Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

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
- 18
- 19
- 20
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 book/movie. This is Hawkeye's POV. Please ignore any typos. I don't always catch them all. Special thanks to BJMccoy for being my beta reader for this chapter! Thanks for reading. Enjoy.
**Additional Note:** Much of this chapter coincides with the plot of M*A*S*H Goes to New Orleans, written by Richard Hooker and William E. Butterworth (1975). Many of the character quotes are directly quoted (with one or two minor changes). No copyright infringement intended. Read the book if you haven't. I highly recommend it.

I watched Dago leave the room in complete and utter disbelief, trying to wrap my mind around what had just happened. The last person I had ever expected to see again had just been standing in my hotel room, had just been in my arms, and had just invited me to a party. What the hell was he doing here in New Orleans anyways…and when had he become an archbishop?
"I'm getting a little old for that," I commented, trying to take my mind off how shaken I felt from seeing him again so unexpectedly.
"Perhaps you are just out of practice," Dago's secretary suggested. "Maybe you should do it more often."
I glanced at him, curious as to how much he knew about mine and Dago's history. "Judge not, lest ye be judged, Monsignor." I grabbed the martini shaker, "Would you like a little snort?"
"His Eminence expects us downstairs."
"Finest kind," I enticed him with a grin as I shook the shaker at him. "Made with real gin and very little vermouth."
He looked towards the door to the suite, "Well, perhaps under the circumstances."
I poured him a glass as Trapper asked the question we were both wondering, "What, precisely, are the circumstances? What's Mulcahy doing in New Orleans?"
"We just came from Rome," the little man replied. "For personal reasons and on church business. I'm not allowed, of course, to discuss either."
"How long have you been working for him?" I asked, curiously.
"Long enough for him to have told me enough about you two." He looked at me for a long minute with a knowing expression, and I knew that Dago had told him about us. I wasn't sure how I felt about that, and I wondered if I was looking at Dago's new lover. I couldn't imagine Dago telling the man about his past unless they were close, intimately close. He'd always been such a guarded man; it had taken so much coaxing and trust for Dago to tell me about Danny. What exactly did he entrust to his assistant? Pancho cut off my reverie, however, with a very clipped, "I'll tell you right now that this is my first and last Martini."
I couldn't help but grin. "What's this wingding downstairs?"
"The New Orleans Consistory, Knights of Columbus, is holding a reception to honor the archbishop," he said. "Might I ask how long you plan to be in New Orleans?"
"Not ten seconds longer than I have to be," I answered. "We're here to attend the national convention of the American Tonsil, Adenoid and Vas Deferens Society."
"How fortunate that the conference should be at the same time that His Eminence was scheduled to be here." Pancho said.
I got the distinct impression that it wasn't merely luck that had landed us both here in New Orleans, but I knew the little Spaniard wasn't going to divulge more than he had to. "If you'll excuse us, Pancho Villa, we'll just go get dressed."
I grabbed Trapper by the arm and led him into the bathroom, picking up my razor to finish shaving. "Something weird is going on here, Trap. I don't buy that this is all just coincidence."
"What then?" Trapper asked.
"I don't know, but doesn't it seem odd to you that Dago would turn up here of all places the same weekend we're here to attend that damn TA&VD conference? I haven't seen him in 20 fucking years, Trapper…doesn't that seem at all strange? And how did he know we were here? How did he know what room we were staying in?"
"So you think this is all just some conspiracy set up by Dago Red and the Catholic Church, then?"
"No…not Dago. He seemed just as surprised to see us as we did him, but that Pancho fella…I reckon there's more that he's not telling us."
"Stick to medicine, Dr. Holmes." Trapper said as he pulled on a pair of black trousers and a white button up shirt. "This is the last time I let my wife pack for me. There's not one scrap of wearable clothing in here."
I finished shaving and dug out the penguin suit my own wife had packed for me, dressing carefully as I pondered again on what Dago was doing here. Pancho had said 'personal reasons' before church business. What personal reason could bring Dago all the way here? I needed to get to the bottom of this, but for now I'd promised I would behave.
Trapper and I, once having passed Pancho's inspection, followed the monsignor to the elevator and down to the lobby. Dago was waiting for us with several other members of the clergy. He smiled upon seeing me—that same sweet, shy smile I remembered so well—and gave us a small wave as we approached. "I'm impressed, boys, that you actually packed decent suits."
"Blame our wives," Trapper said, eyeing the men standing with Dago.
He made a quick introduction between all of us before Monsignor Clancy came up to Dago. "Your Eminence, we really must be returning to the reception now."
"Alright, Jack, everyone's here now." Dago replied, patting the antsy man on the shoulder, and we all followed him into the reception room. Dago introduced us to the Archbishop of New Orleans and several leaders of the K of C. After introductions were made, Dago looked around the room and smiled. "Well, everybody seems to be having a good time."
"Especially that guy in the Polish admiral's uniform," Trapper said with mirth as he nodded to a tall man standing near an ice sculpture of a leprechaun. The Admiral seemed to be fighting to get away from another man who was holding him by the arm.
"Why's he fighting with the priest?" I asked, curiously amused by the spectacle.
"It would appear that Father dePresses is attempting to dissuade Mr. de la Chevaux from paying his respects to His Eminence in person." Monsignor Clancy conveyed his observation.
De la Chevaux? I thought. Why did that name sound familiar?
