank, Charles had actually become quite chummy with him and B.J. over the past several months. And dare he say it, he considered Charles a good friend. Hopefully he'd be able to joke around with Charles in post-op later as he had done with previous patients. It reminded him of only yesterday night, when he'd gotten to speak to a young soldier in post-op after watching B.J. successfully remove shrapnel from the kid's liver. Ironically enough, he'd felt oddly sympathetic towards Frank Burns then.
"Welcome to post-op, Private Jackson. How're you doing?" Hawkeye cheerfully greeted the patient, no more than 18 years of age. Jackson had been one of B.J.'s patients from the last seven or so hours of O.R. duty, a young private who was now recovering in post-op. The man was resting peacefully, his curly blond hair free and unbandaged, for his injury was at his waistline and was currently covered with dressings, a hospital gown, and a sheet.
"I'm feeling good, Doc," Jackson replied. He couldn't take his eyes off of Pierce's cast. "Were you the one who operated on me?"
"No—that would be Captain B.J. Hunnicutt. I assisted him on the surgery, but as you can imagine, I can't do much surgery on my own."
"That cast looks awful fresh," Jackson commented.
"Thank you for noticing," Hawkeye replied with a little smile. "And would you believe it—it's fresher than anything you'll eat from the mess tent. Don't worry; you'll find that out soon enough when you get your first so-called meal."
"When will you be sending me back to the front?"
"That's easy—it's when we can see the whites of your eyes."
Jackson flashed him a look of confusion.
"I don't get it, Doc. Isn't that from the Battle of Bunker Hill?"
"You sure can pick your battles, kid. Right now, your eyes are a little yellow from jaundice. Once they are white again, your liver has basically repaired the spots where the shrapnel tore through it."
"Wow," the private replied. "I didn't know that."
"You learn something new every day. Just today—I guess it would be yesterday by now—I learned what happens when your enemy gets fall-down drunk."
"What happens?"
"Heh, it's kind of odd, really," Hawkeye exhaled. "You actually get to see their human side."