The ocean was alive in the early morning sun, the wind gave the waves a frothy, white comb, and there were clouds on the horizon. The ones who slept in would miss the sunshine, and the lingering shades of pink up above, just wake up to an overcast day with the threat of rain. The morning sun was only for those who rose early.
The ocean always had a calming effect on Margaret, no matter if it was sparkling with sunshine or dark from rain. She had stayed in many places in her life, but never so close to the great, open waters. She loved the vastness of it, how beautiful and relentless it was. Every single human being could disappear in the blink of an eye, and the ocean would continue on, oblivious and majestic. There was a strange comfort in that thought.
The wind had a new tone in it, the way it sang as it blew over the water, over rocks and sand, bringing with it a new nip in the air. The humid August heat had started to lose its grip only days earlier, and Margaret couldn't be more grateful. It wasn't nearly as bad as back in Korea, where the humidity felt like a vicious creature, wrapping its limbs around her, turning the air into liquid that burned when she drew it into her lungs. It had made sweat trickle down her back during endless OR-sessions, down between her breasts, seeping from her armpits. The constant tickle on her skin had driven her crazy. The way the sweat got in her eyes, making them sting, had made her want to scream into her mask, where the humid heat turned every breath into hellfire.

The wind caught Margaret's hair and blew it around her head. She let it happen. After Korea, she had let it grow longer again. She still missed her bangs on occasion, that style had been cute, but keeping it trimmed had been such a hassle. Sometimes, though, she thought about cutting it off again. Jenny at work had just cut her hair into a very cute little bob, and say what you wanted about the man in the White House, but his wife's hairstyle was immaculate.
But no, Margaret liked her own hair long. She loved to feel the wind catch it, making it swirl around her head in a whirlwind, herself calm and still in the center of it. The eye of the storm.

Margaret took a deep breath and held it, the scent of the ocean felt as cleansing as ever. As free. Hawkeye always smelled like the ocean, even back in Korea. She had felt it that first time they were together in her tent. Technically, their second time together, but it had been the first time when she wasn't out of her mind, terrified, and lost in so many ways. In the dim light of her tent, she had breathed him in and felt a faint scent of the ocean. Impossible, but true. He was a creature of the ocean.
Colonel Potter had been a creature made of soil. Of endless fields and the skies up above.
He had been there when Margaret and Hawkeye were still Major Houlihan and Captain Pierce, both of them unable to see beyond those masks. He had looked at them, seen the people inside, and helped to coax them out. When they called to tell him about them being together, his happy howl had been the loudest, and every time they talked after that, he kept insisting that he always knew there were some 'suspicious stirrings' going on between them. And it was probably true, Margaret had sometimes caught him looking at her and Hawkeye, a small, knowing smile on his face.
From a small, knowing smile, to a happy howl, to all of them laughing together that last time they saw him, their long embrace when they said goodbye again.

Margaret exhaled slowly and closed her eyes.

Four years ago, the news that Colonel Potter was in the hospital, how bad it was, had devastated her. It had felt like a black hole opening up inside, and out of it poured tears, anger, fear, and more tears. Hawkeye only got mad, at first. He had stomped around the house, giving long monologues about blood pressure, salt, cigars, and booze, how the Colonel should have known better, should have made better choices. When the anger left him, he had cried too, with a force that had scared both Margaret and Lily, who was their only dog back then, and just a puppy.

It wasn't supposed to happen like that, they had paid and made it out of there, out of Korea. Henry Blake had been enough. Father Mulcahy's hearing, Hawkeye's breakdown, it was enough. All of the losses, everything they had seen and heard and smelled, it was enough, they had paid their dues. Paid too high a price with big chunks of themselves. Colonel Potter had paid. Three wars. Three. Only a short reprieve, only a blink of the quiet life he had longed for, a life by the vast fields, under the open skies, before things changed again.

And now he was gone.

