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Infatuation	By : Ridgley-Warfield Category: M through R > MASH > MASH Views: 2024 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own MASH or the characters. I make no profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
Title: Infatuation
Characters: Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce/ Father John Patrick "Dago Red" Mulcahy
Rating: M for Sexual Content/Language
Summary: There's a difference between seeing someone and noticing them.
Author's Note: Based on the characters from the movie. This is Mulcahy's POV. Please ignore any typos. I don't always catch them all. Thanks for reading.

The nightmares from that incident in the aid station started that first night we were back in the camp and plagued me for several days. Mostly it was just a replay of the shelling, but then it progressed to vivid imagery of the boy in the jeep when the mortar fell on him, or the aid doctor when he was hit by shrapnel. Most of the time I would wake up before the dreams got too gruesome, but it would still be the middle of the night and I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep.
I'm typically pretty good about hiding my sleeplessness from others; it's not hard for me to always be ready with a smile or a kind word, as those are the armaments I carry every day, but I knew by the 4th day I was starting to look as worn-out as I felt. Hawkeye, naturally, was the first to pick up on it.
"You look tired today, Dago," he commented casually over breakfast, but I could hear the note of concern in his voice.
"Hmm?" I hadn't been paying attention to the conversation around me, so the mention of my name broke me out of my thought-deprived stupor, but his words circled back around quickly. "Oh, I'm okay. I just haven't been sleeping too well the last few nights."
"Why not?" Duke asked, blowing on his coffee.
I didn't really want to go into it, but several pairs of eyes were looking at me curiously. "Just…bad dreams."
"We could give you something that'll knock you out," Trapper recommended. "If you do dream, you won't even know it."
"Thanks, but I'll be alright."
"You know, Father, I'm still here for another day if you want to talk," Sidney Freedman offered.
"Thank you, Sidney; I'll think about it."
"What are the dreams about?" Duke asked like a needling child.
"I'd rather not talk about it right now," I answered.
Hawkeye was the only one who hadn't said anything, but his hand had fallen to my knee under the table and he was gently squeezing it in understanding. I wandered if he ever had nightmares, but I seriously doubted it. Hawkeye seemed like the kind of person who could walk through fire and not get burned. While I knew the experience had shaken him, he didn't look as though he was losing sleep like I had been.
After breakfast, Duke, Trapper, Painless and Bandini all took Sidney over to Painless' tent to continue their never-ending poker game, but Hawkeye was due in post-op for duty, so I walked with him, needing to visit with the patients myself.
"Is there anything I can do about the nightmares?" He asked softly as we leisurely crossed the compound.
"No," I answered with a sigh. "They'll pass; it'll just take time."
"You know you can come wake me up if you need to, baby. I'll come and stay with you for a while."
"I appreciate it, Hawkeye; but I'll be fine, really. They're not really terrifying so much as they are gruesome. Horribly graphic."
He put an arm across my shoulder in a manner that would appear as nothing more than friendly to any onlookers. "If they get too bad…"
"I'll let you know, I promise."
He squeezed the back of my neck lovingly, then let go as we reached post-op and he wandered off to check the log left by the last doctor on duty. Most of the patients were awake, so I made my way around post-op greeting them with my usual smile as I inquired about how they were doing and generally making small talk. If anyone noticed the smile didn't quite reach my eyes that morning, no one said anything.
After my rounds had been made, I went back to my tent and hung my confessional sign to signify that I was available to the camp personnel. Two people stopped by nearly back to back—one of the enlisted men, and one of the nurses—but then a couple of hours passed without interruption, in which I read my Bible.
The next knock at my door was Sidney Freedman, who smiled kindly as he came into my tent.
"I hope I'm not interrupting, Father."
"Not at all, Sidney. Please, have a seat." I indicated the open chair and he sat, crossing his long, spindly legs. "What can I do for you?"
"Actually, John, I came to see what I could do for you." He was looking at me with large brown eyes that had a way of making you feel like an old friend rather than someone he was trying to counsel.
"Oh, really Sidney, don't trouble yourself. I'll be fine."
"I heard about the little adventure you and Hawkeye had at the aid station, it must have been frightening."
Even though I knew what he was doing, the tactic still succeeded in getting me to talk. "I keep trying to tell myself I've been through worse, and I've seen worse, but—yes—it was pretty terrifying."
"Worse?"
I found myself telling Sidney about Tibet and my imprisonment, the horrors I'd witnessed to others and the torture I, myself, had endured. He listened with genuine intrigue without interrupting, simply allowing me to share my experience with him. Though I'd told the story to Hawkeye not too long ago, sharing it with Sidney was somehow different. Maybe it was the distinction that Sidney was a psychiatrist, and Hawkeye was just a lover and a friend. Sidney's opinion and comments would be based on his professional experience, whereas Hawkeye's reaction had been based solely on his personal feelings for me.
"You were imprisoned in Tibet for 2 months. How did you survive that, John?"
"By the grace of God." I shook my head softly as I remembered sitting in the filthy cesspool of rainwater that had flooded the cell. "There were times where I had felt almost catatonic, beyond even the fear of losing my mind. I don't know if I would ever lose consciousness or not, but I remember I'd be sitting in that cell one minute, and the next I would be restrained somewhere while they tried to torture me. It was in those moments of clarity, when fear and pain kicked back in that I would start screaming again. I seemed to cycle between those two extreme states of being—completely unaware and completely aware."
"After your release, what happened?"
"I was a wreck," I admitted. "I felt almost like a feral animal, not quite human. I didn't want to be around anyone, I didn't want to do anything, when I slept I relived the experience in my dreams. I would be screaming in my sleep and my brother—whom I was staying with at the time—would come in to try and wake me up and calm me down, but I would think he was one of the guards and I would try to fight him."
"That sounds very terrifying. How were you able to overcome all of that?"
"Mostly I relied on my faith to get me through, even though I was so angry at God for what I'd been through. I really had to pick apart the experience and try to find some meaning to it. I think it helped that I'm a fairly deep thinker anyways. I didn't get over it overnight, of course, but in time I came to an epiphany of sorts. I thought about Jesus and the crucifixion. I knew that if He could endure what He did, to die and be raised from the dead as a sacrifice for my sins, then I could learn to cope with my experience in Tibet. Rather than think of it as a burden in my life, I tried to think of it as a blessing. It helped me understand the kinds of suffering that people endure all over the world, and that fortified my compassion for all people, regardless of their faith. I used that to strengthen my beliefs rather than weaken them."
