I sat with Pierce once, waiting for Sidney, the psychologist. Pierce was having this reaction; he couldn't stop sneezing and had a horrible rash. It wasn't anything physically wrong with him, and we just didn't know what to do. I sat with him, by his bed, waiting, and I remember thinking he looked so small, so very fragile.
We talked a little, about anything and nothing, the poker game we had planned, the weather, the horrors served in the mess tent, but mostly he was quiet and just buried inside himself.
But as small as he looked that night, as quiet as he was, it was still him, the person I knew.
He's not anymore.
They took him away, Helen. And the rest of us just stood there and watched.
He scared me so. I'm still so very scared. Scared of him, for him. Most of all for him.
I just want him back.
"Pierce! What the hell was that, what do you think you're doing?"
He glanced up at her from where he sat on the bench, leaning his elbows on his knees. His eyes were small, and a wave of greasy hair hung over his forehead, a gray shadow of stubble covered his cheeks and chin. He looked old in a way she wasn't used to seeing.
"Margaret. I didn't hear you approach; you move with such quiet, ladylike grace."
"Shut up!"
She pulled the curtain to the changing room closed behind her and walked over to him.
He leaned back against the wall and grinned up at her.
"You're also really beautiful when you're angry, did you know that?"
"Don't give me that! What the hell were you doing in there, have you lost your mind?"
"What I was doing in there?" He got up off the bench and stepped up to her. "I was trying to save lives, that's what I was doing in there. That's what I have been doing for the past 100 years, ever since I set foot in this place. I try to do it, even though some people are obviously trying to kill the poor bastards that end up here. Did you not see what he was trying to do with that mask? Were you not there, were you too busy bopping along to whatever song was playing in that little bobblehead of yours?"
His eyes, there was something wrong with his eyes. She had seen him angry many times before, angry at her, the war, the world, but it had never been like this. There was a scream in there, something caged looking for a way out. A wild thing, filled with bottomless despair, ready to pounce and tear at anyone who opened the cage.
His eyes had been that way for days, ever since the beach, but it had been further back, not close to the surface like this. Ever since the bus drove back into camp, in the frantic running to get the wounded inside, while Father Mulcahy stood holding a sobbing woman in his arms - dear God, what had even happened to that poor baby - Piece had stood still, frozen in place. Colonel Potter had to shove him to get him to even move an inch, to do something. Then, in the OR, a stranger's eyes had looked back at her over the mask, his voice cold as he asked for instruments and nothing else. No jokes, no emotions, no nothing. The man who just hours before had put on a big show of having a very fake and dramatic heart attack when she took her bathrobe off at the beach had left the building. He still hadn't returned. He had kept to himself, mostly. 'He said he's not hungry' BJ had told her when Pierce's seat was empty for yet another meal. She had seen worry in his eyes too, heard it in his voice. A part of her had waited for Pierce's knock late at night, for him to come to her and tell her what was wrong, ask for help maybe. But he hadn't, and she hadn't asked either. She should have. And just minutes ago, over the operating table, it was the stranger again, going from cold to furious in the blink of an eye as he tried to pull the mask out of the terrified Lieutenant's hands, while the patient had squirmed and everyone yelled.
It was terrifying, this new person masquerading as the man she knew so well. Terrifying, but not enough to make her back away.
"Lieutenant Hill was putting the patient under, with anesthesia." She made sure to enunciate the word very clearly. "You remember, the thing that makes patients fall asleep, so they don't feel when they are being cut open. You could have really hurt Hill and you were gonna operate on an unsedated patient!"
"Oh my goodness, I could have hurt Hill? Well, that would have been just horrible, what a faux pas! Hurting Hill clearly beats him trying to smother a patient. What… what…"
He threw his hands in the air and let them fall slack to his sides again as he started pacing the room. It was the caged creature again, his whole posture reminded Margaret of an animal.
"What is even happening here, am I the only one who sees what the problem is? That some people are trying to kill the patients? The rest of you are just running around in oblivion, like headless chickens. You, Margaret, of all people should see this!"
"No, I don't see it, Pierce, because it's not there. What I see is you having a tantrum after being a complete menace in there. After moping around for days! This is not you; I don't know what happened to you, but you need to snap out of it. Pull yourself together, do your job. And take a shower, for Christ's sake, you're beginning to smell."
She drew in breath; her mouth was so incredibly dry. Her heart was beating so fast, if she looked down, she was sure she would be able to see it beat through her scrubs.
He stopped pacing and turned to face her. He bent his head and grinned as he made his way over, towered over her when she didn't move.
"Really, Margaret? Is my musky, manly smell too much for your quivering loins to endure?"
It was in his grin too, the unhinged thing. It was a very long time since he made her feel the way he did at that moment. Not since they were enemies, back in another lifetime, when they both were children. Before they grew up and grew closer, their edges worn down over the same patients, the sight of the same horrors. Their views of the world, of life, blending together, turning into something they both could maybe accept if not completely understand.
But here it was again, the uncertainty. The threat. But she was a different person now, she refused to be affected, she would not let him scare her ever again, she would stand her ground.
"Your greasy hair is too much to handle, the way you're clearly falling apart," she said and didn't even blink as she stared him right in the eye. "If I can help you, I will, but you need to stop whatever it is you're doing, right now."
"Oh, I know just how you can help me." The darkness in his eyes deepened, enhanced by the look on his face, the grin that grew wider on his lips. No joy there, just the baring of teeth. He looked like a wolf. "I know how you can be of great use."
He reached down and started to pull at the drawstring of her scrubs.
"This is quite the turn-on, isn't it? Come on, we have time for a quickie before anyone else comes in here to yell at me."
"Stop it, get your hands off me!"