Lily barked, eager to get on with the walk, and Margaret opened her eyes and continued to follow the dog further down the beach. Woman and dog, caught in their own worlds. Lily with her nose down, eager to catch all the scents the ocean had left behind rocks and down crevices. Margaret with her mind caught in a whirlwind of memories, mixed together and impossible to untangle. Her thoughts reaching out over the ocean to the place where things began, was carried back and continued to grow.
For every gain a loss.
She had lost a part of herself back in Korea, lost the person she had strived all her life to be, but she had gained people who helped scrape off the façade and reach the very core of her. She had been defenseless and naked at first, not entirely formed, but at least she wasn't a puppet for other people's wishes anymore.
For every gain a loss.
Her old family for a new one. She had made a deal, paid with pieces of her heart, mind, and soul.
For every gain a loss.
Her father for a father figure. Two of them.

Margaret stopped walking again, and turned to the ocean, let mind keep reaching back, back to the Christmas they were all supposed to be home by. Her heart still an open wound after the whole Donald fiasco, all she could think about was what she was supposed to have. Someone who was only hers, a future with someone by her side. Love. Safety. She had tried her best not to cry, but her body had been a traitor as always.
'If you ain't where you are, you're nowhere'.
Margaret had spent so much time nowhere. Always looking ahead, always knowing that everything was temporary. Friends. Boyfriends. Houses. A new place that was never a real home, just a quick stop on the way. A new army base, a new stationing. You learn to protect yourself when you're nowhere, keep your heart safe and guarded against the constant emotional homelessness. Everything is temporary, so why not sneak out and go to that party, kiss those boys, say yes without thinking. Soon enough you will be nothing but a memory, so you might as well leave an impression.
MASH 4077 had been the first place she actually thought of as home. Which was sad and ironic in equal measure. A mobile home for Mobile Margaret. But it hadn't been about the place, it had been about the people.
She thought of that night in Colonel Potter's tent, when he had shared an old bottle of whisky, and told them about his friends. Time had stolen them away and left only him. They had made a pledge, he told them, a promise. There was a special name for it, but Margaret couldn't remember what it was. She could see the Colonel so clearly, how dark his eyes had been, she hadn't been able to stop herself from giving him a hug, so sure he would be taken from them. Then he spoke about the pledge, the… Dammit, she couldn't remember the word, and she felt a sharp frustration start to course through her, like bites of angry insects under her skin. How was she supposed to keep his memory alive, when she couldn't even remember that tiny word?

She turned away from the ocean to continue down the beach, and the bites turned to a stab through her very core, because there on the beach, Colonel Potter came walking towards her.
No. No, no, no, of course not, this person was taller. Broader, and not with as straight a back.
Lily gave a happy bark and started to sprint toward the man approaching, as he lifted his arm and waved.
Daniel. Her father-in-law also had early habits and liked to wander the beach too. Or sit out on his porch, 'waiting for the rest of the world to catch up', as he liked to say. Pot of coffee brewing, always with an extra mug ready for Margaret if she happened to stop by. If she wanted to talk, or just sit for a while.
They had talked quite a bit, the two of them, over the years. Daniel needed it too, as it had turned out, needed to talk to someone who understood the new version of his son, the one who came back. Someone who could explain the change, or at least had been there to see it happen. It had been so very hard for Daniel too, not being able to understand, not finding the words that would make things go back to normal. There was an anger in him, a dark bitterness over things lost, taken away from both him and his son, and sometimes his darkness scared Margaret more than Hawkeye's. Or her own.
But their little trio did okay, tried their best, and there were always safe arms, and big cups of coffee.
Daniel walked a bit slower these days, treaded the rocks more carefully than he had when Margaret first met him. His 70th birthday back in May had been quite the event, half of town treaded carefully too for a couple of days afterward, trying their best not to anger some truly epic hangovers.
70. Colonel Potter had only been a couple of years older. That was unacceptable, impossible. Every birthday back in Korea had reminded Margaret of all the things she still didn't have. Now, she had so much, and for every year all those things grew stronger, but also more frail. One step closer to being taken away from her.

"How are my favorite girls doing this morning?"

Daniel walked up to her with a big smile on his face, and Lily dancing happily around his feet, his cheeks red from the new nip in the wind. Hearing his voice made tears rise in Margaret's eyes, she didn't even try to hold them back, and Daniel's face fell.