"How were you able to do that?"
I considered the question thoughtfully for a long moment, but I really didn't know how I had done it. "It was just a process I went through that took time."
"Did those nightmares eventually stop?"
"For the most part, yes. Every so often they'll resurface, but they don't send me into a panic like they used to."
"I understand you were recently wounded by a North Korean soldier who came through the camp."
"Yeah, apparently he'd stashed a knife on him and pulled it on one of our nurses. I happened to see it and pushed her out of the way, but in the struggle, he managed to stab me right in the side. It really didn't seem that serious when it happened, and I told Hawkeye to worry about the other wounded first, but he insisted on seeing to me. I ended up in surgery with a hole in my intestines. The fact that I had to be put under for surgery kind of woke me up to the seriousness of it. I was worried that I would probably have nightmares about that, but I didn't."
"No?"
"No, which is surprising. Typically violent situations—not that I've been through that many—stick with me in my dreams for about a week or two."
"What makes the dreams stop?"
"I really don't know, Sidney."
"How have you been coping with these recent nightmares, John?"
"Whenever I wake up, I usually just try and focus my thoughts on something else—prayer, meditation, reading. It's not 100% successful, but it helps. I just can't go back to sleep after that, which is why I'm tired. I've been getting about 4, maybe 5, hours of sleep each night."
"What happens when you try to go back to sleep?"
"I just keep seeing it in my mind. I didn't actually see the boy in the jeep get killed, and I didn't actually see the aid doctor die either, but we were all just right there together. I saw the aftermath of it…which, trust me, was enough."
"I don't doubt that." Sidney paused, looking at me with his steady gaze. "When you meditate, what do you think about?"
"I try not to think of anything. The Buddhist monks in Tibet taught me how to truly meditate—to empty my mind completely and simply focus on my breath and the flow of energy through my body."
"So, when you were coping with the nightmares from your imprisonment, you tried to find meaning in the experience. Have you tried to do the same for this recent experience?"
"No…" I admitted. I hadn't considered that there was a meaning to what happened at the aid station. It had just seemed like senseless death to me.
"If you will, I'd like you to think of your experiences as a river and you're standing in the middle of that river. You can feel the water current pushing against you, and even though you know you can't control which way the water is flowing, you're trying with all your might to force it in the opposite direction." He paused, letting me visualize the image. "How long do you think you'd be able to stand there in the current, trying to force it the other way?"
"Probably not very long."
"Exactly. You'd exhaust yourself and probably end up drowning… There are things that we would all like to change in our lives, but we have to accept the bad things in life as much as we do the good things. When we do, we're not so much acting as a dam in the river, but more as an object that will divert the river into a new channel. Just as you diverted the river of your imprisonment into strength and compassion, you can divert the river of the aid station into something similar."
I took a deep breath as I considered Sidney's words.
"Tell me what you're thinking right now, John."
"I'm just trying to think of how to accept what happened. The death there was just so…unnecessary."
"You know, August Strindberg once said 'Death doesn't bargain.' I've always felt that statement fit the conditions of war; what do you think?"
The statement had a profound impact on me. It simply made perfect sense in the situation. War was a part of human nature, death was a natural consequence of that. Yes, the way those two men died seemed unreasonable to me, but I could no more stop it from happening than I could change the flow of Sidney's imaginary river. I couldn't bargain with the circumstances of their death.
"You remember what I said the other day about survivor's guilt?"
I nodded.
"Constantly reliving the situation is another manifestation of the symptoms, as is thinking of alternate possibilities. I like to call them the 'what if's' and 'if only's' How many times have you thought that it could have happened to you and Hawkeye?"
"Countless. We both have."
"That's a nature progression of the thought process for people who survive a traumatic experience in which others have perished. We sometimes try to reason it away, or we say we just got lucky, but you're a man of faith, John…what does your faith tell you about your survival of that encounter?"
"That it wasn't my time," I answered almost automatically. "That my purpose on Earth has not been fulfilled. There's still work to be done."
"Can the same be said about two men who didn't make it? That maybe their time had come? They had fulfilled their purpose, so God called them home?"
"You're very good, Sidney." I told him, laughing softly as I shook my head in amazement that he had helped me see the light, so to speak.
He smiled, "I didn't do anything, John. All I did was ask questions."
We sat in silence for a long minute and I felt a strong urge to tell him about Hawkeye. While I didn't think it was anyone else's business, it always helped to have a sounding board for my thoughts. Hawkeye was great to talk to, especially since he was involved in the whole thing, but his opinion was biased and he never seemed to accept the fact that I struggled spiritually with it. His stance was to forget about the Word of God, to thumb my nose at it, and just do as I pleased. I'd found middle ground in not thinking about it all together, but part of me still needed to talk about it with someone else. Someone without a bias, and who could respect my spiritual beliefs, and hopefully not rat me out to the army or the Church.
"There's something else on your mind," Sidney interrupted my thoughts. "I know that look."
I felt somewhat sick to my stomach as I tried to consider how to approach to topic, and whether or not I even should. "Sidney, can I ask you a personal question?"
"Shoot."
"You're Jewish, yes?"
"I am."
"I'm having a bit of a…crisis in regards to another area of my life. I know you're not a spiritual counselor, but would it be alright if I talk to you about it?"
"Sure, John. I have to warn you I don't know anything about Catholicism, but I'd be glad to listen and try to help."
"I don't want to get into specifics, mainly because it's a situation I shouldn't be involved in on any level, but…well…how do I put this…." I chewed on my thumbnail for a minute as I tried to find the words. Finally, I just decided to be as direct as possible. "I've become sexually involved with someone in this camp."
He seemed wholly surprised, and rightfully so.
"I'm not sure if you know or not, but priests are required to take vows of celibacy. Obviously, I've broken that vow, which if the Church found out would mean a world of trouble. However, this isn't the first time I have broken that vow. There was someone in my past I was involved with as well. What bothers me now is that…gee, I didn't think it would be this hard to talk about."
"It's okay, take your time." Sidney said gently.
"Well…I truly love this person, but…" I sighed and dropped my face into my hands.
"They're married?" He ventured.
I nodded, completely ashamed. "It's bad enough that I've broken my vows as a priest, but I'm also breaking several Commandments, and so many other sacred laws…"
Sidney was quiet for a long moment and I couldn't look up at him, afraid to see the look on his face. Finally he spoke, very quietly. "John, can I ask you a personal question? And, don't worry, this is all off the record."
