So much in my life has been about movement. Never still, on to dad's next stationing, then my own, on to the next step in my career.
Here, we run, we work, we make decisions in an instant, and then… things just stop. Like you're suspended in time, and it makes you think. Remember. Share, even. Like small pockets of time, making you reach your hand back, trying to touch something lost. Or forward, trying to catch something that's not yet there.
And then you move again.
"Well, well, well, what do you know," Pierce said and groaned loudly as he reached his arms toward the sky and arched his back. "Another lovely day of absolutely no weather at all."
Margaret looked up. Yes, there it was, the white lid that had parked itself over their valley for the past week. No sun, no moon, no wind, it was like the skies had just stopped. Frozen in place to never move again. That, combined with a lull in the fighting in their area, made it feel like absolutely everything had frozen in place. Only three wounded in post-op, nothing serious, two of them were heading back to their unit later that day. Quite the uneventful night shift. She and Pierce had spent the last few hours playing cards, Pierce had tried to teach her a ridiculously complicated game where you had to stay away from sevens, tens, and Kings, stand up and whistle every time you saw Queen of Spades, salute the Knights, and you could also physically steal cards from your opponent if you were fast enough. Both the rules and the goals of the game had been very unclear, and Margaret very much doubted it had ever been played before or would be again. It had been kind of fun, though.
"So, what are you gonna do with your free time, Major? Travel? Learn how to tango?"
"Sleep. Eat. Paperwork," she said with a sigh and started to walk toward her tent. Pierce treaded along a couple of steps behind. "I already know how to tango. And no, I will not teach you, Captain."
"Pleeeeease, Margaret," Pierce began and almost ran into Margaret's back when she stopped and gasped. In the corner of her eye, she had seen a small, orange shadow disappear around the corner, heading toward the motor pool. Could it be the skinny cat she used to pet? Margaret felt a flutter of excitement in her chest, she hadn't seen the cat in a while and had been worried something had happened to it. She changed direction and started to follow it. Pierce treaded along again.
"Where are you going?" he asked, sounding very much like a curious little kid.
"I'm just gonna check on something. Where are you going?"
"Going with you, I wanna check on what you're gonna check on. I'm nosy, Margaret, haven't you noticed?"
She snorted a laugh, dear lord had she ever noticed, and shot him a look as he trotted alongside her, his whole demeanor that of an excited little boy all of a sudden. She didn't really mind his company, though, annoying as it could be. When he was in a good mood, it tended to rub off on the people around him, and she quite liked it. Not that she would admit it.
They turned the corner behind the motor pool, and there it was. The orange tabby, sitting with his tail wrapped around its paws, looking ever so proper, like he was just waiting for his friend.
"Hi, sweetie, I thought it was you!" Margaret bent down, and the cat immediately came walking up to her. She picked it up, and it purred happily while headbutting her chin. "Good to see you, cutie."
"What if it has fleas?"
"You have fleas," she said without even bothering to look at Pierce. "Don't listen to the mean man, he doesn't know what he's talking about." The cat headbutted her chin again as if in agreement.
"If I have fleas, you have fleas," Pierce said and stepped closer. He reached his hand out and the cat hesitantly sniffed it before leaning back against Margaret. "He really likes you."
"He has excellent taste."
The cat felt so skinny under her hands, she could feel its bones. Such a sweet, gentle soul, he should have a round tummy full of cream and tuna. A warm bed in a safe home.
"He does. Have you ever had a cat of your own?" Pierce said.
"Not really. I sort of had one for a little while when I was a kid. His name was Goblin, but he was a secret cat."
"A secret cat, huh? That sounds sneaky."
"It was." The cat leaned his head against her neck as she turned to face Pierce. "He just showed up one day. I was out in the backyard, and there was this commotion under the porch. When I looked under there, all I could see was two huge eyes staring at me, and I thought it was a goblin under there, out to eat me."
"Scary."
"It was scary. But it turned out to be this small black and white cat. A stray, he was almost as skinny as this one." She glanced down at the cat in her arms. It was snuggled up against her, kneading on her arm.
"You couldn't keep him?"
"No. Mom said she was allergic, but that was a lie, she just didn't want cat hairs in the house. But he kept hanging around the backyard, so I bought him food with my allowance, I even bought him his own little bowl. And sometimes, I would hide him in my bag and take him up to my room. My parents never came in there, so they didn't even notice. He loved to curl up on my pillow, and one time, he got a hold of my blue angora sweater and just completely tore it apart. It was so cute; I didn't even try to stop him."
"I bet. What happened to it?"
"We moved. Like we always did. My friend from school was supposed to take care of him, but last I heard, she hadn't seen him for a couple of days. And then we fell out of touch, so…"
Margaret swallowed, suddenly her throat felt very tight. She could still remember sitting in the back seat of the car, her heart breaking not only over her human friends left behind that time, blinking as fast as she could to make the tears go away. Goblin was such a tiny little cat, he wouldn't understand. Would he go back to the house, looking for her? Sit under the porch and wait, while the days grew shorter and colder, waiting for his friend that never came back?
All these years later, the thought still hurt.
"I don't know what happened to him."
She stroked the ears of the cat in her arms and sighed. This little trip down memory lane had been unexpected. Unexpected and surprisingly painful.
"I bet he was fine," Pierce said.
Margaret shook her head and kept petting the head of the cat in her arms.
"Maybe," Pierce continued, "he left society behind. Gathered up a whole bunch of strays and started a new colony out in the woods somewhere. Battled rivaling colonies, slept in old oaks, ate chestnuts, and ruled triumphantly."