"Oh no, what did he do?"

Margaret had to smile through the tears. Her father-in-law was always on her side, instinctively, it had been that way from early on. Margaret could insist that the ocean was pink, and the grass purple, and Daniel would happily back her up. There had been times, of course, when the Houlihan-temper clashed with the Pierce one, and she and Daniel had argued, been upset at each other, but not once had his eyes turned cold, not once had he shut down.
Now, his eyes were filled with worry, and it let something loose inside of her, making a lump catch in her throat. She shook her head.

"Colonel Potter passed away." Her voice sounded frail, like it was made of glass, and the words hurt her throat.

"Oh no. Oh, my dear heart, I'm so sorry." He reached out for her, and she stepped into his embrace, felt his arms close in tight around her.
Colonel Potter had been a small man, short and wiry, like he was made of rope. Rope and soil. Strong, resilient, grounded. The rope that reined them all in, bound them together.
Daniel Pierce was made of rock. Steady, slow, secure. The fixed-point people revolved around, the true north for the good people of Crabapple Cove.
Sometimes, in her darkest moments, Margaret wondered if there would even be a Margaret and Hawkeye if it wasn't for Daniel. When the friction between them didn't create some strange kind of glue anymore, when it turned hostile. When old wounds started to bleed again, when they fell back into their old roles. When Hawkeye's jokes got a mean edge to them, when he looked at her with eyebrows raised in a familiar look of contempt. When she took her frustrations out on him, could feel the meanness course through her like vicious strands of smoke, and yet did nothing to stop them. Right there between them was always Daniel. Ready to take Margaret out for a walk, or Hawkeye out for a drive. Or sit them both down at the kitchen table and tell them not to get up before they were nice again. Daniel was the balm on their raw nerves, the great mediator. When he one day was gone, what would become of them? Would they turn bitter and resentful, drift through the house without ever really talking anymore? Would they drift apart completely, would she look for happiness in someone else's arms? Would he? Those thoughts terrified her, and she did her best to push them away. There was so much more now, they were so much more together, not just two rebels at heart who had gotten together as one last middle finger at everyone's expectations. Rebels, maybe, but their connection went so deep, they were bound together in mind and spirit. And in body. If all else failed, they always had that, always the fire between them.

"How are you, my love, are you okay?"

Daniel leaned back and held her at arm's length, looked at her with eyes filled with worry. Margaret nodded. Shrugged, and felt new tears well up. She wished she could just banish all emotions, she didn't have the words to express them, not right now. She couldn't get them out, they were stuck in her throat, and they hurt. She wiped her eyes with fingers that had turned cold in the breeze. All of her was cold, it had been stupid to put on nothing more than a cardigan over her nightgown. She welcomed autumn, but still wasn't ready to leave summer behind, apparently.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Daniel said. "Or just walk?"

Margaret nodded again and gave him a small smile, one that felt warm through the tears. Through the shards stuck in her throat.

"Walk. A walk would be great."

So, they walked. Continued down the beach until the cliffs cut them off. Threw sticks for Lily, who mostly looked at them with disinterest, but made a couple of unenthusiastic runs to fetch them, and Margaret loved her a little bit extra for playing along. They did talk a bit, yes, but only about things that didn't hurt. The new sticky toffee pie down at the diner, that Margaret hadn't tried yet, but Daniel gave a glowing review. The summer grape that grew around Daniel's porch and seemed determined to take over the entire house. The gazebo down in the park that had recently been painted a shade of lime green that hurt Margaret's eyes, and Daniel was sure glowed in the dark.
Margaret picked up pretty stones and sea glass and kept her eyes peeled for black feathers. 'Where ghosts tread, black feathers fall', her grandmother used to say. It had scared Margaret as a child, but now, she found a strange comfort in the thought. Maybe a black feather was a greeting from someone lost back in Korea, someone they had failed to help. Someone who wanted to say that he knew they tried. Or maybe a message from someone beloved, maybe the next feather she found was a greeting from Colonel Potter, telling her he was fine.

