Chapter Text
Margaret tried to sort out her feelings on the drive to the airport. She was happy to see Hawkeye again, definitely. She was also so very nervous. Their goodbye in Korea had had a finality to it - and an intensity which, for the moment, she chose not to dwell on - that seemed awkward to pick back up from. As much as he'd meant to her in wartime, she'd gotten on that jeep with a sense of closure, of moving on; no one from the 4077 fit into her picture of a civilian life. Sure, the Potters’ Christmas cards were sweet and she was aware of some of her old campmates’ career moves through the medical grapevine, but that was all nice and distant. This was different: Hawkeye Pierce was about to come careening back into her day-to-day life. Margaret hastily shut out the creeping worry that she might not want him to leave it again.
She didn't think he'd ever expected to get in touch either, but then he'd gotten a tentative job offer at another hospital in Chicago and, knowing she was in the area, called her up. She'd heard his goofy smile through the phone.
"I thought I'd better warn you that the nurses in town are about to be a little distracted." He was incorrigible and she'd told him so, though she left out what a comfort that was.
"All of the nurses? It’s a big city, Pierce. That seems ambitious even for your bloated ego.” The teasing, the sardonic edge to her voice that naturally occurred in every conversation with him, came back to her easily. Her only concession had been, "You sound well."
"I am, Margaret, I really am," he'd replied after a pause, with that damned disarming sincerity. As ever, they hadn't needed to say much more. Margaret had forced down the sudden lump in her throat and briskly moved on to get details of his arrival and offer the use of her sofa.
Now three weeks later, she was standing in arrivals, pretty much at attention: military habits had always grounded her. She finally caught sight of a greying mop above the crowd moving in her direction. He was already beaming right at her and she beamed right back for a moment before she caught the glint of mischief in his eye, and as he emerged from the crowd she saw the reason for it...for fuck's sake, he was wearing that garish Hawaiian shirt she hated. Hand came to hip like clockwork.
"I can't believe you!”
He dropped his bags and threw his hands up in mock defense, clearly thrilled with her reaction.
"Hey, I had to make sure you'd recognize me!"
Then they were hugging. Margaret surprised herself by being the one to squeeze just a little tighter, hold on just a little longer than she might have expected. She felt him lean into it and suddenly it hit her how much she'd really missed him. Her ridiculous, impossible Hawkeye.
"Hi," he said softly in her ear.
"Hiya," she replied as she finally let him go, though he dropped a light kiss on her cheek before pulling away completely.
"Well," she declared, all business now, "Let's get going so you can take that hideous shirt off." She knew as soon as she said it.
"Why, Margaret-"
"Not a WORD!"
"-I thought you'd never ask!"
She picked up one of his bags and met his stupid grin with the full force of her glare.
"You’ll be lucky if I don’t burn that thing."
"I missed you too, Margaret."
Hawkeye felt nervous for most of the flight, and then during landing was suddenly seized by the irrational worry that he might not recognize her right away. He pictured it: a split second of hesitation, just enough to hurt her and embarrass him and ruin the whole thing. It was nonsense, of course. He knew her before he could even really see her, from half a glimpse through the crowd. Stunning, impatient Margaret, all tensed up like she was waiting for a general. Christ, she looked gorgeous. She was wearing dark blue crop pants and a baby blue blouse that matched her eyes, her hair up in a French twist that was equal parts elegant and practical. She smiled when she saw him and he thought must have missed Chicago somehow and flown straight to heaven.
The inital rush of reunion over, Margaret made some awkward small talk as they walked out to her car; a respectable little two-door that was a bit worn, but meticulously neat inside. Hawkeye found he couldn’t ignore the novelty of it all; Margaret in civvies, Margaret discussing the weather, Margaret driving something so much daintier than an army jeep.
”You know,” he said as they pulled out of the lot, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in normal clothes before.”
"Really? I mean, even I wasn’t in uniform all the time.”
”Well sure, but there was always something. Your fatigue pants, or your boots, or your t-shirt. I can’t think of a single time you didn’t have something army-issued, somewhere.” He paused. “I guess there was your wedding, but that’s it.”
”Ugh,” she rolled her eyes, “Don’t remind me….although,” she sighed, “It was a lovely dress. What a waste.”
”Right,” he replied, but he couldn’t resist drawing her out a little more now that they’d dipped into familiar territory. “Did you ever hear from Donald again?”
”No, but-” They were stopped at a light. She turned to face him. ”I heard about him.”
He saw the beginnings of a devilish smile in her face and mirrored it automatically.
”Ohh?”
She savored every syllable: “Dishonorable discharge.”
Hawkeye’s eyes went wide with shock and sheer delight. “You’re kidding! Poster boy Lieutenant Colonel Donald Penobscott?”
She nodded, laughing now as he went on, “Superman? West Point?!”
“That greedy bastard stole a whole load of money from the army with some half-brained fraud scheme!” she explained. They both hollered with laughter. Hawkeye gasped out, “Careful Margaret, don’t make me like the guy!” As she slapped him on the arm for that the car behind them honked loudly, making them both jump. The light was green.