"It looks like he failed," Trapper also observed as the Admiral gave a mighty shrug to free himself from the priest, which sent the priest flying backwards into the buffet table, knocking the leprechaun ice sculpture off its pedestal. I heard several of the men around me wheeze anxiously as the sculpture plunged head first into a bowl of punch, shattering the bowl and sending a cascade of punch onto the parquet dance floor, drenching the priest.
The Admiral limped in our direction, spreading his arms out as he called out in a heavy Cajun accent, "Father Mulcahy! Father Mulcahy! Goddamn I thought I never see you again!"
Dago seemed to know the man at once. "Why it's Horsey Chevaux!" He said with a delighted laugh, practically running toward the Admiral. Horsey Chevaux lifted Dago up off his feet as they came together in a friendly embrace, and held him up in the air by his arm pits.
"Hot damn!" Horsey bellowed again. "What the hell you think about this?"
Trapper and I laughed at the sight of Dago being held up by Horsey. I remembered him immediately as Dago said the man's nickname, remembering how I'd broken protocol in Korea to save his badly injured leg, but I could tell Trapper was clueless on who the hell he was. Before I could explain, however, one of the K of C's drew his sword, shouting in French.
"Allons mes enfants! Kill the Irish bastards!" He charged toward Horsey and Dago, which in turn had several other French-Cajun dignitaries drawing their swords and shouting a battle cry together, also getting ready to charge. There was a moment of tension as we all tried to react to the charging man, but it was the priest who had been knocked back into the buffet table who had responded first. Regaining his wits, Father dePresses took a flying leap towards the charging Cajun, tackling him to the floor where they slid to a halt at the feet of the Archbishop of New Orleans. At the same time, several of the clergymen in charge quickly circled the crowd to make sure all swords were sheathed and to assure everyone that there would be no bloodshed. I stood, completely baffled as to what the hell had just happened, but when I finally looked back over at Dago, I saw him leading Horsey over to where we stood, completely undisturbed by the whole scene.
"What the hell just happened?" I asked, looking from Dago to Horsey.
"I think they thought Horsey was going to sacrifice me," Dago said with a small laugh. "I may be the Archbishop of Swengchan, but I'm still an Irishman…which most of these men can't forgive."
Horsey grinned at me and Trapper. "Remember me?"
"Horsey." I laughed, pleased to see him again now that the things had returned to normal.
"You remember me, huh, Hawkeye?"
"You becha," I winked, embracing the other man like a long lost brother.
Trapper still looked baffled and I saw Dago lean in and whisper into his ear before recognition dawned in Trapper's eyes. "Horsey! Horsey, I'm sorry. Of course I remember you!"
"Wit' me," Horsey grinned. "You never gotta say you're sorry."
"Your Eminence," the Archbishop of New Orleans said to Dago, thoroughly confused and upset by the sequence of events. "Perhaps you would be good enough to explain all of this to me."
Dago smiled, "Under the circumstances, that would seem to be a very wise thing to do indeed. But, I wonder if there is someplace we might go and sit down? I seem to get tired very easily lately."
My ears pricked up at Dago's words and I looked at him inquiringly, but he was still looking at the Archbishop who said softly, "So I understand, Your Eminence."
Dago's face registered surprise and he dropped his voice to a low murmur that I barely heard, "How could you know about that?"
"Let's say that I heard from someone in Rome we both deeply admire." The Archbishop said, just as softly. "Why don't we go into the back room?"
Dago turned to face me and Trapper, looking at us with a firm expression. "You behave until I get back. And lay off the booze, all of you."
I watched him leave with a growing sense of dread before I turned to Pancho. "Alright, tell me what's wrong with him. And remember, your kind can't lie. I know Dago better than anyone. He doesn't just 'tire easily.'"
Pancho and Trapper exchanged a look and I looked at Trapper, mildly outraged. "You know what's wrong with him?"
"I am not at liberty to discuss the situation," Pancho said before Trapper could answer, stonewalling like a politician.
"Bullshit." I called, stabbing my finger in his chest and looking back at Trapper. "Tell me."
"Look, Hawk, even Red doesn't know that I know—"
"Stop the cryptic bullshit and tell me what the fuck is wrong with him!" I bellowed, on the verge of making a scene myself until they yielded to me.
They looked at each other again and Trapper finally sighed, "Alright, come here…but you didn't hear this from me…"
Trapper and Pancho led the way to an empty table away from the hubbub of the party and I leaned in close, listening as Trapper explained.
"Sometime in February I got a call from him," Trapper said, indicating to Pancho. "He said that Dago Red needed to have a surgical procedure that would save his life, but Red was refusing to do it, saying that this was just God's will."
"What is God's will? What procedure? What's wrong with him?" I said, getting annoyed by the lack of answers to my questions.
Trapper sighed as he looked at me. "Dago has a large carcinoma in his left lung."
I nearly fell out of my chair. "Lung cancer? Christ…How bad is it?"
"We have the x-rays from the doctor in Rome upstairs in our suite," Pancho said nervously.
"I want to see them."
Pancho nodded and the four of us headed up to the 8th floor, where he let us into their shared, two-bedroom suite. He handed me a large envelope with a wax seal and I broke it open, spilling the contents of Dago's medical history into my hand. I set aside his medical records and held up the first x-ray to the light.
"It looks operable," I murmured. "What do you think, Trap?"
"Could be if it hasn't gotten any closer to his heart since these were taken."