Margaret gave him a small smile.
"Why wouldn't they eat acorns?"
"Because chestnuts are a better source of potassium, geez Margaret, don't you know anything?"
He sighed dramatically and shook his head. Margaret let her smile grow. His good mood for sure had a way of rubbing off on the people around him.
"Maybe he did," she said. "He had leadership skills for sure."
"I bet he did, he was your cat, and those kinds of skills are highly contagious, you know."
The cat in Margaret's arms shifted a little, purred, and kept kneading on her arm. Pierce petted its head.
"You should get one when you get out of here," he said. "If you feel like taking on such a responsibility when you're 98."
She shook her head.
"I don't think so, a pet deserves an owner with a stable life. A real home."
"Maybe you do too."
She glanced up at him. His words stirred something inside her, something that had been growing for a while. No, not really growing, it was just something in there making itself known from time to time. The thought of stability. A place to call her own, that would stay hers. It was tempting. But out of reach. On to the next stationing. And the next. No real stability. No cat, not nothing, just a career and temporary homes, temporary flings, a temporary life. The thought sent a sharp sting of pain through her, so she didn't dwell, what was the point? It wasn't in the cards for her, and that was absolutely fine. She ignored the sting and smirked instead.
"What, I deserve an owner?"
Pierce chuckled.
"Yeah, I think you do. When we get back to the States, we can put an ad in the local paper. 'Head Nurse, looking for a stable owner. Real cute, but stubborn as hell, will scratch for sure. Purrs like a kitten if you tickle the right spot.'"
"Hey! Not in front of the C.A.T!"
She cradled the cat's head with her hand in a protective gesture, and they both laughed. He looked at her and slowly nodded.
"Yeah, I see a cat in your future, Houlihan. Or a dog that will dance for treats."
Margaret could see it too, actually, despite everything. Standing there behind the motor pool in the cloudy morning, she could see it quite clearly. A place of her own, a forever home. A kitchen with the sun shining in and the radio playing. Long curtains billowing in the breeze. Herself walking around, watering plants, maybe growing some vegetables in a small garden. She would like that, to plant things in the soil and be there to watch them grow. A cat, or maybe a dog, sleeping on a blue angora blanket on the couch. A collar with a nametag on it, "Buster" or "Queenie" in large, friendly letters, bowls of food and water in the kitchen, and Margaret's pockets always filled with treats.
Maybe there was someone else there too, someone kind and committed. Yes, she could see another person there with her. His face was cast in shadow, though. The sting of pain remained, and it felt like peeking into someone else's life. A future out of reach for Margaret Houlihan, commissioned officer, and army brat.
"I also see rain in your future."
He was looking at the sky behind her. As she turned and looked, a breeze hit her face, blowing her hair back. There were grey clouds in the sky, and for the first time in days, the white lid was moving. Changing. When had that happened, she had been so far away in memories that she hadn't even noticed. It felt almost surreal, the air had stood still for so long, and now it was alive all of a sudden. The trees and bushes moved, and when Margaret drew a deep breath there was a new scent in the air. Fresh. Like something was coming, maybe not only the rain. Finally, there was movement. It felt like a sign. A sign of changes to come, maybe. It was for sure a sign her tent would get flooded soon. Of muddy footprints everywhere, of the clatter of raindrops against canvas, drowning out every conversation. And then – freshness. A world washed clean.
"Wow. Where did that come from?"
"I don't know," he said, "but I'm incredibly happy to see it. One more day of no weather at all, and I think I would have lost my mind. Also, a nice little storm will clear everything up for next week."
"What's next week?"
"Fourth of July, Margaret, what kind of red, white, and blue-blooded American are you? The Colonel was talking about an outing of some kind if the fighting doesn't come closer again."
"Really?"
She had completely forgotten about Fourth of July, one day seeped into the next one so seamlessly here, an ordinary Wednesday or a holiday didn't really matter.
"Yup. He even mentioned the beach, but I'm not supposed to tell anyone." He winked at her. "I'm giving you this top-secret information so you can get your bikini ready. You know, if you wanna iron it, or model it for someone or something."
He winked again and tucked his chin in while waggling his eyebrows at her, a big grin on his face. With the breeze lifting his hair from his forehead, he looked a little like a turtle.
"Forget it, Pierce," she huffed and turned her attention back to the cat. He looked like he was half asleep. Maybe she could take him with her to her tent for a little while, if it was going to rain. But then again, it wasn't a real home, not for him and not for her, she couldn't let him get attached. She would get attached in a second, she was already even though she had tried her hardest not to. Sooner or later, she would have to leave the cat behind, just another thing growing small in the rearview mirror.
Sooner or later, everything always changed.
Author's Note:
This chapter started with an image that popped into my head of Margaret holding a cat. I wanted her and Hawkeye to have a sweet, kind of melancholy moment together, reminisce, and talk about things to come. I find the duality in Margaret so fascinating, how she is so proud of her work and being a Major in the Army, and also has this side of her that longs for something of her own, for a place and a person that is just hers. I place this scene late in Season 11, and I think by this point it was clear for Margaret that the army couldn't give her everything she wanted, even if she wouldn't admit that even to herself, and I find it so interesting to touch upon her feelings regarding her hopes and dreams regarding her life.
I also wanted it to be a small call back to Chapter 3, where Hawkeye following Margaret across the compound made her feel threatened, and here – they are at a completely different place in their relationship, and his company is appreciated. Even if she of course wouldn't admit that either. 😊