Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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finestmusebox2015-07-10 11:39 pm
finestkind) wrote in finestmusebox2015-07-10 11:39 pm
Reunion || Hawkeye & Margaret
'Excitement' wasn't necessarily the right word to describe what he was feeling - Hell, he didn't even know if there was a word that could truly capture it. Maybe fear. The closer he got to Philadelphia, the more the inevitability of a thousand conflicts internal and external sank in and the tighter Hawkeye's grip on the Volvo's steering wheel became. He was going to see Trapper again. Margaret, maybe - he certainly hoped so - and maybe B.J., too.
And then they'd return to their normal lives all over again, dispersing like ashes thrown into the wind. It was hard not to let that fact overshadow the entire weekend, although maybe he was just afraid of seeing them without the goddamn war as a backdrop.They had been defined by their context, and the faces and names were strings in the fabric of one cohesive memory, one that Hawkeye didn't even know if it would be possible to unravel.
He sighed as the words Welcome to Pennsylvania whisked past the passenger-side window. Not long at all now. What do I even say - 'why didn't you write'? 'You bastard'? He tapped the side of his thumb against the edge of the steering wheel as the city's entering traffic slowed to the usual crawl.
Well, I guess I'll figure it out when I get there. Hawkeye tried to focus on the thought of seeing Margaret and the rest of them again, summoning forth images of their smiles - the way Potter's eyes crinkled at the edges and how Houlihan's cheeks rose and her blue eyes sparkled, especially when she laughed. Hawkeye swallowed dryly, the unpleasant warmth of Pennsylvania's morning sun on his face temporarily forgotten in the memory of their goodbye. It had affirmed three years of ups and downs better than words ever could, a silent Yes, I was there, I saw it too, this really happened - but it had occurred under the premise of never facing the repercussions.
The repercussions. What did that even mean? Maybe - maybe - Margaret's (usually) half-hearted attempts at brushing off his advances had reached their natural end, given that there were no longer personas to maintain and a camp to run. Even still - what would happen now? He would never leave Maine again in his life, he refused to. He fully well panned on staying in Crabapple Cove until his dying breath, and then his body would be buried there and that was where it would stay for the rest of eternity. In the end, they'd both just go their separate ways for the second time.
Hawkeye reached for the open atlas resting on the passenger seat and studied the blue line of the highway while he still had the chance, doing his best to visualize the circled route under his index finger, then set it back down as traffic started to pick up again. His chest felt tighter and tighter as he neared the location of the designated hotel, where a room had purportedly been reserved for the occasion.
Why didn't you write? The words still echoed in his head, even over the sound of the man on the radio. It wasn't that he didn't want to see Trapper after what felt like decades - it was that he didn't know how to.
Hawkeye pulled into the parking lot of the Hyatt and removed the keys from the ignition, but he leaned back in his seat and took a moment to brace himself against the nearing tsunami of emotions before he got out. After a few seconds had passed, he took a deep breath, rested his hands on his knees, and opened the car door,stepping onto the hot black pavement and making his way to the door with a strange sense of disembodiment.
Conference Room A. He'd check in and get his room keys later, as he assumed the others (except for Margaret and Charles and Frank, probably) planned on doing, too. Hawkeye tried to steady his hand as he opened the door, and saw them all there again (for the most part). The anxiety vanished and a wide, genuine smile spread across his face. "Colonel, Radar!" No Trapper. Had he really just decided not to come? Maybe he was late.
"Hawkeye!" BJ's voice pulled him back into the immediate just as quickly as his mind had left it. Beaming, his former roommate grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into a loose embrace.
"We recently got them a pony," Hunnicutt said with an explains-all smile, "As you can imagine, they're thrilled - the kids, that is. I've never seen so much poop in my life."
Hawkeye laughed, but before he could open his mouth to reply, Potter had walked up to them with his usual swinging step, appraising him with a content look. "Glad you came, son. We were beginning to wonder if you would show up."
"You know me," Hawkeye said, canting his head to one side and plastering on a cheeky grin. "Always fashionably late."
He sighed and shook his head. "At least some things have stayed the same."
They both chuckled at that, although Hawkeye never stopped surveying the faces in the room. It was unreal to see them all here again, or at least those of them that had lived. A dim, sinking feeling grew in him as his eyes swept over the crowd, still without any sight of Trapper. A voice in the back of his head whispered, 'You didn't really think he was going to come, did you? You shouldn't be surprised.'
The majority of them had indeed turned out - even Ferret Face - and yet he hadn't seen Margaret yet, either. Hawkeye couldn't imagine that she wouldn't have come. She had to just be lost in the large party of noncoms and nurses; she'd always at least made an attempt to be friendly with them, even if they more often than not didn't seem to care much for it.
He grabbed B.J.'s attention with a light tug on the sleeve of his shirt. "Hey. Did Margaret turn out?"
"Of course she did. Have you not seen her yet?" B.J. furrowed his brows. "She probably went to the bathroom."
"Well, she has to touch up her roots somehow," Hawkeye offered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
-
There were a million and one things he wanted to say when he finally saw her face for the first time in 5 years - 'I told you we took the wrong turn', 'Be careful, Margaret. If you're any less punctual you'll be just like the rest of us' - but when the moment actually came, Hawkeye found that he had all but lost his capacity for speech.
She was as beautiful as she'd always been, yet somehow moreso, as if the tiny details of her face had slowly left his memory without his even knowing it until their sudden return. It was unreal to see her, to see any of them, in the flesh after they had existed for so long as only memories. Hawkeye crossed the room with quick strides and caught her upper arms in a firm grasp, tilting his head down to look her in the eyes with a faint smile ghosting across his lips. "Margaret. And here I thought you'd never come."