"I should have never got him smoking in the first place." I commented with a sigh.
"Guess even priests aren't immune to peer pressure." Trapper remarked.
"What happens if he don't have the surgery?" Horsey asked.
"He'll croak." I said, not believing that to be an option. "Why won't he do it, Pancho?"
"His Eminence is very…hardheaded. He still affirms that this is God's will, though myself and His Holiness, the Pope, have tried to convince him otherwise. That is why I called Dr. McIntyre to arrange this meeting. In hopes that you might help talk him into it."
"Why didn't you call me? Why didn't you let me in on what was going on?" I asked, more to Trapper than to Pancho.
"I was sworn to secrecy. Other than working with your wife—"
"Wait… Mary knows about this?"
Trapper shrugged.
"Oh for Christ sake…" I raked a hand through my hair in annoyance. "I don't believe this…you mean the only two bozos you didn't tell about this were me and Dago?"
"And Horsey Chevaux!" Horsey added in.
Pancho simply nodded. "I could not be sure how you would receive him or the news. His Eminence has not spoken to you for many years, Dr. Pierce."
"Trust me, I know." I said gruffly. "But this is a matter of life and death…surely he wouldn't think that I would let him just die."
"I have been very careful to arrange this meeting just so." Pancho revealed. "I know that His Eminence values your opinion above all others, but he would not take the initiative to contact you after so much time. I have spent several months making contacts and setting up everything, and I needed Dr. McIntyre and your wife to help me get you here."
"Why here? Why New Orleans."
Pancho didn't answer, instead he simply said, "Please, we must return to the reception before he returns. When he finds out that I have shown you these, he will be furious."
"You let me deal with Dago," I said as we returned to the contents to the envelope and left the suite.
I went against Dago's wishes and helped myself to several drinks in his absence, trying to reconcile everything I was feeling at that moment.
Pancho's mention of the fact that Dago and I hadn't spoken in so long, brought up all the ugly memories of what happened immediately after Dago had left. I remembered the pain and anguish I had felt when I'd returned to that shithole apartment to find everything of Dago's gone except for the envelope he'd left on my pillow. Knowing that I had broken his heart and would never get the chance to tell him how very sorry I was overwhelmed with me a sickening feeling of remorse. The loss of his love and friendship was even more devastating to me than the loss of my mother, but this time I couldn't blame God…this time it was all my fault.
I hated myself for so long after that, simply moving from day to day with stoic acrimony, and always holding out hope that Dago would write, or call, or come back to me…but he never did. For twenty years, I felt like part of me was missing, and I knew it was my soul mate.
Seeing Dago tonight for the first time is so many years was like breathing for the first time. I was so overcome with joy that it took every ounce of my will not to break down completely in front of the others. I felt whole again in his arms, and it gave me hope that even after all this time…we still had a chance. But the news of his illness brought on a whole new wave of grief and guilt. It also brought on the realization that we were both older now. Dago was in his sixties. We had lost so much time because of my stupid remark…and now, if he didn't agree to surgery, he would die and I would lose him all over again.
By the time Dago made it back to the reception, I was well and truly plastered.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I demanded, staggering drunkenly towards him.
He looked angry that I'd disobeyed him and grabbed me by the arm with surprising strength as I nearly fell over. "I'm gone for one hour and you manage to get yourself completely inebriated. Why am I not surprised, Hawkeye? Where's Pancho? He was supposed to keep an eye on you."
"Why didn't you tell me, Dago?" I demanded again furious with him, with me, with God, with everything and everyone. "Why didn't you tell me you have cancer?"
His eyes flashed back up to mine and this time he looked infuriated that I knew about his illness. Pancho came sidling up to us at that point, apologizing profusely. "Forgive me, Your Eminence. I could not stop them."
"You apparently couldn't hold your tongue, either," Dago bit back sharply. "Is there anyone you haven't told about my condition?"
"I'm not anyone," I cut in before Pancho could answer. "I'm your goddamn soul mate, Dago."
He blushed furiously, his eyes darting about as he hissed, "Keep your voice down, Hawkeye! Pancho, keep an eye on those two. Don't let them have anything else to drink. I'm taking him upstairs."
Dago dragged me out of the reception room with a firm grip on my bicep, muttering to himself incoherently. Anytime I tried to speak on the way up to his suite, I was met with a very gruff, "Shut up, Hawkeye."
When we reached the suite, Dago finally let go of my arm, pushing me roughly inside as he slammed the door behind us. I could tell he was seething, still angry that Pancho had betrayed his confidence, and probably still fairly pissed at me for being drunk and calling him my soul mate right in front of his contemporaries, but I didn't care. I'd waited 20 fucking years for this moment. I pushed Dago up against the door, knocking the ridiculous pointed hat off his head as I claimed his lips with mine.
Dago resisted me for only a moment, before his arms went around me, crushing my body against his as he fiercely kissed me back. I could feel the wetness on his cheeks and realized that he was crying, but as his thumb came up to stroke my cheek, I knew that I was as well.
I pulled away as I began to sob, sinking to my knees at his feet and grabbing the hem of his robes as I was overcome with sadness and sorrow and guilt. "I'm sorry, Dago. I'm so sorry. It's my fault…it's all my fault…I never meant what I said, baby…"
Dago slid down to the floor and pulled me into his arms, holding me and rocking me gently, his voice soothing despite the slight raspy quality that had developed from age and years of smoking cigarettes. "It's not your fault, Hawkeye. Nothing is your fault."