My stomach was churning and I was regretting having eggs for breakfast as I looked up at him, waiting for the question.
"This person you love…I'm guessing it is a man?"
I looked away, my face burning in shame. "Yes…" I whispered.
"It's okay, John. There is no judgment in here. I understand how you must be feeling right now—confused, conflicted…"
"Embarrassed, ashamed…" I added.
"I can't speak for God, or your Church, John, but I can speak from my personal and professional experience. No one ever asks to find themselves in situations like these, it just happens. I've never told anyone this before, but my sister is involved in a relationship with another woman."
I wasn't sure if I was relieved by that revelation or not, but it did help to know that he had personal experience with this matter. "Does loving another man make me a homosexual, Sidney?"
"You know, a good friend of mine has done a lot of research on sexuality(1), he published a book a few years ago about a study he did to find out what kind of sexual encounters men have had, and what he found was that there was wasn't just exclusively heterosexual men or exclusively homosexual men, there were varying degrees of both."
I looked at him, surprised by that information, and I found him looking at me like he was reading a book.
"I'm going to go out a limb here, John, and guess that this mystery person we're talking about is Hawkeye Pierce?"
I felt like a fish out of water, my mouth opening and closing in shock as I tried to speak without any words.
He laughed softly, "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."
"How did you know?"
"When I was playing poker earlier, I was trying to get a feel for what had been happening around here recently before I came and talked to you. Your name and Hawkeye's were almost always mentioned together. It struck me as odd, seeing as how the last time I was here the two of you weren't even friends. The other day when he left post-op, you went after him, and this morning at breakfast he seemed unusually concerned about you. I didn't piece it together until just now, though."
"Do you think anyone else knows?"
"Not very likely, but I hope that you and Hawkeye are being discreet in whatever it is that you're doing. If you are reported, it will get you both discharged from the army."
"I know," I sighed. "And I'd be excommunicated."
"Have you and Hawkeye talked about your feelings for each other?"
"Ad naseum, yes. Neither of us have any idea about what to do. He feels as strongly for me as I do for him, but we both know he can't leave his wife and children; and he doesn't want to—nor do I want him to—but…we still both want to be together somehow. It's very confusing, Sidney."
"Understandably so. Only the two of you can find the right answer, John. There are serious factors to consider—like Hawkeye's wife and children, and your spiritual beliefs—but those are both personal issues that each of you must deal with on your own. You know, even I have personal issues that seem to go against the grain of my religious upbringing, so I know how you feel when it comes to a situation you've been taught is wrong or immoral. I don't know about the Catholics, but Jews don't believe there is any heresy in questioning traditions and the writings of the sages. Well, a large percentage of Jews anyways. There are even some, myself included, who believe that religious truths are not absolute."
"I believe that God's word is absolute, but I also believe that I will be forgiven. The Bible teaches us that we will endure trials that will test our faith. This has certainly tested my faith, and while I may have failed in the area of temptation, I have not lost sight of God."
"Do you think it's your personal feelings or your religious beliefs that make you feel shame over your relationship?"
"I'm not sure there's a distinction between the two."
"Of course there is. Tell me how John Mulcahy feels about this relationship with Hawkeye Pierce, not how Father Mulcahy feels."
I sighed as I tried to seriously consider his question.
He laughed softly, "You're over-analyzing this, John; let me phrase it another way: tell me the positive feelings you associate with this relationship."
That I could do. "Happiness, friendship, love, trust, desire, excitement…"
"See how much easier that was," he said with a wink. "Now tell the negative feelings you associate with it. You've already said embarrassment and shame, what else?"
"Doubt…frustration…despair…anxiety…fear…helplessness."
"It took you longer to identify the negative feelings…why do you think that is?"
"I really don't know. I guess because the negatives just feel just like one oppressive cloud and the positives are more euphoric."
"Do you hear the differences in the way you describe the good and bad feelings, John? 'Oppressive cloud' versus 'Euphoric.' Shame and guilt are sister emotions that come from a very primitive way of thinking. Everyone struggles with these, so you're certainly not alone, but we tend to feel guilt for what we do and shame for what we are. For instance, when we lie to our mother about taking the cookie from the cookie jar, we feel guilty because we've lied. We feel shame because we're not the honest person our mother wants us to be. For a man in your position—a priest—you feel guilty for engaging in sexuality activities you've been told are wrong and have taken vows for, but you feel ashamed because of the ideas you have of who God expects you to be."
"So how do I get passed the negative feelings?"
"Sounds to me like you already answered that a few minutes ago."
I looked at him curiously.
"Because you believe you'll be forgiven." He said.
I felt like all the pieces of the puzzle suddenly locked into place and the picture became crystal clear to me. Guilt and shame were my own crosses to bear, but I felt them because I was deceiving others by engaging in this relationship, and because I knew I wasn't living up to God's expectation for me. I knew I couldn't hide my sins from God, and that's what really mattered to me. The Church was just the middle man in the equation; my earthly keeper, as it were. While I did owe them a certain degree of loyalty, and it was my duty never to lead any of His flock astray, ultimately I felt that they had no business knowing of my bedroom affairs. I answered to God, and God alone. The Pope could excommunicate me, fire me, make an example of me, but he could not judge me.
I realized then that I knew what I wanted from this relationship and I felt another emotion slowly creeping in…. Hope. I released a heavy sigh, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Sidney seemed to notice and he laughed softly.
"Boy, that look like it felt good."
I laughed as well. "It did. Thank you, Sidney…really. I can't begin to tell you how much clarity you've given me."
"You're the one that did all the work. I just asked the questions." He reiterated.
"Yeah, but you asked the right questions. Even I know that's half the battle."
He laughed. "Touché. What else I can I help you with?"
"I think you've exhausted my mental faculties for the day."
"Well, I guess I'll stop monopolizing your time and go check on Corporal Goldberg." We both stood and he walked towards the door before turning back towards me. "Don't worry, John. Even though everything was off the record in here, I'll still keep what we've said confidential. I consider you and Hawkeye both to be good friends of mine, and it doesn't matter to me what you guys do on your own time together."
"Thanks, Sidney."
He gave me a smile and nod, and pushed the door open, whistling a tune as he walked away. I felt completely rejuvenated by my talk with Sidney, and glad that I had opened up to him.