He only paused for a moment before he caught her in a tight embrace and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, splaying his fingers over the cotton of her t-shirt and pressing his lips to hers without hesitation. It had been so long, so very long, and yet somehow the memory of their mirror-image goodbye was still fresh on his mind. I missed you.
I missed you.
And then they'd return to their normal lives all over again, dispersing like ashes thrown into the wind. It was hard not to let that fact overshadow the entire weekend, although maybe he was just afraid of seeing them without the goddamn war as a backdrop.They had been defined by their context, and the faces and names were strings in the fabric of one cohesive memory, one that Hawkeye didn't even know if it would be possible to unravel.
He sighed as the words Welcome to Pennsylvania whisked past the passenger-side window. Not long at all now. What do I even say - 'why didn't you write'? 'You bastard'? He tapped the side of his thumb against the edge of the steering wheel as the city's entering traffic slowed to the usual crawl.
Well, I guess I'll figure it out when I get there. Hawkeye tried to focus on the thought of seeing Margaret and the rest of them again, summoning forth images of their smiles - the way Potter's eyes crinkled at the edges and how Houlihan's cheeks rose and her blue eyes sparkled, especially when she laughed. Hawkeye swallowed dryly, the unpleasant warmth of Pennsylvania's morning sun on his face temporarily forgotten in the memory of their goodbye. It had affirmed three years of ups and downs better than words ever could, a silent Yes, I was there, I saw it too, this really happened - but it had occurred under the premise of never facing the repercussions.
The repercussions. What did that even mean? Maybe - maybe - Margaret's (usually) half-hearted attempts at brushing off his advances had reached their natural end, given that there were no longer personas to maintain and a camp to run. Even still - what would happen now? He would never leave Maine again in his life, he refused to. He fully well panned on staying in Crabapple Cove until his dying breath, and then his body would be buried there and that was where it would stay for the rest of eternity. In the end, they'd both just go their separate ways for the second time.
Hawkeye reached for the open atlas resting on the passenger seat and studied the blue line of the highway while he still had the chance, doing his best to visualize the circled route under his index finger, then set it back down as traffic started to pick up again. His chest felt tighter and tighter as he neared the location of the designated hotel, where a room had purportedly been reserved for the occasion.
Why didn't you write? The words still echoed in his head, even over the sound of the man on the radio. It wasn't that he didn't want to see Trapper after what felt like decades - it was that he didn't know how to.
Hawkeye pulled into the parking lot of the Hyatt and removed the keys from the ignition, but he leaned back in his seat and took a moment to brace himself against the nearing tsunami of emotions before he got out. After a few seconds had passed, he took a deep breath, rested his hands on his knees, and opened the car door,stepping onto the hot black pavement and making his way to the door with a strange sense of disembodiment.
Conference Room A. He'd check in and get his room keys later, as he assumed the others (except for Margaret and Charles and Frank, probably) planned on doing, too. Hawkeye tried to steady his hand as he opened the door, and saw them all there again (for the most part). The anxiety vanished and a wide, genuine smile spread across his face. "Colonel, Radar!" No Trapper. Had he really just decided not to come? Maybe he was late.
"Hawkeye!" BJ's voice pulled him back into the immediate just as quickly as his mind had left it. Beaming, his former roommate grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into a loose embrace.
"How's Peg?" he asked a moment after he was let go of. "The kids?"
"We recently got them a pony," Hunnicutt said with an explains-all smile, "As you can imagine, they're thrilled - the kids, that is. I've never seen so much poop in my life."
Hawkeye laughed, but before he could open his mouth to reply, Potter had walked up to them with his usual swinging step, appraising him with a content look. "Glad you came, son. We were beginning to wonder if you would show up."
"You know me," Hawkeye said, canting his head to one side and plastering on a cheeky grin. "Always fashionably late."
He sighed and shook his head. "At least some things have stayed the same."
They both chuckled at that, although Hawkeye never stopped surveying the faces in the room. It was unreal to see them all here again, or at least those of them that had lived. A dim, sinking feeling grew in him as his eyes swept over the crowd, still without any sight of Trapper. A voice in the back of his head whispered, 'You didn't really think he was going to come, did you? You shouldn't be surprised.'
The majority of them had indeed turned out - even Ferret Face - and yet he hadn't seen Margaret yet, either. Hawkeye couldn't imagine that she wouldn't have come. She had to just be lost in the large party of noncoms and nurses; she'd always at least made an attempt to be friendly with them, even if they more often than not didn't seem to care much for it.
He grabbed B.J.'s attention with a light tug on the sleeve of his shirt. "Hey. Did Margaret turn out?"
"Of course she did. Have you not seen her yet?" B.J. furrowed his brows. "She probably went to the bathroom."
"Well, she has to touch up her roots somehow," Hawkeye offered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
-
There were a million and one things he wanted to say when he finally saw her face for the first time in 5 years - 'I told you we took the wrong turn', 'Be careful, Margaret. If you're any less punctual you'll be just like the rest of us' - but when the moment actually came, Hawkeye found that he had all but lost his capacity for speech.
She was as beautiful as she'd always been, yet somehow moreso, as if the tiny details of her face had slowly left his memory without his even knowing it until their sudden return. It was unreal to see her, to see any of them, in the flesh after they had existed for so long as only memories. Hawkeye crossed the room with quick strides and caught her upper arms in a firm grasp, tilting his head down to look her in the eyes with a faint smile ghosting across his lips. "Margaret. And here I thought you'd never come."
He only paused for a moment before he caught her in a tight embrace and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, splaying his fingers over the cotton of her t-shirt and pressing his lips to hers without hesitation. It had been so long, so very long, and yet somehow the memory of their mirror-image goodbye was still fresh on his mind. I missed you.
I missed you.