"You left because of me," I cried.
"I left because I had to." He countered gently. "Our argument was just the catalyst. We both knew our relationship wouldn't survive in the long run…it had to end."
"It didn't," I argued. "We could have made it work. We could have at least written to each other. 20 years… 20 fucking years, Dago…"
"And I've thought about you every single day," he told me. "I couldn't write, Hawkeye…I was so sick over what had happened between us, I didn't know if you hated me or not…I wanted to write, but I was afraid to. I was afraid of what you might say…or that you wouldn't write back at all."
"I could never hate you, baby." I cupped his face in my hands, looking at him closely for the first time in so long and seeing just how much he'd changed. The deep reddish brown hues of his hair had dulled to silvery grey and had thinned considerably at his temples and hairline, and he wore it much shorter now than he had in Korea. Even his eyebrows had grayed. His face was etched with age lines, crow's feet crinkling the corners of his sharp blue eyes. His lips, too, seemed to be slightly thinner now than they had been in the past. Despite the evidence of years showing on his face, Dago was still captivating to me.
"You've gotten old," I joshed with tears in my eyes.
He smiled softly. "You're one to talk. I see quite a bit of blonde turning to gray up there."
I laughed and cried all at the same time, as we drew each other back into a loving embrace. "Ask me again, Dago…"
"Ask you what?"
"The last question you asked me… the one I got wrong before."
I felt him tense slightly in my arms, before he managed to speak around his emotions, "Do you still love me?"
"Yes," I breathed, squeezing him in my arms. "I always have. I was just so stupid…Can you ever forgive me, John?"
"I think I wrote in my letter to you that I had forgiven you, Ben. I didn't want to believe that you might hate me, but I didn't want to stick around to find out. Like I said…our separation was necessary…but I am sorry for not writing to you. Tseten warned me I would live to regret it…and I have."
"You have to do the surgery, Dago." I said emphatically, pulling back to look at him.
He started to shake his head, but I held his face again firmly, forcing him to meet my eyes.
"You'll die, Dago! Why won't you even consider it?"
He closed his eyes, sniffling quietly and he said, very softly, "I'm scared to death, Hawkeye."
"Of the surgery?"
"All of it…I'm scared of what this disease is doing to my body, I'm scared that it's too late to be saved, I'm scared of the surgery and living with only one lung, I'm scared of dying a painful death… I'm not scared to die, but the process terrifies me."
"Baby, if you don't do this, then it's almost guaranteed that you will die a horrible death. Do you know anyone who's died of cancer?"
"The last Pope," he said softly. "He had stomach cancer."
"Not the same as what you have, but close enough." I told him. "You said downstairs that you tire easily…that's just the beginning, Dago. You'll start coughing up blood and your lungs will start filling with fluid because the blood-gas levels can't normalize, which will cause emphysema. If the cancer doesn't metastasize and spread to your other organs—namely your heart—and kill you first, then the emphysema will kill you, which is basically like drowning to death in your own fluids."
Dago looked truly horrified, and I knew that at this point I was trying to scare him into the surgery with the graphic detail, but if it worked…so be it. "I'm scheduled to meet with a doctor tomorrow at the Heaven's Gate Hospital here in New Orleans…"
"Let me come with you… please. If nothing else, just for the consultation."
He nodded softly and I pulled him back into another kiss.
"Do you still love me, Dago?" I asked, resting my forehead against his.
"I never stopped, Hawkeye."
"Then make love to me," I murmured, brushing my hand through his soft, thin hair.
"The people at the reception—"
"Can go fuck themselves," I interrupted. "I have 20 years of heartache to make up for."
I pulled Dago to his feet, cupping his face again as I pulled him into another lasting kiss.
"You're sure this is okay for a man in my condition?"
"I'm a doctor, Dago," I smirked. "Trust me."
He gave me a skeptical look, but allowed me to lead him to the bedroom he indicated was his, where I kissed him again as I began to disrobe him. I untied the red sash at his waist, gently tossing it into a chair in the corner before I started to undo the row of buttons down the front of his robe. Dago's hands had reached up to the bowtie at my neck and he carefully pulled the ends apart before he slid his hands up under my suit jacket and eased it off my shoulders and down my arms.
I had to drop down to my knees to get the rest of the buttons I couldn't reach and I sighed in exasperation, "Why are there so many damn buttons on this thing?"
"One button for every year of Jesus' mortal life." He answered.
I decided not to say aloud that I was glad Jesus didn't live to be older than 33 as I finally released the last button. Dago shrugged out of the garment and reached up to release the roman collar around his neck and stepped out of his shoes before he began to unfasten the buttons of my shirt as I got to my feet again. It seemed to take a lifetime to get undressed, but when the last item of clothing was finally stripped away, we both breathed a near sigh of relief and clung to each other as we lay together in the bed.
"I want to go back in time," I whispered as I kissed along his jaw. "I want to erase that day from history so that it never happened, we never parted…We would have found a way, Dago…"
He sighed softly, "As much as I wish the same thing, we can't change what happened. All we can do is move forward. But…I'm terribly sorry that I left you."
"No, it's my fault, Dago…what I said, and the way I walked away from you," I looked into his eyes, feeling every bit as sorrowful now as I did then as I let the words trail off.
Dago leaned up, pressing his lips to mine. "If I'm going to die…then I want to make the most of the time I have left, Hawkeye."