Daniel put his arm around Margaret's shoulders as they came up the path from the beach and started to walk across the lawn and up to the house.

"You feel okay?" he said.

"Yeah. Thanks for the walk."

"Most welcome. If you need more walking or talking, you know where to find me."

Margaret nodded and leaned into Daniel's embrace. Yes, the need would rise, she was sure of it. She didn't need to be strong and brave, to insist everything was fine, she could allow herself to feel now, even though it hurt, even though it scared her.

She stopped walking, turned towards Daniel, and looked up at him.

"You can never die, you know."

He chuckled and placed his hands on her cheeks in a gesture of comfort that made Margaret feel very young. And safe.

"Of course, I won't. But if I happen to anyway, by mistake, I promise to stay close. Make sure that son of mine doesn't forget to behave."

"Good."

He put his arm back around Margaret's shoulders, and they continued across the lawn. As they came closer to the house, the porch door opened and Hawkeye stepped outside, clad in a robe and with a coffee mug in his hand. A nice robe, the tartan one she had gotten him for Christmas a couple of years back. He still had the old one he had worn like a second skin back in Korea, it hung on the backside of the bedroom door. Threadbare and shaggy, but it still felt important to both of them. 'A vision in purple', as Hawkeye liked to call it, and Margaret would roll her eyes and tell him how sad it was about his color blindness, since the robe was clearly red. Margaret liked to touch it sometimes. Run her fingers over the fabric, and when she rubbed her fingertips together, she could swear she felt tiny grains between them. The last physical reminder of Korea, tiny little specks of dust and grime that had held on and been carried all the way back.

Hawkeye held his hand up in a greeting. He too moved slower these days; his body language so different from when they first met. Back then, he had been a ragdoll, flailing limbs, and hands you never knew where they would end up. Over the years, he had grown heavier, more thoughtful, it was like the ragdoll had filled with sand.
Seamus and Lenny came thundering out the door and down the steps, somehow making their eight paws sound like a herd of wildebeest. They greeted Daniel and Margaret like they had been gone for years, and Margaret didn't bother to tell them that only bad dogs jumped on people. It wasn't even true, good dogs jumped too. The best.

"Hey, Dad, why is it that every time I see you, you have your arms around my wife?" Hawkeye said.

"Because I'm smart, son. Because I'm smart," Daniel said, and squeezed Margaret closer to him. Then he let go and started to walk up the steps. He needed to keep one hand on the railing, and Margaret didn't like that one bit, it was another reminder of time passing by too quickly. He straightened his back when he made it up onto the porch and put one hand on his son's shoulder.

"Maggie told me. You okay?"

Hawkeye nodded. "Sad, but okay. I feel strange, most of all, but that's nothing new."

He reached his arm out for Margaret, as she too came up the steps with Lily at her heels, and she stepped into his embrace and wrapped her own arm around his waist. But not before she had grabbed the coffee mug from him and taken a sip. The coffee was strong and fragrant, and a new wave of sadness washed over her. How much coffee had they consumed back in Korea? How much of that vile, barely warm liquid, that tasted like the mere memory of real coffee? It had been a comfort, though, to have a warm mug to hold onto, stir sugar into, even though that somehow made it taste even worse. Colonel Potter would often groan and make a disgusted face at it, but never said no to a second cup. Or a third.

"Dirty thief," Hawkeye said, and gave her a kiss when she looked up at him and grinned.

"Gross," Daniel grumbled. "To expose an old man like me to such indecent behavior. I'm getting something to eat."

He walked inside, and all three dogs followed close behind. They knew from experience that where Daniel went, treats would follow.

"I made breakfast," Hawkeye called after him. "Cinnamon rolls."

Margaret handed him the mug back.

"And when you say 'made', you mean you took them out of the tube and put them in the oven?"

Hawkeye sighed, the sound of a man with the burden of not being celebrated for his contributions to the household weighing heavy on his shoulders.

"Yes, that is what I mean. Thank you, Walter Cronkite, for clearing that up. I put frosting on too, and hardly made a mess at all."