"Oh shit," Margaret said, still chuckling as she stepped on the gas.
"Well, if anyone ever deserved to be dishonored," Hawkeye said.
"A second ago you seemed to approve," she pointed out.
He was silent a few seconds, remembering teary eyes, crumpled letters, and kicked cans.
"Not just because of that, Margaret."
She seemed about to say something but didn’t. He worried he’d crossed a line, that maybe he should tread more lightly. They’d only just met up again, after all. He scanned her face - now focused on the road - and was relieved to see her smile hadn’t faded, only changed a little. She took one hand off the wheel and gave him a light shove on the shoulder; a little awkward, a little affectionate. They left it there.
Margaret lived on the second floor of an old house that had been converted into small apartments. One glance around showed him most of it. The kitchen took up one corner, along with a small round dining table. Across from there, a sofa and a couple of armchairs were set up around an old brick fireplace (Hawkeye made a mental note to hide his Hawaiian shirt). Two doors presumably led to the bathroom and bedroom, and a few bookcases and pantry shelves seemed to provide most of the storage. The room as a whole was cozy. Although not particularly trendy, it was clearly decorated and arranged in good taste, from the lace tablecloth to the matching curtains and rug that somehow made the mismatched furniture seem to fit perfectly. While Margaret put his bags down by the sofa, he turned and noticed her dog tags hanging from one of the coat hooks by the door. He reached out and poked them lightly, making them swing.
"Never could put them away," she said, seeing him. He smiled and went over to get a new shirt out of his case. While he dug around, Margaret moved away to the kitchen and fiddled with the vase on the table, clearly trying to look busy. After a moment she turned around, hands gripping a chair. He wondered what was making her so unsure of herself all of a sudden.
"Hawkeye, uh…I think I should make something clear…"
Oh.
"I’m sure you remember…how we left each other."
That. He hadn’t planned to bring it up, actually. She was still talking...
"I just want to make sure we both understand that-"
"Margaret," he interjected. Her eyes finally came up to meet his, full of uncertainty. “Margaret, I promise I don’t have any expectations, you know, in that area. Or hopes, even. You’re my very good friend, whom I haven’t seen in a long time, and I’m very grateful to you for helping me out," he gestured to indicate the couch where he’d be sleeping.
"That’s all. That kiss-"
She flushed.
"-was a goodbye, right? Not a beginning. I wasn’t even going to mention it."
She let out a relieved sigh that turned into a self-conscious chuckle.
"Good, good. I feel a little silly now," she said.
"No, not at all," he reassured her. "I’m glad you brought it up. It’s good we’re on the same page."
"Yes, right. Good."
They suffered a brief awkward silence, Margaret pretending to dust off the top of the chair she’d been holding onto and Hawkeye putting back the various items he’d taken out in pursuit of a shirt.
"Which one’s the bathroom?" he asked, breaking the silence. She indicated a door.
"That one."
"Great, I’ll get changed. Do you, ah, have any dinner plans?" he asked.
”Not really,” she replied. "I don’t cook much, so if there’s anything you’d like for takeout-"
"How about ribs?"
At Hawkeye’s insistence, they picked up beers to go with their barbecue dinner and stayed up late, emptying bottles and filling each other in on the last couple of years. It was slow going at first; Margaret genuinely felt she had little to say, her life had been so simple of late. Small, boring, she thought to herself, but refused to give voice to self-pity. She’d been living here pretty much since the war, she told him, working long hours at the veterans’ hospital. The apartment? Oh yes, she liked it well enough, and it was affordable. She turned the conversation onto him before he could pry into subjects such as her social life. Had he been in Crabapple Cove this whole time? Not quite, she learned. He’d stayed and worked with his dad for several months then started commuting to a job at Maine Medical Center in Portland, eventually getting an apartment in town, though he always saw his dad on weekends.
”So what brought you out here?” she asked. He shrugged.
”They’re doing good research work at this hospital,” he said. “I figured if I’m going to rejoin civilization, I’d like to contribute to it. Besides, they wrote to me. Said I came highly recommended. You’re the only person I know in town, I figured that was you-?”
”It wasn’t me. I don’t really know anyone over there, at least not high up enough in the ranks to hire you.” It was the truth. Privately she wondered if it was anyone they knew, or just someone from his medical school days.
”Well in any case, it seems like a worthwhile gig."
"And your dad?"
"Oh he's sick of me!" he cracked. "No, I mean, we'll be alright. I could still visit now and then, and we're lucky to live in the wondrous modern age of long-distance calling, the cost of which is merely- well, exorbitant, but worth it. It's not a sure thing yet, anyway. I have a couple of meetings tomorrow to seal the deal.” He took a swig from his beer. “All goes well, you’ll be stuck with me indefinitely.”
Margaret couldn’t help smiling at the thought, but quickly put on a frown.
“Don’t be silly. You’re getting your own place, aren’t you?”
He looked around, making a show of appraising every corner of her little flat.
”I don’t know, here’s pretty nice,” he joked. She rolled her eyes.
