Margaret and Hawkeye were trapped behind enemy lines, taking cover in an abandoned hut for the night, the sound of artillery filling the night air. Margaret's chest was tight with fear, her lungs felt constricted and her heart pounded rapidly as adrenaline coursed through her body. She wasn't good at hiding her fear: it clouded her thoughts with dark panic and made her even more talkative and hyper than normal.
Hawkeye was better at hiding his fear, covering it with humour as he always did, and appearing outwardly cool despite feeling a red hot knot of terror sitting deep in his chest. He didn't want to be in this war, he hadn't volunteered like Margaret had. He was terrified he wouldn't make it home. But h focused on medicine and humour and tried to keep his calm, cool persona. Privately, he was afraid that if he broke down and succumbed to the fear, he'd never recover.
At the present moment, these two were trapped together under the fog of war, fog of terror, and fog of alcohol in a small hut for the night. Hawkeye's bottle of Japanese scotch was empty, Margaret's eyes were full of unshed tears from the letter of betrayal she'd received. If she was honest with herself (and she'd never be honest with herself or anyone else if she weren't several drinks deep in hard liquor), she may admit that she was mostly humiliated and offended at being treated like a second choice, a safe choice, like a sturdy piece of furniture or a reliable car. She may be in the army, but she liked to feel pretty and desirable like any other woman. She had liked Frank because he had been clearly unable to resist his desires and made her feel like a Goddess.
"Well, it's a beautiful country and the people are nice," Hawkeye broke the silence and filled the hut with his Scott-heavy breath, "but they sure could use some humanitarian assistance in learning how to make alcohol. No reason they couldn't be making their own Sake, rice wine, rice gin, kumquat beer, persimmon vodka... anything!" he lamented.
"You drink too mush," Margaret slurred, her body relaxed.
"They bomb us too much." Hawkeye retorted. "I'll stop when they stop."
"Fair." Margaret conceded, "is that how you keep your calm? Being half-cut most of the time?"
"Just when I'm not cutting. But yes, I prefer to experience this war without full mental faculties. I don't take pleasure in this army stuff the way you do."
"I don't like the bombing any more than you do. Or the death. Or the guns. Or the destruction. The waste of it all. I like the order and sense of purpose I get from being an army nurse. But I wish it didn't come with the destruction of innocent lives. Destroying families. Making people do bad things. Or, giving people excuses for doing bad things. I think war makes people do bad things, good people, they feel like their sins aren't anything compared to the bigger evil. But it still hurts." She took a shaky breath and the tears she'd been holding back for hours started to stream down her face, "it hurts so bad when someone you thought was a good guy hurts you." She hunched in on herself, her shoulders slumped low unlike their usual proud stance. The letter to Darlene lay open on the table before her, crumpled from being held in her tight grasp. "Maybe I stay in the army because it's the only place I have a sense of worth, where people value me and I know I won't be discarded when they find something better. I knew I was Frank's second choice stand-in wife, but I thought if I got married, I thought... I thought being the wife I'd be someone's first choice... I thought I'd feel loved and valuable and desirable." Margaret looked much younger when she cried, and her voice lost the shrill tone she used when barking orders in the OR.
"Margaret." Hawkeye whispered. He hated to see her like this. She was so strong. He admired her confidence, her capabilities. Her full lips he joked about wanting to kiss.
He got up from where he was relaxed in his chair and came around the table, put his arms around her shoulders and kneeled beside her, bringing his face close to hers. "Margaret," he whispered again. "your value doesn't come from some guy. Your worth isn't based off how this crappy guys treat you. I've always thought you had a poor choice in guys. Frank. What did you see in him? But at least he worshiped the ground you walked on. Any guy would be so lucky to get to kiss you. I know I would be." Hawkeye went quiet.
