Not knowing must be the worst thing in the world. We make so many quick decisions here, yes or no, keep going or stop. But when you don't know, when there's a maybe, you are just floating in limbo. You tell yourself, and everyone else, that everything will be fine, of course it will, but really – you are still just floating.
But sometimes things really do have a happy ending. Or not an ending, just another day, one where you aren't floating anymore. And that is at least something.
At first, she didn't even register that it was him, he was just a shadow among others in the compound. Then, she saw his hunched-over posture, the way he dragged his feet, like he always did when he was very, very tired.
For a second, her breath caught in her throat while a cold wave of fear washed over her. A ghost, she thought. No, a premonition. The shape of him would soon dissolve into nothing, and in the morning, Klinger would deliver a message with a trembling voice, revealing the identity of the doctor that had been killed up at the Aid Station. Then she realized that premonitions probably didn't make noise in the gravel or left tracks behind them, and she exhaled in relief.
Margaret had to stop herself from shouting his name, didn't want to wake everyone up, so instead she ran. He heard her coming and looked up, she could see a small smile on his face, but his eyes were still cast in shadow. Before he could say anything, she threw her arms around him and pulled him close, burying her face against his neck.
"You're back! You're really back!"
He wrapped his arms around her and held her just as close.
"I am. I really am."
She leaned back and looked up at him, grabbed his face with both hands. It felt prickly and grimy and glorious.
"Are you alright?"
She let her hands run over his arms and torso, wanting to make sure all of him was still there, still intact. He felt solid, warm, and alive. Glorious. She reached up and pulled him close again, hugging him as hard as she could.
"Hey, be careful, I'm very fragile."
"Oh, shut up you whimp!"
He chuckled, got a tighter grip around her back, and lifted her up. He rocked her back and forth, making her feet dangle in the air. It felt like she was five years old, and that too was glorious.
"You scared me," she whispered.
"I scared me too."
He lowered her back down.
"I don't like to be scared, I told you so," she said and punched him in the upper arm. Harder than he deserved, but softer than she wanted to.
"Ow, stop it!" He grabbed both of her hands and squeezed them. "I'm not so fond of it myself, you know. And I didn't mean to, believe me."
He looked down at their hands and squeezed hers harder, massaging them, as if he wanted to make sure she was real too, that she wouldn't dissolve into thin air either.
"I missed this place so much. I missed you. Everyone. Every day, I can't wait til the moment I get to leave and go home, but up there, all I could think about was… this."
He looked out over the empty compound.
"I wanted nothing more than to get on your nerves, or be bored in The Swamp, or pick my way through the mystery meal of the day. Take an ice-cold shower, or stand in line for the latrine, you know?"
Margaret nodded.
"Was it terrible up there?"
"You have no idea. No, actually, you do. But I lost so many, Margaret, they just kept slipping through my fingers. I had to move on, there was no time, I couldn't…"
"I know."
Margaret took a step closer.
"I thought I was going to die, I really did. When I wasn't working, I was just covering, hiding like a…"
He shook his head and stared down at their hands again. He kept squeezing hers, letting his thumbs run up over the thin skin of the insides of her wrists. It felt like he was trying to feel her pulse.
"I'm so tired of being scared. I'm tired of losing patients, tired of being afraid of never making it back, of never seeing Dad again, never seeing… anyone. I'm tired of thinking this is it, this is how it ends."
"I know."
She did. Fear was a constant companion, and it hollowed you out. Dug into your bones until they were frail and hollow like a bird, ready to scatter for the winds. The fear of bombs falling, turning stillness into chaos. The fear of bullets tearing their way through everything, destroying what was alive and breathing only a second ago. The fear of not being enough, of letting your guard down for even a second. Making a mistake or allowing someone else to make a mistake that could cause someone everything. Yes, she knew.
They stood in silence for a little while. He was breathing faster than normal and still didn't meet her eyes. She wanted to tell him everything was going to be okay; he was going to be alright. Ordinary, comforting nurse-words, words she had spoken so many times, even though they were flat-out lies a lot of the time, just there to soothe for a few seconds. But she couldn't say them to him, because he knew, knew they were nothing but a band-aid over a gaping wound. They both knew.