As I went to lunch, I sat with Trapper, Duke, Sidney and Painless—Hawkeye was still on duty for another 3 hours—and idly listened to their chatter about the poker game and how Duke had tried to write the words of the Stars and Stripes with his urine in the snow in front of the flagpole, and Sidney's professional opinion of just what was wrong with Duke. My thoughts, though, were mostly stuck on a verse from Hebrews: Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. While I didn't think Sidney was an angel, I did feel that his presence here was a Godsend. I felt the inspiration for my next sermon in those thoughts and I quickly excused myself from the others to go and jot it down before the idea left me.
I was busy looking up scripture when the door to my tent swung up and Hawkeye dramatically entered with his hands over his heart, crooning absurdly, "I'm wild again, beguiled again; a simpering, whimpering child again. Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered—am I."
I tried not to let my amusement show as he came and laid himself across my desk, covering my notes and Bible with is body, and pushing his glasses up on his head to bat his eyelashes at me.
"Pardon me, Ms. Fitzgerald, but you're laying on Sunday's sermon." I mused.
He grinned but leaned forward and kissed me before pushing himself back up. "How ya doin', babe?"
"Better," I smiled. "I had quite the talk with Sidney earlier."
"Oh? Did you tell him about…you know…us?" He asked, somewhat nervously.
"Well…he, kind of…guessed."
"Guessed?" Hawkeye asked in surprise, his eyebrows nearly meeting his hairline.
"Don't ask me how, but he said he doubts anyone else suspects anything, and he said it makes no difference to him, really."
"You don't think he's going to go to Henry, do you?"
"No. He said it wouldn't go any further than him, but that we should be careful so they don't discharge us, which we already knew."
He pushed himself up so that he was sitting on the edge of my desk, looking down at me. "So what'd he say? What'd you guys talk about?"
"Mainly about how I feel and the spiritual side of it. I felt really clear-minded after we finished talking. It was like everything just clicked into place." I paused and thought for a second. "I think maybe for the first time in a very long time, I started to see the man first and the priest second."
He smiled softly. "That's good, yeah?"
"Very good," I laughed. "Look, I'm just about done with this, how about we meet up for dinner and later tonight I can tell you more about my conversation with Sidney. It might do you some good to talk to him, too, you know?"
"Oh no, I'm not letting him shrink my head. You've done enough voodoo on me, Dago Red Mulcahy." He was teasing and I smiled, shaking my head and shooing him off my desk.
"Well, then go find something else to entertain yourself with and let me finish my sermon."
"Trying to get rid of me already, huh?"
"Absolutely." I looked up at him as he leaned over and kissed me gently, brushing his nose against mine.
"See ya, babe."
I watched him leave, then returned to my work, eager to finish so that I could spend some time with him later.
Dinner was another loud affair, as the guys pestered Sidney about his profession and the weirdest things he'd seen. After that, we all went for a few rounds of poker and beer. Typically, when Hawkeye and I wanted to get away from whatever was going on, we'd make eye contact and give a little nod. I usually slipped out first, as most people bought that I had a drinking and gambling limit, but tonight it was Hawkeye who made an excuse and left first. I caught Sidney looking at me as Hawkeye left, smiling knowingly and I blushed, quickly looking back at the cards in my hand. I played two quick rounds with the boys, then made my own excuse to leave, claiming they had wiped me out.
When I made it back to my tent, I found Hawkeye laying on the palette on the floor, completely naked, but covered with my blanket. I latched the hook on the door and shed my coat, dog tags, cross, and boots before dropping to my knees at his feet and crawling over him on all fours.
"This is a nice thing to come 'home' to." I smirked.
He leaned up and captured my lips, his fingers sliding up to release the buttons of my shirt before he untucked the tails and pushed it back off my shoulders. He broke away from my lips to pull the turtleneck over my head, then pressed a kiss to my shoulder before sinking his teeth into the skin with increasing pressure. I hissed in pleasure, dragging my short nails down his back and making him groan. He found my belt and unbuckled it, still biting into my shoulder. I bit my lip to keep myself from moaning loudly, painfully aroused by what he was doing to me.
"Hawkeye…" I cried softly, as he reached the point where it became too much. He gently released and ran the tip of his tongue over the marks of his teeth as his hands continued to disrobe me. I helped him push my trousers and boxers down, then let him pull me back on top of him.
"You're quiet tonight," I noted gently between his tender kisses. He hadn't just been quiet since I'd arrived at my tent, he'd been unusually quiet at dinner and the poker game, letting everyone else do the talking. He seemed…unusually unusual. I pulled back a little, looking at him curiously. "You talked to Sidney, didn't you?"
He smiled up at me with slight amusement and complete adoration. I blushed furiously under his gaze. "He came highly recommended by someone I know."
I was curious about what they had talked about but Hawkeye was rolling us over so that I was on my back, his lips against mine again as one of his hands leisurely explored my chest, arms, and stomach, finally sliding lower and taking my erection into his palm. I groaned into his mouth, suddenly not caring what they talked about, but certainly enjoying the result of it.
I was so completely wrapped up in the way he was kissing me and touching me that I didn't even feel him enter me until he was fully inside. We both shuddered at the pleasure caused by the joining of our bodies and I clung to him tightly as if I were trying to absorb him directly through my skin. He moved slowly, making me feel as though time itself had stopped and I was lost in the vastness of a single second. If I had ever considered our previous encounters as lovemaking, I was wrong…this was what making love felt like. I wrapped my arms fiercely around him, desperate not to waste one millisecond.
"Hawkeye," I half whispered, half sobbed blissfully, my voice hoarse from the emotional lump that was currently lodged in my throat.
"John," he breathed against my ear.
We peaked together, clinging to each other tightly. The release wasn't frenzied; rather instead it seemed to be as quietly intense as the entire encounter—a slow build of extreme pleasure that reached its zenith and just as slowly ebbed out of us. Hawkeye was holding me tightly as he lay over me, still inside of me. His face was pressed against my shoulder and I could feel him shaking ever so slightly, sniffing softly. I realized then that he was weeping. I hugged him just as tightly as he was holding me, pressing my lips against his shoulder.
We didn't speak for several minutes, but finally, with one last squeeze of my body, he carefully pushed off of me, withdrawing himself and moving over beside me. His face was wet and he wiped away the trace of his tears with his thumb. I turned on my side to face him, surprised and touched that he had cried.
"Christ, we're turning into a couple of sissies, Dago." He said, his voice thick with emotion. I knew he was kidding, trying to lighten the heavy mood that had settled over us. I knew he didn't like to cry in front of other people, even me, so I decided that changing the subject was the best course of action.