My eyes watered at his words, "I'm not going to let you die, Dago. Not yet. Not when I just found you again."
His fingers tangled in my hair and he looked at me with a fiery expression. "Take me, Hawkeye."
Our love making was gentle, but only because it had been so long and because I didn't want to exhaust him completely. He was breathing hard by the time we were nearing the end, and I could see the flashes of pain cross his face, knowing that the tumor was constricting his airway and making it painful to take deep breaths. I wanted to stop, but he told me no, pushing himself harder onto my cock before I relented and continued fucking him until he spent himself in his hand as I spent myself inside of him.
"Fuck…" I swore, trembling from head to toe as I sank down onto the bed next to him. "Goddamn it, Dago…you still feel fucking incredible."
He laughed softly, "Seeing as how I'm now an archbishop, do you think you could lay off on using God's name in vain?"
I laughed, "Archbishop Mulcahy…what a fucking trip. How'd that happen anyways?"
He told me the story of Nepal and the mission trip, and how he'd gained the attention and respect of many at the Vatican, including the Pope. He told me about the offer Good Pope John had made him and how he'd moved to Rome that very day, where'd he'd been ever since.
"Did you ever think you'd be friends with the actual Pope?"
"Not even in my wildest dreams," he said with another laugh. "Tell me about you, Hawkeye…what have the years held in store for you?"
"Well, I finished my residency, of course, which damn near killed me. Or maybe I damn near killed Jimmy Gargan…it's hard to tell who won that fight, but I got through the boards alright and came home to Crabapple Cove. I worked for one of the old timers, Doggy Moore, for a stint, helping him out with a few cases, but ended up at the Spruce Harbor General Hospital for a couple of years before I had the dough to open up my own practice. I managed to recruit Duke, who moved his whole family up from Georgia, then he and I worked on Spearchucker, who eventually caved in and joined us, and finally we gave Trapper no choice. Together we invested in the Finestkind Clinic and Fishmarket in a little place called Harbor Shore."
"God help me, Hawkeye, but if I know you as well as I think I do, that name is actually a literal translation, isn't it?"
I grinned, "You bet it is. One of the boys who ran the lottery to get us bets on the patients wanted a good retail fish market so he figured he'd open one right at the clinic where people could bring in their lobsters, clams, and shrimp to sell. We even offer filleting, though at an off-site facility."
Dago shook his head, but he was smiling. "And how are Mary and the children?"
"The boys are grown up, of course, and married; no kids yet, which is fine with me, but Tommy is serving in Vietnam right now…which scares the piss out of me. He's in the infantry division, but he's proud to serve his country, so I guess that's something. Karen's in college now, but she's going to put me in an early grave. She's studying woman's studies and wants to join the godda…the fucking peace corp. And then there's Johnny, whom you haven't met yet. He just turned 15. We named him after you."
"After me?" Dago asked, completely surprised.
"Who better?" I replied, looking into his eyes and brushing the backs of my fingers across his cheek. "Mary's good, of course; though she's never stopped calling me an idiot since I ran you off. I think she always hoped you'd come back around, too; she considered—considers—you a good friend, Dago. And—I learned earlier this evening—she was in on this little ploy to bring us together."
"What do you mean? What ploy?"
I suddenly remembered Dago wasn't privy to my conversation with Trapper, Horsey and Pancho earlier. "Ah…shit…well, I suppose you have a right to know as much as anyone. Apparently your little assistant set all of this up—I don't know exactly what or how, I didn't get that much detail out of them—but our being here and your being here at the same time wasn't coincidence. Pancho called Trapper, and Trapper called my wife, so the three of them have all been in cahoots."
"I'm not surprised," Dago told me. "I had a feeling there was more than meets the eye. I'm willing to bet that the Pope himself had his hand in this as well. He's the one that requested I come here and asked that I get a 'second opinion.' I found out earlier this evening that it was the Archbishop of New Orleans that recommended the Heaven's Gate Hospital to the Pope."
"Sounds like we've got ourselves a bonafide conspiracy," I smirked.
"Right before the reception began, there was a page made by the bellboy…did you have anything to do with that?"
"What was the page?"
"He said 'Hotlips Houlihan to the Swamp.'"
I laughed heartily, trying to imagine Dago's face when he'd heard the page. "No, but I kind of wish I had. Could have been Trapper, though."
"If not Trapper, then Pancho." He replied. "He's heard enough tales of the two of you."
"Does he know about us—you and me?"
Dago looked at me with a soft blush, "Yes. I never gave him any great detail, other than the fact that we'd been lovers. There've been so many times when I've dreamt about you, when I couldn't stop thinking about you and couldn't stop missing you—even recently—and he would listen to me lament about you."
"Are you and he…"
"Are we what?"
"You know…together?"
Dago laughed loudly, sending himself into a coughing fit that took him a minute to recover from. "No…God no. There hasn't been anyone else since you, Hawkeye. I've been celibate for almost twenty years."
"Christ," I muttered, looking at him. "Not even a quick hand job on yourself?"
Dago chuckled but shook his head. "No. I missed you too much to even think about sex; but, in a way, that was a good thing seeing as how I'm supposed to be chaste."
I covered his hand with mine. "I'm sorry, Dago."
"Stop apologizing, Hawkeye; we're both equally at fault."
"What happens now, Dago? After you have the surgery—and you will have that damn surgery—what happens to us?"