The night was so still around them, no one talking or moving around camp. It felt like the two of them were floating through the night, bound together by his firm grip around her hands and the words that were never spoken.
Then shook his head and cleared his throat. Let go of her hands with a final squeeze and ran his own hands through his hair.
"You know what the worst thing was?" His voice sounded cheery in a very unnatural way.
"What?"
"There wasn't even a cute nurse up there who wanted to share a blanket."
Margaret gasped in feigned shock, eager to play along, for a change of mood.
"Oh, no, that must have been horrible!"
"It was. Just rude, really."
His voice was higher than usual, she recognized the tone of it so very well. It was the voice he used when nothing was okay, not really, but now was not the time to talk about it. Maybe it never would be, maybe it was just another thing to bury deep. Toss to the bottom of the ocean with the hopes it would never surface again. She had used that voice many times herself. They all had.
"Well," she said, "this nurse is very happy to see you."
He grinned, and even though his eyes were still dark and tired, there was a small glimmer in there, a sparkle of the person who still found joy in life, knew that not everything was fear. It felt good to know she could bring that person out. She looked around quickly and hesitated for a second. Then she grabbed the back of his head, pulled him down toward her, and kissed him.
His lips were dry and a little chaffed, but warm and alive. He quickly responded and snuck his arms around her back, pulling her closer. She only let it go on for a moment, they were outside, for crying out loud, and she would not get caught making out with Pierce if she could help it. No matter how glorious he felt.
She broke the kiss and pushed him away gently.
"That was for not coming back dead," she said and looked around again. Still no one in sight, thank God.
He nodded slowly.
"Not into dead guys, got it."
"Go to bed," she said and nodded towards The Swamp. "There's someone in there who will also be very happy to see you."
"Already saw him, actually. And he made a very concerning threat about greeting me in the same way you just did, come morning. And I don't like the sound of that, I don't like hair in my kisses."
"Oh, just suck it up, you whimp."
She could feel the grin on her face mimic his. Through the smile, she knew there was more to say, but wasn't even sure where to begin. The words kept eluding her, they were floating away in the stillness of the night.
"Talk to you in the morning," she said instead. "Go to bed. That's an order."
"Yes, ma'am. Good night."
He gave her a sloppy, two fingered salute, and she gave his upper arms one last squeeze before she started to make her way back over the compound.
"Hey, Margaret!"
She stopped and turned.
"Yeah?"
"I left you something."
"Where?"
"No, I just…" He sighed and shook his head. "Never mind. I'll tell you another time."
"Okay."
He blew her a kiss, and she watched him walk into The Swamp, the door fell shut behind him.
What had that last thing been about? Well, maybe he'd tell her tomorrow. Maybe both of them would find the words when the sun came up.
Her steps felt lighter on the way back to her tent. He was alive. Warm and breathing and slightly infuriating, just as he was supposed to be.
It was weird. Looking back at the time she had known him, whenever he was out of camp, his absence could always be felt. In the beginning, it had been wonderful, and she and Frank had some pretty good times celebrating the sound of his jeep driving away, but the mood in camp had always been different without him. It was like his irreverence and his humor, as stupid and childish as it might be, kept everyone sane.
Margaret had so often been sick and tired of reacting to him, protecting herself from him, but even in the moments she hated him the most, his antics had helped keep her mind off the other horrors that always lurked, threatening to take over. As time went by, and the worst of Pierce became reserved for Frank and not for her, she had begun to rely on his presence even more. If only to have him to scold. Turning down the millionth proposition was at least a routine, and routines were safe.
And then time went by even more and they became friendlier. Friends. Special friends, as he would mumble against her skin late at night, in the almost surreal little folds of reality when nothing outside of her tent really mattered, she just knew he needed someone, or she needed someone, or they both needed each other and not just someone, it was hard to tell.
Now, the woman who had once celebrated Hawkeye Pierce's departure would go to bed with a light heart because he was back. What a shocking turn of events.
Before she stepped inside her tent, she turned again and looked at The Swamp. If an army tent could ever look peaceful, it did exactly that. Typical Pierce, affecting even inanimate objects around him. Just so dramatic all the time.
She chuckled a little to herself and shook her head, trying to untangle the web of thoughts.
Thank God he was back. Thank God he was unharmed. Alive. She would have killed him otherwise.