"What made you decide to talk to Sidney?"
He reached for his cigarettes, handing one to me automatically before flicking his Zippo, lighting mine before his. "I wasn't going to," he admitted, blowing out a line of smoke. "I don't need someone like Sidney telling me I belong in a rubber room, but we were shooting a game of pool and found ourselves without the others so I made mention that he seemed to help fix you up. He asked if you'd told me what the two of you talked about and I told him you'd just given me a brief overview. He asked if there was something I had on my mind that I wanted to talk about. I was going to say no, but I ended up asking him what he thought about you and me. He said it wasn't anyone's business but ours, but that he could tell we really care for each other, which suited him just fine. Then he did his damn head shrinking on me and asked me how serious I thought the relationship was. I told him I knew I was in deep, and told him that I'd fantasized about us living together after the war. He asked what I would do about Mary and the kids…"
I saw him swallow hard, his eyes focused on the cigarette in his hand. I didn't push him to continue, knowing he would get there on his own time.
"I told him I didn't know, but that I was sure I didn't want to lose her and the boys…I also told him I didn't want to lose you either. He made me consider all the scenarios—telling Mary about our relationship, her leaving; telling her and her staying; not telling her and sneaking around behind her back; her giving me an ultimatum between you and her…. He's really relentless. He told me that you and I both have certain concessions to make if do take our relationship beyond this war—you in dealing with the Church and answering to God, me in dealing with and answering to my wife and kids."
I nodded in agreement.
He met my eyes then, looking at me with complete seriousness. "Tell me what you want, Dago. Where do you see this going?"
I mirrored his earlier swallow. "I don't want to lose you either, Hawkeye. I don't have a perfect picture in my mind of how life will be after the war, but…I can envision us meeting up like we planned. Maybe once a year, maybe more frequently, depending on our lives and schedules. I think the separation will be the hardest thing to accept, but that's what they made letters and telephones for."
He clasped my hand in his. "I don't know how I'm going to feel about telling Mary about this once I get home, but—right now—I think that I will. Maybe she'll accept it, maybe she'll divorce me, but either way I think she has a right to know. If she gives me an ultimatum or tries to forbid me from ever seeing you or speaking to you again…well, I'll cross that bridge when I get there, but I've know Mary long enough that I think she'll be okay with this…maybe not at first, but eventually."
I leaned in and kissed Hawkeye, anxious but glad that we were on the same page about the future. There were still so many unknowns, but it was pointless to try and work those out when I didn't yet have any idea where I would go after Korea, and he didn't know how his wife might react to the news that he was sexually involved with another man. I felt that feeling of hope grow a little brighter inside of me nonetheless, and we laid together that night, considering possible futures and teasing each other about whether or not we would still be as physically attracted to one another in 20 years as we were now.
"I'm not sure I'll still want to go down on your wrinkled old ball sac," Hawkeye teased. I socked him in the shoulder, making him laugh as he rubbed the sore spot I'd left behind.
"I'm not sure I'll find you as endearing as I do now when you've started going bald and you look like a frog in pants from the behind."
"May I remind you, Dago, that you're 5 years older than me. If anyone's going to be bald and frog-like, it'll be you first."
We both laughed hysterically as the taunting continued into the wee hours of the morning and he finally had to resign himself to leaving. We stood at my door, kissing goodnight through our smiles.
"You know, baby, as much as I'm going to miss the hell out of you come February, I'm not dreading it as much as I was."
"I think I still I am," I told him honestly, "But I'm better about it than I was, so that's progress."
He kissed me again. "We're going to work this out, baby. Just you wait and see."
I watched him walk back to the Swamp, hoping he was right.
When Christmas Eve day rolled around, I was busy loading up a jeep with food, medical supplies, and presents that several of the nurses had bought or made for the children at the local orphanage. As had become my custom for Christmas in Korea, I first visited the orphanage, where I would spend most of the day, and then I would travel up to Shaking Sammy's unit to give an early rendition of Midnight Mass. I would make it back to the 4077th in time to deliver the Midnight Mass service to my own camp, enjoy the late night festivities and a glass or two of eggnog before a few hours sleep. Christmas Day I would give one service at the 4077th, and several at various other units in the area. It was definitely one of the 2 busiest times of the year for me—the other being the week of Easter with Ash Wednesday and Easter Sunday.
Hawkeye sauntered up the jeep as I was mentally checking over my list of supplies to see that I'd gotten everything. "Got a sec?"
"Only just," I looked at him, shading my eyes from the extraordinarily bright morning sun. December in Korea was typically a very gray month, with overcast skies, snow or rain. The sunshine was a welcomed sight, even if it was blinding.
Hawkeye held up a shabbily wrapped present in brown paper and string. "I know it's not technically Christmas yet, but I thought I'd give you your present early."
I laughed softly, touched at the gesture as I took the gift and carefully unwrapped it, finding a pair of thick cashmere socks inside. I smiled broadly. "Socks!"
He chuckled in amusement. "You're the only person who could get excited over a pair of socks, Dago. I picked those up last week when I had to go to Seoul with Trapper to consult on a kid. I didn't think it'd be so hard to find a good pair of socks."
"Well, thank you. They're wonderful." I smiled and looked up at him. "Would you care for your gift now or later?"
He grinned lecherously at me, obviously thinking of the sex part of his gift request. "Are you sure you have time?"
I rolled my eyes. "Wait here."
I carried my socks to my tent, putting them in my foot locker for safe keeping and pulling out the bottle of cognac that I'd had Radar track down. It had ended up costing me a lot in trade, but that didn't matter. I hadn't wrapped it, but I didn't figure Hawkeye wouldn't much care. I held the bottle in one hand behind my back.
"Close your eyes."
He refrained from making a crack this time and did as I asked.
"Hold out your hands."
Again, he did as I asked without comment, and I carefully placed the bottle in his hands, waiting until he was holding it firmly before I let go.
"Merry Christmas, Hawkeye."
He looked at the bottle and his lips slowly curled into a thoughtful smile before he paused and eyed me curiously, "Do I have to wait until you get back before I open this?"
I laughed, but shook my head. "No; please, enjoy it."
"Thank you, Dago." He said sincerely. "You'll be back for the party, won't you?"
"I hope to be. I still have the Midnight Mass service here to be back in time for."
"Take care out there."
"Thanks, I will. Don't drink the entire bottle while I'm gone."
"I'll try," he grinned.