"Oh, God, Hawkeye…I don't have any idea. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that you're really here right now. I keep expecting this to all be just another dream."
"Well, if we are dreaming, let's not wake up."
"Agreed," he said with a soft smile, and we sealed the deal with a kiss.
As much as I wanted to just stay in bed with him, Dago reminded me that he had to get back downstairs to the reception, saying that they would eventually notice that the guest of honor hadn't been there for most of the evening. He took a quick shower before we both got dressed again, then headed back down to the lobby, where the party was still in full swing.
I was mostly sober by that point and decided to respect the fact that Dago had asked me—several times that evening—not to drink, and simply settled on soda for the rest of the night. He placed a hand on my shoulder as I started off towards where Horsey, Trapper and Pancho were talking and I looked at him curiously.
"I have to go mingle," he said. "I'll come find you in a while."
I nodded, "If you don't, I'm holding Pancho Villa hostage."
He gave me a look of reprimand, though I could see the smile he was trying to contain. "Don't harass him, Hawkeye."
I laughed and Dago smiled sweetly as he headed off to where the Archbishop of New Orleans was seated, conversing with several of the delegates. I turned my chair around and sat next to Trapper.
"You know," Trapper said. "This is really starting to all look like God's idea after all."
"What are you talking about?" I asked, not ruling out that Trapper had either had too much to drink, lost his mind, or had somehow gone from being an existentialist to a Christian in the span of an hour.
"Pancho said Dago's meeting with a doc up at some hospital tomorrow."
"Yeah?" I was failing to see how God had a hand in that more than the Archbishop recommending it to the Pope as Dago had told me earlier.
"It was Horsey's money that founded that hospital."
"No shit?" I asked looking at Horsey.
"I figure I gotta do some good wit' it," Horsey shrugged. "An' it seem like a good idea to give it to a hospital. After all, you doctors is what saved my leg and got me home from Korea."
"I think I've nearly convinced Dago to have the surgery," I told them, sipping my Coca-Cola and looking at Pancho. "He's not so much hardheaded as he is scared shitless."
"How'd you talk him into it?" Trapper asked. "Show him a week old corpse?"
I chuckled, "Close…told him what would happen to him if he didn't do it. I guess that option didn't appeal to him much."
"Well, let us pray that the surgery will be the answer we are all hoping for." Pancho said.
"You pray, Padre," Trapper said, picking up his beer bottle. "We'll drink."
It was another hour or two before Dago wandered over to our table and sat down between me and Pancho, looking sore and exhausted.
"You alright?" I asked softly.
"Just tired," he said, giving me a weary smile.
"Would you care for something to eat, Your Eminence?" Pancho asked.
"Yes…I think I would. I don't remember the last time I ate, to be honest."
Pancho got up and went over to the buffet to fetch Dago something to eat, coming back with an assortment of foods and a glass of water. Dago thanked him softly, then bowed his head, saying a quick prayer. I reached for one of the dinner rolls on Dago's plate and promptly got the back of my hand smacked.
"I thought the Bible taught you people to share," I said, not letting go of the roll.
"Give a man a roll, he'll eat for a day," Dago smirked. "Teach a man to get his own damn rolls, he'll eat until the food is gone."
Horsey, Trapper, Pancho and I all laughed.
As Dago ate, Trapper and Horsey gathered several members of the K of C and had them lined up on the dance floor doing The Madison and the Hully Gully. Dago, Pancho and I had sat and watched them, laughing hysterically for a long while before Dago put his hand on my arm.
"I think I should call it a night," he said. "I'm completely wiped out."
"Want me to walk you home?" I asked, placing my hand on his knee discreetly.
He nodded softly, then looked at Pancho. "You can stay, Pancho. I'm sure there will be far more festivities once I've retired. Enjoy yourself. Please."
"Are you sure, Your Eminence?"
"Quite sure. Hawkeye will see me back to the room, and he will be accompanying us to the hospital in the morning."
"Of course, Your Eminence." Pancho bowed his head slightly.
"Goodnight, Pancho." Dago said, patting his assistant on the shoulder before he and I headed for the door. He bade goodnight to several people on the way out, and carried himself gracefully to the elevator. Once the doors were shut, however, he leaned heavily against the elevator wall.
"Eighth floor," I told the attendant, when Dago didn't seem able to speak.
I watched Dago as we ascended to the 8th floor. His eyes were closed and his mouth was slightly open. I started to wonder how old the x-rays were…and feared it might be too late for surgery.
"Hawkeye…" he said softly, breaking me from my thoughts. "If I do have the surgery, it has to be you who cuts me open. You're the only one I trust to do it."
"That could be a problem, Dago," I told him. "I'm not licensed in this state. You'd have to come back to Maine with me, and we really can't waste any more time."
He looked at me earnestly. "Find a way."
I knew there was no use arguing, as he wasn't going to listen and he didn't have the strength to argue anyways, but I wasn't sure how I was going to pull off doing the surgery here without a license and I didn't really care to get sued for malpractice…not that I thought Dago would, but the Vatican might if I goofed up or if Dago died under my care.
I led him back to his hotel room and helped him get undressed and into his pajamas before he washed his face and brushed his teeth. He climbed into bed and sighed deeply as I pulled the covers up around him. I knew he'd probably fall asleep fairly quickly, but I sat next to him in the bed, propping myself up on my elbow as I held his hand.
"What's the difference in having one lung versus two?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.
