With everything we see and do here, it's truly amazing how it's sometimes the smallest things that send you over the edge. A broken nail. A lost sock. Or a stupid, idiotic, mundane cold. It's like all of your frustrations, the fear, the fatigue, the stress all boils down to this one, tiny thing. Yet another thing you can't control, the very symbol of everything that's wrong. Even your own body betrays you.
I feel better now, thank god. I make a lousy patient.
The packages of sponges slipped out of her hands and scattered over the floor. She closed her eyes and tried her best not to scream. Her throat would never forgive her if she screamed. Her whole head was throbbing, she could barely swallow, and when she took a deep breath and held it to keep the scream from escaping her body, she could feel how her lips were just one step from transforming into sandpaper. Useless. She couldn't even do this, this one, tiny thing.
Bending over to pick up the packages made her nose run and her sinuses groan in protest. Miserable. A miserable, stupid cold in this miserable, stupid place, and she couldn't do anything right. Couldn't even keep supplies organized. Her eyes watered, filling up with hot, frustrated tears, because apparently every opening in her head had to leak something. Her skin was way too hot, and yet there was a chill deep inside, digging its freezing claws into her marrow.
She fumbled around for the packages while her head screamed at her with a throbbing regularity.
When she put them back on the shelf her pulse was like thunder in her head, and she didn't even hear the door opening, didn't realize someone was in the room with her until he spoke.
"Margaret?"
She spun around while reaching frantically for something on the shelves, something to swing, something that would cause damage. For a split second, she saw the features of Doctor Robbins in front of her, and she couldn't breathe, but then his face rearranged itself and there was Pierce. Ordinary, familiar, safe Pierce, with his wrinkly shirt and his hair falling down over his forehead in a messy wave.
"What are you doing here?" she managed to get out, her breath still stuck in her throat, making it even harder to speak.
"I heard some ruckus and came to investigate. There was no hanger on the door, but I was hoping to walk in on some hanky panky. I'm nosy, Margaret, you know that. What are you doing here? Didn't Colonel Potter tell you to get some rest? Like a couple of hours ago? You are not resting."
She cleared her throat, that now hurt more than ever thanks to Pierce and his for once silent feet.
"I did. I rested, and now I feel much better."
It was true, she had rested, dozed off for about half an hour. Her dreams had been sticky and strange, and she has woken up sweaty and confused. Her tent had felt too small and hot, and it had smelled of sickness.
"I'm perfectly capable of checking supplies. I can't just lie around useless; I need to do something."
"Oh, really, you have to do 'sobething'. You know what, until you can pronounce your 'm's again, you are officially on bedrest."
She began to protest, but then some phlegm got caught in her throat and she started to cough instead. When she was done, Pierce was looking at her, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, like a stern headmaster waiting for a disobedient student to come to their senses. Condescending. She tried to protest again, desperate to find the words that would make those smug eyebrows resume a normal position, but her throat did not stop tickling and she had to swallow hard instead. That hurt like hell.
"I happen to outrank you in the medicine department, nurse," he continued, "and you will do as I say."
"No, I…" she managed, her voice sounding strained and thin, and then the tickle in her throat moved up to her nose. She turned her head away and sneezed into the crook of her elbow. And again. And again.
When she turned back to him, his eyebrows were raised even higher. It was actually quite astonishing. In the most infuriating way.
"Are you done?" he said. "Now come on, resistance is futile, Houlihan. Get. Some. Rest."
She shook her head.
"Okay, if you don't come willingly, I will tell everyone in camp about the cute little stars and stripes-tattoo you have on your ass, how about that?"
"I don't have a tattoo! Anywhere!" Her voice almost broke again, and she stomped her foot in frustration. That made her feel even more pathetic, like an angry child.
"Well, then I will tell everyone that I know for a fact that you don't have a tattoo on your ass. How it's just a beautiful, shining, blank canvas."
He grinned and jumped out of the way when she swatted at him. He was fast, she had to give him that. And she was off her game.
"Now, get moving! Chop, chop! If you don't go right now, I will have to carry you. Over my shoulder, or in a bridal position, your choice. What do you say, darling, want me to take you up the aisle?"
She gasped with indignation, and yet somewhere deep inside, a small, treacherous part of her was snickering a tiny bit. His ability to turn everything into a dirty joke was truly remarkable, quite impressive really. She was not about to let him know about small, treacherous parts, though, he was much too infuriating for that.
He spread his arms and moved towards her, obviously very pleased with himself, the grin on his face was spreading too. That gave her an opening to punch his upper arm.
"Aaaooow, Major! Your cold has not weakened your strength. Fine, walk yourself over to your tent then. Slip into something comfortable and I will be there in a minute, I wanna listen to your lungs, make sure nothing nasty is forming a battalion in there."
She glared at him, and relented. She really needed some rest, just standing up was getting harder by the minute. She hated when he was right.