I climbed into the jeep, gave him a small wave, and headed off for my first destination. Visiting the orphans and Sister Theresa always brought me great joy. As usual, they invited me to join them for lunch, then we passed out the gifts from myself and the camp and watched them tear open the paper and marvel at whatever was inside. It didn't matter how small or plain or boring the gift was, the children were always delighted to get presents and it melted my heart, making me grateful to bear witness to their joy. We sat outside while the children played in the rare December sunshine for most of the afternoon, and then it was time for me to go.
I made it to Shaking Sammy's and was greeted, as was typical, with a very enthusiastic handshake by Sammy.
"So good to see you, Father," he said, pumping my arm like he was trying to get water from a dry well.
"How are you, Sammy?"
"Just wonderful. Come on in to the mess tent, the cooks have made us a fine Christmas Eve feast. I'd be honored if you'd bless it for us before we all sit down together."
The entirety of the engineer's camp was gathered around what was, indeed, a very fine feast laid out on the tables that had all been pushed into one long line. I said grace over the meal, and sat down next to Sammy as the food was passed around. After the feast, Sammy and I helped clear up and arrange the mess tent for the Midnight Mass service, then sat and talked for a while before it was time for me to start the service.
"So how are things at the Double Natural?" Sammy asked.
"Same as always, a little bit of a Christmas rush before they called the truce, but not as bad as it's been over the last several months."
"And what about those heathens that call themselves doctors?"
"They're not so bad, Sammy. Their pranks really are harmless."
"Harmless?" He groused. "Those hooligans tried to crucify me. You'd do well to baptism them by fire, if they don't burn, then maybe there's hope they can be saved."
"Captain Pierce and I have become good friends. I've gained a little insight into his past, and I understand him better now. He's not as much of a heathen as you think he is, Sam."
"Watch yourself, John. You dance with the Devil by befriending that one. I'm telling you, he's destined for Hell."
"Only God can determine who will be sent to Hell, Samuel." I rebuked, angry for Hawkeye's sake, though I knew he would have just laughed and probably agreed with Sammy. "Our duty is not to judge His children, but to guide them."
"Well, they will reap what they sow."
"I don't condone what they did to you, Sammy, but you must learn to forgive them. Remember what Matthew tells us: 'For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.' We are men of God, Samuel, holding grudges serves no purpose for us."
"You just wait, John, and you'll see that I'm right. They are the Devil's own and they will drag you down to Hell with them."
His words stuck with me as time drew near for me to start the service. While I knew he was wrong about the boys belonging to Satan, my fear in God's wrath for the sins I was committing with Hawkeye had bubbled to the surface. I was glad that I was delivering the Christmas message about our Savior being born. A Savior who was sent to Earth, destined to be sacrificed on the cross for our sins. It helped reinforce my belief that even though I was committing a terrible offense to God, I was forgiven. However, knowing that didn't grant me explicit permission to go around sinning or telling others they could do as they pleased as long as they believed in Christ our King. It just meant living with the disgrace of my actions, and knowing I would be accountable in the end. I had known this, and I still accepted it.
As the sun began to set, I said goodbye to Sammy and his unit, got in the jeep and headed back to the 4077th. As I arrived, our own camp's Christmas feast was in the process of being laid out in the mess tent. Most of the camp was already gathered outside, waiting for the doors to be opened. Hawkeye and several of the other boys were the first in line, acting like doorman and denying entry to anyone who wasn't set to be working in the mess tent.. Hawkeye whistled to me and waved me over.
"Hey! No cutting in line," someone hollered teasingly from the back as I approached the gang.
"Hello boys," I greeted.
"How's it goin', Dago Redo?" Duke asked.
"Oh, fine, thanks. What have you boys been up to all day?"
"Havin' ourselves some of that smooth cognac you gave to Hawkeye and smokin' some fine cigars that my wife sent me." Duke answered, sounding more than a little tipsy.
"Sounds like quite the experience." I smirked at Hawkeye, "I thought I told you not to drink it all."
"You know, Dago, I'm a little offended you didn't get each of us a bottle of cognac. What makes Hawkeye so special?" Trapper asked.
"He asked for it." I shrugged. Just then Henry called out to me as he approached.
"Welcome back., Padre. How were the orphans and Shaking Sammy?"
"The orphans were pleased with their gifts. Sister Theresa and the children send their heartfelt thanks. Shaking Sammy is also good; though I'm afraid he did not pass on any good tidings for Captains Peirce, McIntyre and Forrest."
"Why am I not surprised?" Henry said as he eyed Hawkeye, Trapper and Duke with an embittered gaze. "Well, it seems you made it back just in time. Would you care to bless the meal for us?"
I gave a nod and followed Henry into the tent. The rest of the camp followed suit, folding themselves into the long string of tables that had been moved together and set up for the occasion. Hawkeye and Trapper left a space for me between them as I stood back, waiting for everyone to be seated and get quiet.
"Pipe down!" Hawkeye hollered over the din.
I blushed, chuckling softly at the immediate effect it had on the crowd. "Thank you, Hawkeye…If you'll all bow your heads, please…Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen."
As dishes were passed around, I took my seat between Hawkeye and Trapper, taking only small amounts of food. Trapper looked at my plate skeptically.
"What are you, fasting or something?"
"No, but this will have been my 2nd dinner of the day. I'm still quite full from the first one."
"Man, suddenly I regret not going into the priesthood," Duke said across the table. "Seems like all you guys do is eat and drink wine."
"Only when there's occasion to," I laughed softly.
"I think you guys just make up occasions," Hawkeye mused beside me as he peppered his mashed potatoes. "Christmas, Ash Wednesday, Good Friday, Easter…"
"Christmas and Easter are but a few of the Holy Days we celebrate, yes."
"What? There's more?" Duke asked incredulously with his mouth full across the table.
"The short answer is: yes." I didn't want to try and explain to them all of the Holy Days of Obligation, or the ten Feasts of Precept indicated by the Code of Canon Law in the Catholic Church, mostly because I knew they probably didn't care.
"How do you keep up with all of them?" Hawkeye asked with genuine interest.
"They happen on the same day every year, or at least around the same day. I didn't study Catholic dogma and become an ordained priest without having it all drilled into me, though." I grinned. "You do have to pass examinations before you get a license to preach."
They laughed and the conversation naturally shifted as Trapper inquired, "So Shaking Sammy still despises us, does he?"