"Depends on the person," I told him. "But most of the people I've done a pneumonectomy on have said they really don't feel that different. It's always a little difficult right after surgery when the other lung is learning to compensate, so you might feel like you get winded easily, especially if you climb stairs, but there's something called a spirometer that they'll probably give you afterwards that you blow in and it helps exercise your lung and improve your breathing. It'll be uncomfortable for a little while, but so long as you use the spirometer, you'll be fine in no time."
"You sound so calm about this, Hawkeye…I wish I felt the same way."
"I just know that it'll save your life, baby." I told him. "But I'm not as calm as you think I am. I'm anxious for you to get under the knife before it's too late."
He squeezed my hand. "Thank God Pancho thought to wrangle Trapper into this mess…and, vicariously, you."
"I just wish you had called me and told me what was going on." I told him. "This all seems like an elaborate waste of resources."
"I agree. And I should have. I thought about it, you know. Calling you; but what exactly was I going to say? 'Hi, Hawkeye. Remember me? I know it's been almost 20 years, but I thought you'd like to know I have lung cancer.'"
I couldn't help but laugh. "Well, see, all the more reason you shouldn't have waited this long to get in touch with me."
"Well, I may not have contacted you, but I wrote you nearly every day. I kept a journal with an open letter to you…of course, now it's almost like a series of books."
"You did? Are they here?"
He laughed softly but shook his head. "No, I never expected to run into you while I was here. They're in Rome. Can you still read Runes?"
"I have no idea. I haven't had to read anything written in Runes since the letters you sent me from Korea."
"If you want to read them, I'll make you another key and send them to you."
"Are you crazy? Of course I want to read them, but let's skip the middle man and you just bring them to Crabapple Cove…or I'll come visit you in Rome and read them there."
He smiled up at me, but didn't say anything. Then he sighed again and closed his eyes. I leaned down and kissed his lips. "Go to sleep, baby. You need to rest. Do you want me to stay with you?"
"No, I'm sure the party will still be going on downstairs…you've behaved long enough for one night. Go have some fun."
"You're sure?"
"Yes," he said emphatically. "Get out of my hair, already."
I laughed and kissed him again. "Then I'll see you in the morning."
I slipped out of the bed, turning off the lamp on the nightstand.
"Hawk…?" he said softly. I turned to look at him, though I could only see his silhouette in the darkness. "I love you."
"I love you, too, baby."
I went back down to the party where, indeed, it was still in full swing. Pancho had taken Dago's advice and was learning how to do several of America's favorite dances. I joined them on the dance floor as they began the mashed potato.
At 1am, the owner of hotel, politely asked that we bring the party to an end, but Trapper and Horsey were far from finished, so we moved it to our suite, where the dancing and drinking continued for half the night.
I woke up the next morning to the sound of the phone ringing, not remembering having passed out. I was surprised to see Pancho hanging half off of the bed next to me.
"Joe's Morgue," I answered, voice gruff from underuse and dehydration. "You kill 'em, we chill 'em."
"When I said have fun, I didn't mean go hog wild," Dago's voice was stern, though he sounded amused. "I was just woken up by the hotel manager who received several complaints from other guests about the noise coming from your hotel room until 4 o'clock this morning."
"I'm pretty sure I passed out way before that time," I countered.
He laughed softly. "Is Pancho there with you?"
"He is. I daresay he's going to have one hell of a hangover today. What time is your appointment?"
"They're sending a car for us in about an hour. I don't necessarily need him there with me if you're still going."
"Alright. Let me grab a quick shower and I'll head up to your room."
"I'm about to do the same."
"See you in a bit." I hung up and nudged Pancho's shoulder until he lifted his head from the mattress, a string of drool trailing from the corner of his mouth to the bed as he looked at me with half-lidded eyes. "Dago Red says your off duty today. I recommend rest and plenty of water."
Pancho didn't argue, and simply dropped his head back down to the mattress as he passed out again.
I slipped into the shower, managing to get a quick shave on top of scrubbing clean, then brushed my teeth to get rid of the fur coat my teeth had grown over night, dressed, and tiptoed over the plethora of bodies of K of C members that were strewn all over the suite in various states of undress, all slumbering quite heavily.
I made it up to Dago's room and was glad to see that he wasn't wearing any of his fancy robes, but rather what he called his clericals—trousers, button-up black shirt and the white roman collar. He looked nice and I leaned in to kiss him as he let me into his room.
"You're in Bayou Country now, Dago; you're going to sweat bullets in a long sleeved shirt."
He took my hands and wrapped them around his waist, making sure that I skimmed my hands along the material of his shirt as he kissed me deeply. "It's very lightweight. If I sweat, it'll evaporate."
I smiled at him, kissing him again as a knock sounded at the door. Dago moved to answer it.
"Horsey." He said with surprise.
"I'm comin' wit' ya," Horsey said, as he stepped into the room.
"Really, Horsey, that's not necessary."
"You helped me, Padre; now I gonna help you." He told Dago. "Way I figure it, them's my doctors since I done paid for the hospital. I gonna make sure they give you the best."
"That's very kind of you, Horsey," Dago said, not arguing.
When the front desk called up to alert us that the car had arrived, Dago picked up the envelope with his records and x-rays and sighed heavily, looking at me. "Well…here we go, I guess."