The walk across the compound made her winded, and when she stepped inside and saw her bed, she felt herself slump over a little. Like her body had been held up by tiny strings and all of a sudden, they had been severed. She pulled off her clothes, sweaty and gross, threw them in the hamper, and put on her pajamas. She sat down on her cot and exhaled, her pulse still thrumming in her ears. She should brush her hair, it felt sweaty and gross too, but who cared. She desperately longed for lip balm, her lips felt like they were about to start bleeding at any second, but she didn't have the energy to look for some. She sneezed again, and felt a shiver run through her body. Miserable.
There were steps in the gravel outside, and a 'shave and a haircut'- knock at the door.
"Avon calling!"
Without waiting for a response, Pierce stepped inside.
"Hello there, cute jammie-girl, is your mother home?"
She glared at him.
"Pierce, can you just…"
"Okay, fine, let's get down to business."
He sat down next to her.
"Turn around, I'm gonna listen to your lungs."
She sighed and faced away from him.
"I'm gonna move in under your top now. And I know, I know. If I let my hands wander you will cut them off. That's fair. If I can't control myself, I accept my grim fate. Now, breathe deep for me."
She breathed. He listened.
"They sound fine. You'll be up and about, bossing us all around in no time. Now," he said and patted the mattress, "get into bed."
Her hard army cot felt like a cloud, the worn sheets like the finest satin. Her head felt the size of a hot air balloon as she laid it down on the pillow that had been lumpy earlier, but now was filled with cotton candy, apparently.
"Here," he said and produced a small bottle from his pocket. "Yes, it's cough drops. Yes, I took them from supply. And yes, you will have to do inventory all over again. Isn't that something to look forward to? Now, take a big sip for me."
He helped her lift her head in a gesture that was both sweet and totally unnecessary, and helped her lay back down again afterward. He sat back down and pulled the blanket up around her. Also unnecessary. But sweet.
"There's a good girl. Now, do you have everything you need? Water, tissues?"
She nodded. God, her head felt big. Fuzzy.
"I wish I had some Snow Days for you."
"What's that?"
"You don't know about Snow Days? Major, you have a lot to learn. They are these mint things, Mrs. Gardner down at the bakery used to make them. They had this thin wafer in the bottom, and then this gooey, sticky mint-crème, and they were covered in a layer of chocolate this thick."
He showed her a measurement between his thumb and index finger which did indeed seem decadently thick.
"They were my favorite treats when I was a kid, and when I was sick, my mom used to buy me a whole box and I could eat all of them myself. She said because they were mint, they were basically medicine. And she was right too because I got better every single time. To this day, whenever I'm sick, I can still taste those bad boys."
His voice was low and soft. Sincere. She liked it like that, why did he have to hide it under the whole rebellious jokester act? It wasn't really hidden that deep anymore, though. Nothing really was.
"That's very sweet," she said with a small smile.
"In every meaning of the word."
He smiled back at her, and his eyes were soft too. Blue and sincere.
"Now, go to sleep. Doctor's orders."
He leaned in close and kissed her forehead.
"You're only a little hot."
She glared up at him.
"Why are you being mean to me when I'm sick?"
He laughed.
"I'm sorry, I retract that. You are indeed very hot. Hottest nurse in Korea."
"Damn straight," she muttered and let her eyes fall shut.
The bed moaned a little when he leaned in close again, she felt his weight over her torso, and his breath against her cheek. He shouldn't keep doing that, she didn't want to give him her cold, he should know better, doctor and everything. But she didn't have the energy to tell him.
"And then, when you aren't all snotty and disgusting anymore, I'm gonna come back and listen to your lungs again," he whispered. "And you better believe my hands are gonna wander. Oh boy, the places they will go, the wondrous wonders they will explore."
His voice sounded like it was coming from far, far away, even though it was so close to her ear his breath tickled her skin. Like she was wearing a very thick winter hat, or he was talking through ice. Like he was talking from the depths of a frozen lake. But his words made her smile again.
"Sleep tight, Red Menace."
The weight of him lifted off her, and she felt the bed move when he got up, heard his steps across the floor, and the door close behind him.
Then she followed doctor's orders.
Author's Note:
In this chapter, I just wanted Margaret and Hawkeye to have a good banter. For the stakes to be low, and just let them be the wonderful friends with benefits they are at this point of my story. The idea for the chapter started with the thought of him teasing her about having a tattoo, then everything else sort of happened. I enjoyed writing this chapter immensely, I just adore their chemistry, and I also loved having Margaret showing a little bit of her sense of humor. And also - she truly would be a lousy patient, right? :)
The "Red Menace"-comment is a small call back to the chapter "Seeing Red", when Margaret and Hawkeye are drunk efter the red party, and he says that she looks so good in her red hair that she might be snatched up by a North Korean modelling agency, that will call her that. I thought it was a cute way of using that negative term in a positive way.