"I'm afraid so. Though, to be fair, you boys didn't make much of a good impression on him when you refused to apologize for trying to burn him on the cross."
"Eh, he's a discredit to people of your ilk," Hawkeye said. "I couldn't care less what he thinks about us."
I sighed softly and shook my head, knowing that the parties involved in that incident would never find any middle ground, and I would be wasting my breath to try and convince them to see eye to eye on the matter.
"You coming to the party tonight, Red?" Trapper asked, changing the subject yet again.
"For a while, I'm sure. Tomorrow will be a busy day for me, and today has already run me a little ragged."
"Well, you have to at least stop by." Duke said. "We've got somethin' planned."
"Should I worry?"
The only answer was laughter.
After supper, I headed back to my tent to try and rest and reflect before I gave my second Christmas sermon. As I lay on my cot, thinking about the life of Jesus and almost dozing off, there was a rhythmic tapping at my door that I immediately recognized.
"Come in, Hawkeye," I smiled.
"You weren't asleep, were you?" He asked as he came in and sat on the edge of my cot. I noticed he had his bottle of cognac and two glasses in his hands.
"No, just resting up before Mass." I pointed to the bottle. "You didn't drink it all?"
"Nope, I made sure to save enough for us to have a little snort."
"That's very kind of you, but you didn't have to save any for me."
"I know I didn't have to," he said as he poured the remainder of the brandy between the two glasses. "I wanted to."
I sat up as he handed me a glass.
"At the risk of sounding cheesy," he said, swirling the brandy distractedly in his glass, "I'd like to make a toast. To you, who has not only become a close friend—and believe me, that in itself says something—but also one of the three great loves of my life."
"Three?" I asked, arching my eyebrow at him.
"You, Mary and golf." He grinned.
I laughed softly, but I was quite touched by his words. We drank to the toast and I leaned in to give him a kiss. "You really are a hopeless romantic, you know that, right?"
"How so?"
"Serenading me, toasting me…" I quickly added, "But don't get me wrong, I love when you those things."
He grinned and winked at me before draining the rest of his glass and laying down next to me on the cot. "Mary never takes me seriously if I do any of that to her. Not that I blame her. She threatened to kill me if I pulled anything at our wedding, and she wouldn't let me near the delivery room when either of the boys were born. She knows me too well."
I didn't mind Hawkeye talking about his wife and children, but it still made me feel uncomfortable and I wasn't sure what to say in response, so I finished my drink. Honestly speaking, half the time I didn't know whether or not Hawkeye was being truly sentimental or if it was just a gag, but I knew either way he meant whatever he said. It was just more in his personality range to laugh about it than it was to be serious. I had to wonder if this schmaltzy side of him was my influence.
I checked my watch and saw that it was nearly eleven. "I should probably start getting ready. It actually takes a bit of time to get dressed. There's kind of a little ritual to it."
"Should I go?"
"You can stay if you want…if you don't mind me praying out loud." I leaned down and kissed him again, handing him my empty glass. "Thank you for the brandy…and for what you said."
With that, I got up and began to pull out items of clothing from where I kept my vestments, as well as a small, shallow basin and a silver flask-like container with a cross.
"I didn't realize getting drunk was part of the ritual," Hawkeye teased quietly.
I smirked as I knelt on the floor and poured the liquid from the container into the basin. "It's holy water, not wine. Now be quiet."
I could feel his answering grin even though I wasn't looking at him. I dipped my hands into the water, slowly washing them as I prayed in Latin, "Da, Domine, virtutem manibus meis ad abstergendam omnem maculam; ut sine pollutione mentis et corporis valeam tibi servire." ((Give strength to my hands, O Lord, that being cleansed from all stain I might serve you with purity of mind and body.)) At the end of the prayer, I used the water dripping from my finger tips to anoint myself as I crossed myself in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. I set the basin aside, and got to my feet.
I changed from my fatigues into a pair of black trousers and white button down shirt with a neckband collar. It wasn't necessary to wear a roman collar with these shirts, and I hardly ever did anyways unless I was wearing my typical black cassock I reserved for general Sunday sermons. I stuck on a pair of black dress socks and slipped my feet into a pair of simple black shoes.
Over my clothes, I placed the rectangular white linen amice over my shoulders, pulling the strings under my arms and crossing them around my back before pulling them to the front and tying it around my waist. "Impone, Domine, capiti meo galeam salutis, ad expugnandos diabolicos incursus." ((Place upon me, O Lord, the helmet of salvation, that I may overcome the assaults of the devil.))
I then pulled on the long, white robe-like alb, as I continued to pray, "Dealba me, Domine, et munda cor meum; ut, in sanguine Agni dealbatus, gaudiis perfruar sempiternis." ((Make me white, O Lord, and cleanse my heart; that being made white in the Blood of the Lamb I may deserve an eternal reward.))
Next came the garment that brought me the most shame: the cincture, the symbol of chastity. As I tied the rope-like tasseled cord into a Roman Knot, I spoke this prayer in a softer voice, closing my eyes. "Praecinge me, Domine, cingulo puritatis, et exstingue in lumbis meis humorem libidinis; ut maneat in me virtus continentiae et castitatis." ((Gird me, O Lord, with the cincture of purity, and quench in my heart the fire of concupiscence, that the virtue of continence and chastity may abide in me.))
I opened my eyes and glanced at Hawkeye, who was now sitting cross-legged in my cot, watching and listening with intrigue. He gave me a soft, reassuring smile even though he probably only had a vague idea of what I'd just said, then he looked towards the Heavens. "Don't worry, God, I'll keep my hands off of him for now."
I blushed deeply, not sure if I should scold him or not, but let it go. He, at the very least, seemed to understand my distress, and that was enough.
I picked up a long gold-on-crimson silk damasked stole, placing a kiss against the gold cross embroidered at the neckline before I draped it over my shoulders, making sure that the gold fringe hung evenly at shin-length. "Redde mihi, Domine, stolam immortalitatis, quam perdidi in praevaricatione primi parentis; et, quamvis indignus accedo ad tuum sacrum mysterium, merear tamen gaudium sempiternum." ((Lord, restore the stole of immortality, which I lost through the collusion of our first parents, and, unworthy as I am to approach Thy sacred mysteries, may I yet gain eternal joy.))
Lastly, I slipped my Christmas chasuble over my head, arranging it symmetrically across my shoulders as I said, "Domine, qui dixisti: Iugum meum suave est, et onus meum leve: fac, ut istud portare sic valeam, quod consequar tuam gratiam. Amen." ((O Lord, who has said, "My yoke is sweet and My burden light," grant that I may so carry it as to merit Thy grace.))
