Same Time Next Year

~.~

1954

It started out innocently enough.

He was speaking at a medical conference in Boston, eight months after his return to the States. His topic: the fine art of improv surgery and how the lessons learned in a MASH unit could be applied in civilian operating rooms. Not his usual sort of thing, country doc that he was trying to be, but Sidney Freedman had very nearly insisted upon it, and he'd learned long ago that when Sidney thought he should do something, it was probably in his best interest to shut up and do it.

He didn't know she was going to be there, but there she most certainly was, dressed in a low-cut black cocktail dress and high heels that had her legs going on for miles. Suddenly as dry as a desert, he knocked back most of his drink without taking his eyes off her. From the astonished look on her face when she eventually spotted him from across the room, their inadvertent reunion was just as much a surprise to her as it was to him. From the smug look on Sidney's, as he wandered off claiming a sudden desire to wash his hair, this was the plan all along.

Her walk across the reception room was pure vintage 'Major Margaret Houlihan, Head Nurse', and every male eye in the room was trained on her as she approached him. He rose from his chair when she was just feet away, fighting the grin that threatened to break his face in half with its enthusiasm. His arms itched to pull her to him and so he thrust his hands into his pockets. Better to look impertinent than overeager.

When she walked right by him while looking resolutely in the other direction, his jaw dropped to the floor. She didn't slow down, didn't even acknowledge his existence, just continued on her way until she disappeared out the door of the reception room and into the hotel lobby beyond.

After recovering from his initial shock, he bolted from the room, dodging tables and inebriated doctors to find her standing by the elevators, foot tapping, eyes trained on the floor indicator above the firmly shut doors.

"Margaret, what the hell's the matter with you?" he asked as he came to stand beside her. The sadness and bewilderment in his tone softened what could have been angry words.

"I'm sorry, Doctor. I didn't see you there." Her voice was monotone, but her frantically darting eyes and fidgeting extremities belied the composure she was trying to project.

"Didn't see me? Our eyes met across a crowded cliché! Oh, you saw me, Margaret."

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open, but he grabbed her arm before she could enter. "Margaret, please. Tell me what's wrong."

At the moment of contact, her fragile façade of self-control fell completely away. Shaking off his grasp, she turned to face him, her normally husky voice shrill and shrieky in the way it always got when powerful emotion took control of her. "Why am I here, Pierce? Why did you and Sidney have to go and mess everything up? The way we ended things in Korea, that kiss… It was perfect. We won't work in the real world. You said it yourself! Why'd you have to go and do this, Hawk? Why?"

He winced at the raw pain in her voice, but held his ground. "Margaret, we've both been had. I didn't know you were going to be here either, I swear! I don't know what the hell Sidney thought he was doing because I agree with you, damn it! It was the perfect goodbye, the perfect ending to our almost relationship. Until five minutes ago, I fully expected to never see you again."

And he really hadn't. It wasn't as though he hadn't thought about looking her up. All the boy-girl stuff aside, they'd been friends. The best kind of friends and he'd missed her like hell, enough that he'd had her number written down on a pad beside his phone for the last six months. So why hadn't he called? Well, because that brought all the boy-girl stuff back into the equation and then things got complicated. And no one did complicated better than him and Margaret. Though he had to admit, right about now he was having trouble remembering why exactly that was a bad thing.

"But, you know what?" he continued. "We're here now. So…can I buy you a drink? This is a classy joint; I understand the martinis contain actual vermouth. Whaddya say?" He gestured toward the room holding the reception.

She shook her head violently back and forth, tears shining in her eyes, but not yet falling. "I can't, I just can't," she whispered.

Reaching out, he held her head steady between his two hands. "Margaret, please. I've missed you. And anyway, don't you think two heads are better than one? As far as coming up with a way to reupholster Sidney's couch, I mean."

He could see the internal struggle playing out in her beautiful blue eyes. Trying to help her along, he added, "Look, Margaret. I don't know what kind of arrangement you've got with Sidney that enabled him to set this up, but I do know what kind I've got. Have you ever known him to do anything that might harm a patient?"

She blinked a couple of times, considering. Bringing her hands up to clasp his and pulling them down from her head, she surrendered, a smile spreading across her face. "No, I guess not. But that doesn't mean we let him get away with this little subterfuge."

"Of course not! He'll rue the day he decided to reunite Margaret the Menace and Hawkeye the Horrid. I almost feel sorry for him." With a flourish, he indicated the way back to the reception. "After you, my darling co-conspirator."

She walked ahead of him for a few steps before stopping and looking back at him over her shoulder. "I missed you too, Pierce," she said, shrugging. "A little."

"A little, she says. A little." He shook his head and followed.

Fifteen minutes after sitting down at a table in the reception, they forgot all about taking revenge on their mutual friend and psychiatrist.

An hour after that they were in bed.

His talk went as well as could be expected, given how little time he'd spent preparing. Add to that, his lack of sleep and general giddiness over the night before, and a heckler in the form of some idiot who'd sat out the war 4-F, and all in all, he doubted he'd be invited back next year. At least he'd managed to open a few people's eyes about what had really gone on in Korea.

Margaret's seminar was going much better, he thought as he listened from his spot at the back of the room. It was only to be expected though, as not only had she actually written her speech down, but she really was born for this type of thing, despite her protests to the contrary. She commanded attention from everyone in the room with her clear, confident voice and succinct gestures. He was reminded of a time in Colonel Potter's office: Margaret pacing the floor, calmly lecturing the four doctors in the room on the progression of hemorrhagic fever. She'd be an incredible teacher.

After catching her eye and giving her an exaggerated wink and thumbs up, he ducked out of the conference leaving her to her to answer questions from the attendees. She'd warned him ahead of time that the type of queries he would come up with would not be welcome and he didn't want to spoil his chances for another night like the previous one. It was best if he removed himself from the temptation.

He considered and rejected waiting for her in the hotel bar; the siren call of the bed in his hotel room was too strong to resist. First, a nap. Then, when Margaret came knocking, they could carry on with making up for lost time without losing any more of it.

He dreamt of Korea.

The generator must have gone out again because it was pitch dark in the OR and he couldn't find his way to his patient. The poor kid was crying out in pain, begging for someone to help him. 'I'm coming, I'm trying to find you,' he called, walking with his hands out, trying to feel his way around. Nothing was where he remembered it being. The room was the wrong size; the wrong shape. He kept bumping into things, strange, out of place things: the piano from the Officer's Club, a jeep, his still. Out of the darkness, a hand landed on his shoulder and he whirled around to find Margaret, gowned and masked, holding a lantern. 'This way, Doctor,' she said. 'I'll help you find him.' She held out her gloved hand and he reached for it, knowing everything would be fine now. But then the shelling started and Margaret screamed.

He woke up with a start, disoriented and anxious, knowing he wasn't in the Swamp, but not quite sure where exactly he was. When he opened his eyes, the room was dark. Sitting up, he reached over and turned on a lamp with one hand while checking his watch with the other. It was late. He tried to tell himself it was just the remnants of a bad dream causing the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, but his stomach didn't buy it. Neither did his brain. Something was wrong. Margaret should have woken him up hours ago.

He knew even before he saw the note lying on the floor just inside the door. He knew she was gone.

Hawkeye,

I'm sorry to run out on you like this. I couldn't take the chance that you'd try to convince me to stay. I couldn't take the chance that you wouldn't. When you said so long ago that we were too different to be together, you were right. I know that. But I can't imagine living the rest of my life without ever seeing you again. This conference is held here in this hotel every year. If you want to see me again, be here next year.

Love,

Margaret