”Before I forget to tell you,” she said, “if you run into my landlord at any point during your short stay here, he thinks you’re my cousin.”
”Gotcha,” he replied. “A little old-fashioned, huh?”
”More than a little,” she said ruefully.
”And do you uh, have many cousins over?” he asked playfully. She regretted setting it up for him; she hadn’t wanted to talk about it. She set down her drink and folded her hands in her lap, calling on that cold dignity that had always helped her keep people at whatever distance she chose.
”That’s hardly a priority, I’m very busy. Nor is it any of your business.”
He opened his mouth to say something but changed his mind and simply nodded as if to say, “Fair enough.” Was he really going to drop it that easily? She remembered a time he would have poked and prodded, insisting she open up. Maybe he wasn't sure how far to push anymore. She changed her mind; why not just be honest?
”Actually,” she started again, the new hint of vulnerability in her voice causing him to look up, “There’ve been a few men here and there but it just…fizzles out, every time. There was nothing really wrong with them, we’d go for a couple of months having a perfectly nice time, but it was never enough.”
”Enough?” he prompted.
”Oh I don’t know, enough…passion, enough…love, I suppose.” She looked down at her plate. “After a while I sort of gave up. I used to thrill at the thought of those first few dates, you know? The excitement, getting to know a man, what he likes. But the more of those dates I went on the more they all blurred together. I still want somebody but I’m sick of all the work it takes to find somebody.”
”I’m sorry, Margaret,” he said. She shrugged it off, relieved to have someone to talk to but a little uncomfortable all the same. Again, she turned the spotlight back onto him.
”What about you, making many conquests these days?”
He smiled. “Not so much, actually.”
”Oh?”
”Well of course, most of the girls back in Maine had already given up on me years ago, before I even went to med school.”
”I can’t imagine why,” Margaret drawled.
”There are a few exceptions, of course,” he continued. “Just two or three angels of mercy who welcomed me back with open arms…” he trailed off suggestively, smiling into the middle distance, gently twirling his beer bottle. Margaret kicked him in the shin.
”Ow. Anyway, the real answer is no,” his tone got just slightly more serious, “I haven’t been able to make anything stick, either.”
”I’m sorry to hear that,” Margaret said. He waved it away and held up his beer.
”Who’d have thought we’d wind up here again, you and me? Commiserating over our love lives, beers in hand?” She laughed lightly.
”At least the food is better this time,” she said.
”Thank god for that! To friends and pigs, those noble creatures who so bravely sacrificed that we might feas-”
She clinked bottles with him and cut him off before the speech could get any worse.
”To friends.”
The next morning, Margaret stood behind her sofa and looked down at the mess of limbs and blankets sprawled across it. She was almost annoyed to notice he was still so adorable when asleep. God forbid he ever find out.
“Hawkeye.”
He groaned and turned his face deeper into the pillow. She leaned down and shoved his shoulder.
“Time to get up, sleeping beauty.”
A grin crept onto his face as he shifted to his back to peek at her through barely-open eyes.
“That’s not how you wake up Sleeping Beauty,” he said in a sleepy, sing-song-y voice. He closed his eyes, folded his hands dramatically over his chest, arched his neck a little and puckered his lips.
She leaned over him, her hair brushing his shoulder as her hand reached for his…no, not his face, his pillow. She yanked it out from under him and tossed it across the room; he reached after it futilely and then flopped back down, defeated
“Just get up and get dressed. I have to get to work and you have meetings.” She dragged him up to sitting by one arm.
“Okay, okay, I’m up,” he waved her off.
“And fold those blankets,” she ordered. “You’re not turning my living room into another swamp.”
”Yes, ma’am!” He stood up, pulled some clothes and toiletries out of his suitcase and lumbered toward the bathroom yawning. Margaret, already dressed, went back into her room to finish her makeup. When she came out, the pillow had been replaced and the blankets were neatly folded on top of it. Good boy.
”Coffee?” Hawkeye asked from the kitchen, where he was pouring himself a cup.
”Thanks, I already had mine,” she said, not without a hint of scolding in her tone. She’d been up for well over an hour.
”Ah,” he said, making a face upon tasting his coffee. “That would explain why this is cold.”
”Sorry, I thought my alarm clock would be loud enough to wake you. I’ll just put it out here for you tonight, I don’t really need it.”
”Still on military time, Margaret?”
”And you’re still a layabout. Not much changes, does it?”
He raised his mug to her in acknowledgment of a point scored.
”I have to be going,” she said, setting a key on the table. “Here’s your spare, lock up on your way out, please. I’d give you a ride but we’re going opposite directions.”
”I was planning to take the bus, don’t worry about it. I don’t need to be there for a little while anyway, I might even walk.” He started rummaging about for coffee to make a fresh pot.
”It’s on the shelf there. Next one over.” She paused by the door. She was struck by how natural it felt: having him there, watching him make himself at home. In a way, it unsettled her.
“Well, see you later, and good luck.”
"Have a good day at work, Margaret," he turned and flashed a grin. Shit. She really could get used to that.