The customary color worn by the clergy at Christmas was white, but the chasuble I always chose to wear for Midnight Mass was pale gold and made of silk. It had a rounded neckline, and the bottom of the circular garment fell to my knees. Perhaps what I liked most about this chasuble was the fact that it was layered with the same gold-on-crimson damasked silk that my stole was made of. There was a long, wide stripe that bisected the center of the garment from neck to knee in both front and back, and layered over that was a chevron-shaped pattern of the same material that formed a V to the middle of my chest, and was mirrored down my back between my shoulder blades, all of which was trimmed in gold silk. To say that this was my favorite garment was an understatement.
Hawkeye gave a long, low whistle. "That's quite the ensemble, Dago."
"I told you one of the things I always admired about the clergy was the vestments." I blushed.
He smiled softly. "You look very… regal. I didn't realize you had to pray over every item of clothing. And in Latin."
"Not everything," I laughed. "You'll notice I didn't pray over my socks and shoes. But, yes, the vestments are representatives of the vows I took, my service to God, and the burdens of Christ. Each one represents something different: purity, chastity, eternal life…"
"I still think that's a lot to remember."
I smiled, but rejoined with, "Since you're here, would you mind helping me carry some things to the mess tent and setting up there?"
"Oh, sure, that's why you wanted me to stay." He teased.
"You betcha," I grinned.
Since I had no deacons to assist me during services, I always had to prepare the Eucharist prior to the start of services so that the only thing left to do was to go through the blessing before allowing the congregation to participate in communion. I placed the communion wafers into a small bowl and took out the decanter of sacramental wine, communion cup, and a small white square of linen cloth with another gold cross and the monogram of IHS in scripted font embroidered on one corner.
"Do you ever run out of any of this stuff?" Hawkeye asked as I handed him the wine, cloth, and cup.
"I have to take inventory of my stock," I told him. "Anytime I get low, I have to order more supplies through the Military Vicar's Office."
I took the bowl of wafers and picked up my Bible, which I had already bookmarked the passages in, and looked around. "That's everything."
"And just in time," Hawkeye grinned, looking at his watch. He walked beside me to the mess tent. The tables had already been pushed back and the benches lined up into pews with one table draped in a white cloth next to a battered wooden podium. I set my Bible on the podium, and then arranged the table that served as the altar. I was more than a little surprised to see that quite a few of Hawkeye's gang had come, and even more surprised when Hawkeye joined them near the back. Knowing they were watching me suddenly made me very nervous that they might try to disrupt the service, but it also gave me hope that I might inspire them to give more than just lip service to God.
I motioned for those who had gathered to stand and began the introductory rites of Mass, concluding with the recitation of Gloria and the opening prayer, before opening my Bible and reading to them the story of the birth of Jesus from the book of Matthew.
I was aware of all eyes on me as I read, and while I was accustomed to standing before large congregations presenting Mass, I felt my voice quavering slightly under Hawkeye's gaze. I silently prayed to be fortified by God and banished all thoughts of Hawkeye from my mind. While he was here, he was a Lamb of God, even if but a wayward sheep of my flock, and I could not be distracted by his presence. Whether or not God heard my prayers and answered them, my voice did grow strong and steady and he became a blur to me during the service.
None of Hawkeye's gang took communion, except for Painless, who was the only Catholic of the bunch, but they did boisterously sing along to the carols of Silent Night and O Holy Night before I gave the closing prayer and dismissed everyone. They were the last in line to greet me after the service as I shook hands with everyone who came. Trapper was the first to grab my hand, nearly yanking my arm out of socket as he vigorously shook it.
"Magnificent service, Father." His tone was overly-dramatic, so I wasn't quite sure how serious he was being.
"I'm glad you boys came," I said, rather than thanking him for his sarcasm.
"We figured, with it being Christmas and all, it was the least we could do." Duke said, shaking my hand less vigorously.
"That and none of us have ever been to one of your services before," Bandini admitted.
"It's never too late to start." I invited.
"Don't press your luck, Dago," Ugly John warned. "We're lucky they saw it within themselves to be here tonight.
"Merry Christmas, Dago." Painless said sincerely.
"Merry Christmas, Walt."
Hawkeye shook my hand last, which felt very strange. Of all the times he and I had touched, kissed, made love, I'd only ever shaken his hand once before this—the day we first met. His grip was warm and firm, his thumb lightly resting on the back of my hand, index finger just brushing against my wrist. I nearly giggled at how absurd it felt. His eyes were soft behind the tinted lenses, but I knew he was going to be sarcastic just like the rest of them…he had to be. "I hate to spoil it for you, Dago, but I peeked at the end. The Devil did it."
I laughed softly and he squeezed my hand before letting go.
"Go get outta that get-up and come back over here. We're gonna start setting up for the party." Duke said.
"Need a hand carrying all that stuff back?" Hawkeye asked.
"If you don't mind."
Hawkeye helped me carry everything back to my tent and we put it all away before he reclined on my cot to watch me undress. De-vesting was certainly less of a ritual than vesting, though there was still a certain order to removing the vestments. I removed first the chasuble, then the stole, then the cincture, the alb, the amice, shoes, socks, shirt, and trousers. I knelt on the floor, pulling over the basin of holy water in front of me and again washed my hands, this time reciting the Lord's Prayer.
"Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen."
I crossed myself one last time, then stood and put on my fatigues and dog tags before picking up the basin of water, carrying it the door of my tent, and pouring it out on the ground outside.
When I finally finished putting everything away, Hawkeye looked at me.
"Can I kiss you now?"
I laughed softly and answered him by pulling him to his feet and dragging him into a tender embrace.

TBC
1.) Alfred Kinsey was a biologist who founded the The Kinsey Institute for Research in Sex, Gender, and Reproduction in 1947. In 1948 he published Sexual Behavior in the Human Male in which he introduced the Kinsey Scale. The scale rated men (and later women) from 0 to 6, with 0 being exclusively heterosexual and 6 being exclusively homosexual (X assigned to asexual individuals). Kinsey was a very progressive scientist of the time, and his studies very controversial, but have become widely accepted by today's society, and the basis for many subsequent studies.
Author's Feedback: For visual reference of Dago's Midnight Mass attire go to:
www dot Holyroodguild dot com slash xcart2 slash San-Lorenzo-Chasuble dot html
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