Well, here's the first chapter (short story) of The Shores of Maine. I
hope you enjoy it. I'll say it right now, I, sadly, have yet to see
GFA, so some of my facts are a bit wrong; please be kind. I in no way
own any of the characters that are owned by 20th Century Fox (if I
did, it wouldn't be a fanfic would it?). I wrote this out of pure
enjoyment, and I hope you read it the same way; so without further
ado, enjoy~ hopezen
November 4th 1953
Hawkeye Pierce sat in his childhood home reading the newest heart papers. The surgeon that performed his father's cardiac bypass was sharp and it him a little. He was sleepy by the middle of the first page. He hadn't slept a good night's sleep since he got back home and that was a good three months ago. He didn't like being alone; his father was still in Portland for observation and recovery. The house felt so empty and lifeless as he sat there.
It was sleeting outside; it was one of those stormy nights that the people in Crabapple Cove stayed at home enjoying a warm fire. Hawkeye wasn't one of them; there was a fire but it wasn't giving off any heat and very little light. He missed his father and the incident of brushing up on his knowledge reminded him of his friends at the 4077th.
He almost felt like calling B.J.; he hadn't talked with him for quite a while. They had a phone conversation during their first week home. His friend was so happy to be home with his wife and daughter. For Hawkeye, there wasn't that much to talk about. He was having an amazingly hard time getting back to real life. He hated the idea of going back to surgery; granted he did do tonsils, appendixes, and other things of that nature, but that was part of his dad's practice. He was doing like he said he would do, he was getting Crabapple Cove to say 'ah', and he was enjoying it as much as he could. His father was teaching him every detail. The slowness was good for him. He got to know every single person over again and better than before. B.J. on the other hand moved passed everything he had gone through in Korea. He was able to go back and be a civilian surgeon, while Hawkeye couldn't let it go.
He thought about calling him. He thought that this time might be different. He realized it wouldn't, but then the electricity went out. The fire was the only light in the house. He slammed the book shut; his nerves were on edge with the lack of sleep and thoughts of the war. The book was stressing under the pressure of his clasped hands. The wandering of his thoughts was rudely stopped by knocking at the door.
"Who the hell would be out on a night like this?" he grumped toward the foyer glad that he had an interruption.
The knocking grew louder and faster. It was beginning to get on his nerves. He threw open the heavy oak door, but nothing could have prepared him for what he found. There wasn't much light, but he could tell who it was. He was speechless. The two strangers stared at each other until she flung herself around his neck. She was holding him very tight trying to make herself whole again.
It took him a while, "Margaret?" he held her just as tight.
"Oh Hawkeye, this is the only place I could think of to go," she cried still clung to him.
She was soaked and froze to the bone. She wasn't sure whether she should even be there, but it was the only place she would feel safe. She knew Hawkeye wouldn't turn her out. He was her closest friend.
The two just stood there getting wet, having their cloths freeze together, and holding each other. It was something they both needed.
"Margaret, what are you doing here?" Hawkeye broke after a long moment, not really wanting to let it go.
"Hawkeye, it's freezing out here," she felt embarrassed saying it, but she was cold and he didn't seem to realize it.
She was wearing a simple blouse and a skirt that hung past her knees with matching blazer. She had a single small suitcase in her hands as she came inside. She was shaking from the cold, she didn't expect there to be that much difference in the climate. She moved toward the fire for warmth, though she kept her distance. They could only see mere shadows of each other in the faint light, but it's all they needed.
"Margaret, what are you doing here?" he pulled the blanket off the couch and wrapped it around her.
"Oh, God Hawkeye, I didn't know where else to go. You were always the person I could confide in," she struggled to say between gasps.
He put his arms around her. He had never seen her so scared and so upset at the same time. He held her as close to him as he possible could. It felt good to hold her again; he held her until they both fell asleep. It was the best nights sleep either of them had had in a long time. ________________________________________________________________________
Margaret was the first to wake up. She was collecting exactly what she was going to say to him. She was taking in the security his arms provided. No one had held her like that in a long time. In fact, Hawkeye was the only on that held her like that with his total truthful warmth and comfort. She could hear his heart beating; she could feel the life coming from each throb.
"Morning there," he thought that it might have been a dream. He smiled, relieved that his chin was on top of her ratty blond hair.
