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mash_slashTitle: Watching You
Pairing: Charles/Margaret
Rating: E
Disclaimer: I don’t own MASH
Author’s Notes: This is my absolute favourite C/M story I have written so far. I’m very, very proud of it!
Summary: Margaret has always watched Charles, but she never had the courage to voice her true feelings, now it appears to be too late.
Pairing: Charles/Margaret
Rating: E
Disclaimer: I don’t own MASH
Author’s Notes: This is my absolute favourite C/M story I have written so far. I’m very, very proud of it!
Summary: Margaret has always watched Charles, but she never had the courage to voice her true feelings, now it appears to be too late.
She always loved to watch him perform surgery. The way his long surgeon’s fingers delicately pieced together the frail body before him; the precise way in which his instruments had to be laid out on the tray.
She loved the way his eyes, a brilliant blue, lit up when he completed a successful operation; the way he would wipe the sweat from his brow after a 24 hour haul in surgery.
She loved to watch him in the Mess Tent, usually seated between Hunnicutt and Klinger. The way he would take small, aristocratic bites of his ‘food’; the way he would try to hide his smirk when Pierce and Hunnicutt exchanged their witty banter.
But most of all, Margaret loved to watch Charles when he was in the Swamp, relaxing to Mozart or Beethoven or Shostakovich. The way he would lean back in the flimsy wooden chair, legs resting on his cot. The way he silently and gracefully conducted the symphonies and concertos with his arms; the way that contented smile would manage to creep onto his rounded face and remain, long after the record stopped spinning.
Many times Margaret had wanted to be the cause of that smile. Many times she had wanted to be enveloped in the Major’s comforting embrace. Many times she had wanted to subtly hint towards her true feelings, but always Margaret would lose her nerve.
And all of a sudden she lost her chance. Margaret boarded the jeep that would take her to the 8063rd. She looked into the faces of the men that had been her world for the past three years. Charles’s gaze lingered when he handed her Sonnets of the Portuguese.
As the jeep took off, leaving her past, her family, behind, she reread the note he left in that book.
Dearest Margaret,
I love you.
Charles
END
She loved the way his eyes, a brilliant blue, lit up when he completed a successful operation; the way he would wipe the sweat from his brow after a 24 hour haul in surgery.
She loved to watch him in the Mess Tent, usually seated between Hunnicutt and Klinger. The way he would take small, aristocratic bites of his ‘food’; the way he would try to hide his smirk when Pierce and Hunnicutt exchanged their witty banter.
But most of all, Margaret loved to watch Charles when he was in the Swamp, relaxing to Mozart or Beethoven or Shostakovich. The way he would lean back in the flimsy wooden chair, legs resting on his cot. The way he silently and gracefully conducted the symphonies and concertos with his arms; the way that contented smile would manage to creep onto his rounded face and remain, long after the record stopped spinning.
Many times Margaret had wanted to be the cause of that smile. Many times she had wanted to be enveloped in the Major’s comforting embrace. Many times she had wanted to subtly hint towards her true feelings, but always Margaret would lose her nerve.
And all of a sudden she lost her chance. Margaret boarded the jeep that would take her to the 8063rd. She looked into the faces of the men that had been her world for the past three years. Charles’s gaze lingered when he handed her Sonnets of the Portuguese.
As the jeep took off, leaving her past, her family, behind, she reread the note he left in that book.
Dearest Margaret,
I love you.
Charles
END
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