She pushed his hands away, but they were there again in a second, tugging at her scrubs.
"It's exciting, isn't it? Someone might walk in on us; wouldn't that be something? Come on, I know you like it."
He grabbed her hips and pressed close to her, pushing her back toward the table that stood against the wall.
"If I don't do it for you, I can do a Swedish accent and you can just pretend that handsome UN-friend of yours has gotten all better."
"Get away from me, Pierce!"
The table pressed against the back of her thighs, and she tried to push him away, but he was so strong, so determined. His arms felt like they were made of iron, and his hands, his familiar hands she had seen cheat death out of its pray so many times, were grabbing her so hard they were sure to leave marks. There was something wrong for real. The coldness in his voice spread into her, into her very bones, and she could hardly breathe.
"Or you can pretend I'm one of your numerous General-friends. About-face, Hot Lips, just close your eyes, and think of MacArthur."
He grabbed her shoulders and turned her around, slid his hands down under her scrub pants, and started to work on her belt. No. This was not happening, it was not him and it certainly wasn't her, he would not treat her like this, like a thing he could handle. He wasn't supposed to scare her like this, but he did, he terrified her. He pressed against her, forcing her to bend over the table. She braced herself against it and pushed back as hard as she could. Threw her upper body at him, making every ounce of fear, humiliation, and rage come out in that one push.
"No! Stop it, get away from me!"
He took a step backward, and she managed to turn, placed her hands against his chest, and pushed him away again, as hard as she could. Not nearly as hard as she wanted, but it got the message through. He backed away.
"What the hell are you doing, have you lost your mind?"
Her words hitched in her throat and she gasped for air. Fear, plain and simple, coursed through her body. It felt like she was about to throw up. He stared back at her, and all of a sudden, the wild thing in his eyes was gone. Fear, plain and simple, was all she could see in him too.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry."
He covered his mouth with his hand, just stood there and stared at her, while she fastened her belt, quickly backing up toward the entrance. She did not want to turn her back on him. She could hear her pulse in her ears, like thunder, it felt like she had run very far, very fast. Lord knew she wanted to. Wanted to run and scream. Find someone to handle the whole situation, fix everything. Fix him.
"Margaret, are you okay? I'm so, so sorry."
He took a step towards her and reached his hands out.
"No!" She backed away further. Just two more steps and she would be out of the room. Able to run away and get help. "Stay away from me!"
"I didn't mean to… I didn't mean… I wasn't… I'm so sorry."
She shook her head and held her hand up to push him away again if he came closer. She could see it tremble. Everything in her was trembling, her hands, her legs, her breath, her very core deep within.
"No, you stay away. I don't know what's wrong with you, but you better fix it. Whatever you're trying to do, make others as miserable as you, you don't get to do that. You don't get to treat me like this."
Her throat was getting so closed up it was hard to get the words out. It felt full of shards.
"I'm sorry," he whispered again, and the worst thing was that she believed him. He looked so lost. It was like someone had stepped into his body for a while, pushing him into a small, dark corner, making him watch. And all of a sudden, he was in control again, back to handling things he didn't understand. She didn't understand either.
Despite the humiliation she felt, the fury and the terror that made her body shiver and her mouth taste like bile, she truly wanted to help him. Something had broken inside of him, and somewhere there were words, actions, something that would make things better, but they were out of her reach. If he bled, she could help him. Sew him up with stitches that wouldn't even leave a scar, but there were no wounds, not on the outside.
All she could do was stand there with her hand held out, ready to push her friend away, the person she had come to respect and trust so much, to one she had entrusted with her body and soul. The one she had come to depend on. It was breaking her heart.
Time stretched as they stared at each other, both looking for answers in the other person's eyes. There were none to be found.
Later, Margaret stood still once again, staring at Pierce's back through a hole in the wall of the O-Club. There were people around her, running, shouting, but she couldn't move. She heard Colonel Potter curse from somewhere behind her, but her eyes were stuck on Pierce. She watched him take a long sip from his drink. Even from behind, she could tell he was gone again, the other thing had taken over. The wild thing, the unhinged one had been let loose. It was out, and there was no going back.
"Get Sidney on the line," Colonel Potter said, and it made her gasp. Fear had been a constant companion for so long, but she had never been afraid like this. Never this helpless.
She stood there watching Pierce, the debris, the jeep halfway through the wall and wished with all of her heart that they all could go back to a time when things were easier. Or hard in a familiar way, at least. When people, walls, everything wasn't falling apart. Crumbling.
She watched him as he slowly turned around with the drink in his hand. The amber liquid seemed to glow in the dim light. An unexpected glimpse of beauty in all the chaos. He leaned against the bar on his elbow, and looked out over the room, in a nonchalant gesture she had seen so many times.
His eyes met hers.
Another wave of fear coursed through her, ice-cold and painfully sharp, as her gaze froze in his, and the last sense of anything familiar left her body.
There was nothing left of the man she knew. It was only the wolf.
Author's Note:
This chapter pained me to write. From the conversations between Sidney and Hawkeye in "Goodbye, Farewell and Amen" we find out bits about what happened, and I wanted to dig a little deeper into it, to explore how Margaret might have been affected by Hawkeye's breakdown. So, I ended up taking both of them back to the people they were a long time ago, when they were enemies of sorts, when he made her feel unsafe. Margaret is so much about having control, so a situation like this where she had absolutely none, wasn't able to help, must have been terrifying for her. And it also echoes back to the early seasons and her history of having been assaulted before, a dark place for her to go back to. To be threatened by her friend, the one who could usually see deep into her soul, the one she could rely on. And also see the despair in him, the silent call for help, knowing that he was hurting so much too for reasons she didn't understand.
Yes, it was truly a painful chapter to write.