"You know how I said there was nowhere else I could go? Well, this is the only place I wanted to be. I had to get away, I hope you don't mind," she said the first part of it. She hadn't moved. There was only a little bit more to go.
"Margaret, you're scaring me a little here. What's wrong?" he tried to get a look at her.
"It was horrible. I felt so helpless and alone," her tears swelled up again.
"Margaret?" he was very concerned.
"He hit me Hawkeye," it took everything she had to look up to him. She had a bruise that began at the crease of her eye and down her cheek boned.
His heart broke. This woman, who had begun to mean so much to him, was broken again. First Donald Pinopscott, and now this one.
"God Margaret, what happened?" he examined it. He couldn't believe this happened to her.
"Well, Brian was a doctor at Boston General. We met. He was nice. We began going out. One night I made him dinner. Somehow we got into an argument. He got mad. He raised his hand, hit me in the face, and stood there while I sat on the floor," she was having trouble talking and crying at the same time.
"Margaret," he consoled her. He was at a loss of words. What could he say to her?
"The worst part was that he had no regret in his face. He seemed to have enjoyed it. He just left. I couldn't do anything but sit on that floor for a long time. I couldn't stay there, Hawkeye. I had to get away. You were the only person I could think of."
"You came to the right place," he said softly caressing her back and letting her cry.
He could just see her going through the same thing she did with Donald. This one may be even worse, or maybe not. Both stabbed her in the heart with two entirely different blades, but stabbed her non-the-less.
"Thank you Hawkeye," a minute later, " Hawkeye, you don't mind me being here do you?"
"Of coarse not, Margaret. Dad always taught me to never turn away a lady."
"He must have pounded that one into you," she breathed a laugh with the tears soaking her cheek.
It was good to hear her laugh. He had almost forgotten what it sounded like. "Actually, I think that was bread into me," he returned her laughing with only a smile.
"Speaking of which where is your father?"
"Oh, Dad's in Portland."
She was puzzled by his answer, but she was more troubled by him. She was in a state of emotional hell, yet he just didn't seem to be the same Hawkeye she remembered. "I thought your dad hated leaving home?"
"He does. He had to. They had to do a cardiac bypass about a week ago."
"Oh, Hawkeye, I'm sorry," she knew what his father meant to him.
"Ah, he's fine. He's up and chasing the nurses every chance he gets."
"I see it runs in the family," she wanted him to lighten up more.
"Of coarse. Nurses are quite the commodity to us Pierces."
November 4th 1953
Hawkeye Pierce sat in his childhood home reading the newest heart papers. The surgeon that performed his father's cardiac bypass was sharp and it him a little. He was sleepy by the middle of the first page. He hadn't slept a good night's sleep since he got back home and that was a good three months ago. He didn't like being alone; his father was still in Portland for observation and recovery. The house felt so empty and lifeless as he sat there.
It was sleeting outside; it was one of those stormy nights that the people in Crabapple Cove stayed at home enjoying a warm fire. Hawkeye wasn't one of them; there was a fire but it wasn't giving off any heat and very little light. He missed his father and the incident of brushing up on his knowledge reminded him of his friends at the 4077th.
He almost felt like calling B.J.; he hadn't talked with him for quite a while. They had a phone conversation during their first week home. His friend was so happy to be home with his wife and daughter. For Hawkeye, there wasn't that much to talk about. He was having an amazingly hard time getting back to real life. He hated the idea of going back to surgery; granted he did do tonsils, appendixes, and other things of that nature, but that was part of his dad's practice. He was doing like he said he would do, he was getting Crabapple Cove to say 'ah', and he was enjoying it as much as he could. His father was teaching him every detail. The slowness was good for him. He got to know every single person over again and better than before. B.J. on the other hand moved passed everything he had gone through in Korea. He was able to go back and be a civilian surgeon, while Hawkeye couldn't let it go.
He thought about calling him. He thought that this time might be different. He realized it wouldn't, but then the electricity went out. The fire was the only light in the house. He slammed the book shut; his nerves were on edge with the lack of sleep and thoughts of the war. The book was stressing under the pressure of his clasped hands. The wandering of his thoughts was rudely stopped by knocking at the door.
"Who the hell would be out on a night like this?" he grumped toward the foyer glad that he had an interruption.
The knocking grew louder and faster. It was beginning to get on his nerves. He threw open the heavy oak door, but nothing could have prepared him for what he found. There wasn't much light, but he could tell who it was. He was speechless. The two strangers stared at each other until she flung herself around his neck. She was holding him very tight trying to make herself whole again.