He hadn't meant to say that last part. It was true, but he didn't want to complicate his and Margaret's relationship. He knew he'd need to work with her professionally, he relied on her skill and confidence as a nurse for success in the OR, and he knew with their different and strong personalities that they'd be a mess if they brought sex into their already spicy interactions. But, under different circumstances, he'd have pursued her. Frankly, she was the most interesting woman at the 4077th. The other women were beautiful, and smart, and nice. But only Margaret could match him for wit, confidence, and bravery. She never changed how she acted or held her tongue to try be cuter for him. And that made his all the more interested in her.
The hut was quiet except for Margaret's quiet sobs. The artillery had stopped hours ago. It was dark out. In the hut, shadows loomed large in the flickering of the small candle that attempted to light the room. It seemed Margaret hadn't noticed or cared about Hawkeye's admission of wanting her.
"Common, lets get some sleep, we've had a lot to drink. In the morning, we'll think up new ways to get back at Donald. And I'm sure they'll send a helicopter for us." Hawkeye gently guided Margaret out of her chair and towards a corner, where they both settle onto the hut's sleeping mats that had been abandoned in the occupants' haste to flee. Hawkeye lay down and pulled Margaret to his chest, wrapping his arms around her. "Donald doesn't deserve you. No one does." He gave her a squeeze. "That's why I never tried," he added quietly, assuming she wasn't listening.
Margaret and Hawkeye quickly drifted off to sleep, their exhaustion and the booze overpowering their fear.
However, a sudden artillery explosion nearby woke Margaret up. In a panic she jolted upright and screamed. "I don't want to die. I don't want to be here. I want to go home. I'm scared. I can't take this. I can't handle it. Hawkeye! Hawkeye! Help. I can't do this. It's too much."
Hawkeye had also awoken at the blast, his heart pounding. He grabbed onto Margaret in the dark and pulled her down towards him, lying his body over hers instinctually to protect her from any more bombs.
"Margaret. Margaret. Listen to me. Stay with me. I need you to keep calm. We're safe in here. I've got you. It's ok. It's going to be ok." Hawkeye talked into her ear. His voice was shaky, but he needed her to calm down so he wouldn't panic too. He knew panic wouldn't help, but he was terrified just like she was and agreed with everything she was screaming.
Margaret swallowed her words and started whimpering, attempting to obey Hawkeye's advice. She wasn't stupid. She knew panic was the enemy just as much as the bombs dropping outside. She grabbed onto Hawkeye's uniform and turned to look at his face, just inches above hers. The weight of his body on her was comforting. Nice, even. She was shaking all over with fear. In the dim light, she looked into Hawkeye's eyes and could see fear in them too. This calmed her down, the realization that they were both terrified. Her nursing instinct to care for others was strong, and she wanted to care for Hawkeye. She let go of the clump of uniform shirt she was grasping in her right hand and gently started to rub Hawkeye's neck, her finger brushing over the stubble on his neck and running into his hair. Hawkeye let out a little gasp, and started to breath more slowly.
"That feels nice. Thanks Margaret. I'd rather enjoy the last few minutes of my life than die screaming."
"Ok." Margaret whispered, as her mind had gone blank and she'd used all her words screaming in panic. "Stay right here, I feel safe with your weight on top of me," she admitted. She had no room for embarrassment as fear filled her body.
They stayed like that for a while, as more bombs went off outside. Each time, with the bang, Hawkeye ducked his head into Margaret's shoulder, and she grabbed the back of his neck with her hand, holding him to her until the sound dissipated and the rubble settled.
As the explosions got further away, their fear subsided and Hawkeye lifted his head to look Margaret in the eyes again. His hot breath was on her cheek. She was frozen, focused on his eyes and his breathing and his heart beat. Her hand still rubbing his head and neck the only part of her body not frozen with fear. She gently applied more pressure, not consciously thinking about what she was intending to do. Slowly, so slowly neither could tell who had moved, the distance between their faces closed and Hawkeye turned his head so their lips connected. It was a slow, gentle kiss, unlike the salacious ones Hawkeye passed his evening sharing with other camp nurses. Their lips parted, but they lingered, breathing in each others exhales.
At some point, they'd fallen asleep in the same position, Hawkeye lying on Margaret, his head resting on her shoulder, her fingers woven into his hair.