He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, then tilted his head and studied her face.

"How are you doing?"

"Same as you. Surreal." She shook her head. "He was a constant, you know? He was there before we were anything, and he just… shaped us, in a way. All of us. I…. I need him to be there."

"I know." He stroked her back with a warm hand. "We made a pearl. Remember when he said that? All that irritation between us made a pearl. That man had more wisdom in his pinkie than most people do in their entire body."

Margaret nodded and looked at him closely, studied his face as he had done with hers. She looked for the wild thing again, the one that had lingered in his eyes right before he snapped back in Korea. But there was nothing wild in there, only blue melancholy. Like the ocean on a summer evening. He let his hand glide up over her back, grabbed a strand of her hair, and entangled his fingers in it.

"You weren't here when I woke up," he continued. "And for a second, I thought… that none of it was real, you know? No you, no us. Maybe I never made it out of the institution, maybe I was just making things up this entire time."

Margaret felt a chill run down her spine, she grabbed his face with both hands and made him look straight at her.

"No, no, don't say that. Don't do that to yourself, don't" …

He put his palm against the back of her head, pulled her closer, and leaned down, so their foreheads were resting together.

"I know, don't worry. It was just for half a second. It's just so unlikely. When you think about it. That all of this happened. Back then, that we happened at all. And if it hadn't been for Colonel Potter, I just… I don't know. I just started thinking."

"I know. Unlikely," Margaret said. She closed her eyes, and they stood in silence for a while.

She thought of all the ways Colonel Potter had sandpapered their edges down, how it had helped to make the Margaret-piece fit together with the Hawkeye-piece, in a very unlikely puzzle.
Unlikely. Strange. Everything.
She felt her throat start to close up again and took a step back. It was too much, all of her emotions felt like quicksand, and she was being sucked down fast. It scared her, and right there, in the windy morning, with the ocean carrying the first hints of autumn, she couldn't handle being scared. That emotion on top of everything else would drag her down for sure.

"We've got to start planning," she said, trying to find the former Major Houlihan in her voice. She would know how to handle things and not let herself be sucked down, Margaret could come out again and grieve later. "Make sure we can take time off. You gotta make sure your dad can handle things at the clinic, and I need to talk to Doctor Hill at the hospital, he's not gonna be happy, but when is he ever, you know? And we need to think about the trip, I'm sure we can find a better route than last time. That disgusting motel we stayed at in Ohio had fleas, I swear I could hear them at night, just running around and munching. Unless you wanna try getting on a plane, maybe if we book first class, it won't feel so crowded. I know that…"

"Hey." Hawkeye grabbed her chin, tilted her head up and gave her a quick kiss that tasted coffee. "Breakfast first, okay? Not at all homemade cinnamon rolls, remember? We should get in there before Lenny and Dad lick the frosting off all of them."

Margaret took a breath and tried to calm her pulse down, it was pounding like marching drums in her ears. Tried to snap out of the frenzy she had managed to work herself up to in no time at all. She nodded.

"Okay. Breakfast first."

"Good." He ran his hand over her head, smoothing her hair down. "After you, wild thing."

He walked over to the porch door and held it open for her, but she shook her head.

"No, you first. You'll just check out my ass otherwise."

"True, but now you'll just stare at mine."

He grinned and sashayed his way inside, his hips swaying quite impressively.

Margaret chuckled and felt the beating of drums in her head start to quiet down.

"Stupid," she whispered to herself, the word warm and soft in her mouth. No hard edges, only love.

Before she went inside, Margaret turned and looked out over the ocean again. The clouds were closer now, the sky had lost the hue of pink, and the last specks of sunshine were dancing over the waves.
She felt that pull again, reaching across the ocean, connecting her to a place where a man made of rope, soil, and open skies and with the kindest eyes had opened doors inside of her, doors she didn't even know existed.
Doors that would never be closed again.

Authors note:

The phrase "Where ghosts tread, black feathers fall" comes from the novel "The Black Feathers" by Rebecca Netley. I thought it fit the mood of this story perfectly.