It took him a while, "Margaret?" he held her just as tight.
"Oh Hawkeye, this is the only place I could think of to go," she cried still clung to him.
She was soaked and froze to the bone. She wasn't sure whether she should even be there, but it was the only place she would feel safe. She knew Hawkeye wouldn't turn her out. He was her closest friend.
The two just stood there getting wet, having their cloths freeze together, and holding each other. It was something they both needed.
"Margaret, what are you doing here?" Hawkeye broke after a long moment, not really wanting to let it go.
"Hawkeye, it's freezing out here," she felt embarrassed saying it, but she was cold and he didn't seem to realize it.
She was wearing a simple blouse and a skirt that hung past her knees with matching blazer. She had a single small suitcase in her hands as she came inside. She was shaking from the cold, she didn't expect there to be that much difference in the climate. She moved toward the fire for warmth, though she kept her distance. They could only see mere shadows of each other in the faint light, but it's all they needed.
"Margaret, what are you doing here?" he pulled the blanket off the couch and wrapped it around her.
"Oh, God Hawkeye, I didn't know where else to go. You were always the person I could confide in," she struggled to say between gasps.
He put his arms around her. He had never seen her so scared and so upset at the same time. He held her as close to him as he possible could. It felt good to hold her again; he held her until they both fell asleep. It was the best nights sleep either of them had had in a long time. ________________________________________________________________________
Margaret was the first to wake up. She was collecting exactly what she was going to say to him. She was taking in the security his arms provided. No one had held her like that in a long time. In fact, Hawkeye was the only on that held her like that with his total truthful warmth and comfort. She could hear his heart beating; she could feel the life coming from each throb.
"Morning there," he thought that it might have been a dream. He smiled, relieved that his chin was on top of her ratty blond hair.
"You know how I said there was nowhere else I could go? Well, this is the only place I wanted to be. I had to get away, I hope you don't mind," she said the first part of it. She hadn't moved. There was only a little bit more to go.
"Margaret, you're scaring me a little here. What's wrong?" he tried to get a look at her.
"It was horrible. I felt so helpless and alone," her tears swelled up again.
"Margaret?" he was very concerned.
"He hit me Hawkeye," it took everything she had to look up to him. She had a bruise that began at the crease of her eye and down her cheek boned.
His heart broke. This woman, who had begun to mean so much to him, was broken again. First Donald Pinopscott, and now this one.
"God Margaret, what happened?" he examined it. He couldn't believe this happened to her.
"Well, Brian was a doctor at Boston General. We met. He was nice. We began going out. One night I made him dinner. Somehow we got into an argument. He got mad. He raised his hand, hit me in the face, and stood there while I sat on the floor," she was having trouble talking and crying at the same time.
"Margaret," he consoled her. He was at a loss of words. What could he say to her?
"The worst part was that he had no regret in his face. He seemed to have enjoyed it. He just left. I couldn't do anything but sit on that floor for a long time. I couldn't stay there, Hawkeye. I had to get away. You were the only person I could think of."
"You came to the right place," he said softly caressing her back and letting her cry.
He could just see her going through the same thing she did with Donald. This one may be even worse, or maybe not. Both stabbed her in the heart with two entirely different blades, but stabbed her non-the-less.
"Thank you Hawkeye," a minute later, " Hawkeye, you don't mind me being here do you?"
"Of coarse not, Margaret. Dad always taught me to never turn away a lady."
"He must have pounded that one into you," she breathed a laugh with the tears soaking her cheek.
It was good to hear her laugh. He had almost forgotten what it sounded like. "Actually, I think that was bread into me," he returned her laughing with only a smile.
"Speaking of which where is your father?"
"Oh, Dad's in Portland."
She was puzzled by his answer, but she was more troubled by him. She was in a state of emotional hell, yet he just didn't seem to be the same Hawkeye she remembered. "I thought your dad hated leaving home?"
"He does. He had to. They had to do a cardiac bypass about a week ago."
"Oh, Hawkeye, I'm sorry," she knew what his father meant to him.
"Ah, he's fine. He's up and chasing the nurses every chance he gets."
"I see it runs in the family," she wanted him to lighten up more.
"Of coarse. Nurses are quite the commodity to us Pierces."