We headed down to the car, sitting shoulder to shoulder in the backseat as the driver navigated through the streets of New Orleans to a large facility on the outskirts of the city. There was an ornate wrought iron gate over the driveway that declared this establishment as the Heaven's Gate Hospital. It looked almost like a southern plantation-style home or hotel rather than a hospital, which I didn't particularly care for, but supposed it seemed welcoming.
As we were led inside, I was somehow not surprised to see that this was a religious-based hospital. The nurses were all dressed in outfits that were a cross between a matron and a nun, but at least the doctors didn't also seem to double as priests. Dago was taken immediately to the x-ray lab to get updated pictures while his file was taken up to the doctor he'd been referred to for review.
Horsey and I waited in the lobby for Dago, though Horsey spent most of his time chatting with the sisters at the admitting desk and I paced the floor nervously. I assumed that Horsey must have dropped his name a couple of times—that or he was well known for being their benefactor—because after about half an hour, the oncologist in charge of Dago's case came to the lobby to greet us.
"Horsey, it's good to see you again," the doctor said, shaking Horsey's hand before he turned to me. "You must be Dr. Pierce?"
"I am." I said, extending my hand.
"I was just visiting with the Archbishop for a minute while they set up for the x-rays, and he informed me you'd be sitting in on the consultation. He said you were familiar with his case?"
"Yes, I'm a thoracic surgeon, so I've reviewed the x-rays he brought with him from Rome."
"What is your recommendation?"
"I would recommend an exploratory to make sure that removal is an option, and if so, do a simple pneumonectomy of the left lung, considering that the new x-rays show no changes."
The doctor nodded, "Yes, that is what I would recommend as well."
"There is a small complication," I mentioned. "Archbishop Mulcahy has requested that I do the surgery, but I am not licensed in this state. He's aware of this, but I would prefer he have the surgery sooner rather than later. Tomorrow, even…if it's possible."
"Yes, that does present a problem." The doctor said in consideration. "Let's see what the new x-rays suggest and we'll take it from there. Agreed, Doctor?"
"Agreed."
"Why don't you come to my office and we'll wait for the Archbishop, he should be just about finished with the x-rays."
Horsey and I followed the doctor back to his office, and—sure enough—Dago joined us soon after as the nurse brought him and the new x-rays in. The doctor put the pictures up on a backlight and he and I both studied them carefully, noting that the tumor had grown in size, but it still seemed operable, even though it was dangerously close to his heart. We both agreed that the surgery couldn't wait another week.
"It has to be you, Hawkeye," Dago reiterated as we presented the recommendation. "I won't go through with this if you're not holding the scalpel."
"Dago, I'm not licensed here. If something goes wrong, I could get sued for malpractice and lose my clinic."
"I won't sue you," he said seriously. "And I'd be willing to sign a release saying that you are not responsible for anything."
"Dago…" I sighed.
"If I may," the other doctor interjected. "Seeing as how this is a very special case, and you are friends of our founder, Mr. de la Chevaux…I would be willing to be the advising surgeon, while you perform the operation."
I looked at Dago, who was looking at me pleadingly. "Will you do it, Hawkeye?"
"Will you let Trapper assist, too?"
He nodded. I looked to the other doctor who shrugged, "I'm willing to let you assemble your own team."
"Then we're all in agreement that Dago Red is my patient?"
They nodded together.
"Then Dago, you and I and Horsey are going to spend the day out in the sunshine, and first thing tomorrow morning, we're getting you in for surgery."
"I know just the thing to do," Horsey grinned.
The hospital had a driver take us to Horsey's home on the Bayou, where he led Dago and I through the house and out on the porch overlooking the swamp-like flatlands. There was a dock leading to an airboat, which made me almost giddy.
"Please tell me that's yours."
"Sho'nuff." Horsey grinned back. "You wanna ride?"
"You damn skippy," I said, mimicking his southern vernacular. He laughed and clapped me hard on the back.
"What about you, Padre? Wanna take 'er for a spin?"
Dago looked less thrilled, and I had to stifle my laugh, remembering a conversation we'd once had about his fear of rivers and lakes and oceans. "Are there…alligators in there?"
"Not in the boat," Horsey replied. "I won't let 'em git ya. Come on."
"You can hang onto me," I smirked at Dago. "Any gators try and come after you, they'll have to go through me."
"I don't know, Hawkeye…."
"Don't be a spoilsport," I teased, taking his hand and gently leading him towards the flat bottom boat as Horsey was already heading down to get it started.
The airboat was built so that the driver sat up in the captain's chair, which was high up on the back of the boat. His passengers shared a bench seat below him. Dago clutched my hand and the edge of the seat, obviously terrified.
"Relax, baby; you're going to give yourself a heart attack before we even get you in for surgery for your lung."
"Shut up, Hawkeye." He said tightly, training his eyes towards the bow of the little boat. Horsey turned the boat around and got us a ways out from his little dock before he nudged me with his foot.
"Ready?"
"Let's go!"
The large fan on the back whirred to life and I looked over to see Dago shut his eyes tightly before Horsey let us fly. The fan was almost deafening, and certainly drown out most all other sounds, except for the sound of the bottom of the boat peeling through the water. Dago was squeezing my hand so tight it hurt and I leaned over to speak into his ear.
"Open your eyes, Dago… it's incredible."
He slowly peeked his eyes open, and—not seeing any alligators coming after him—relaxed ever so slightly. I smiled at him, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. We zipped up and down the bayou, passing small one-or-two man fishing boats, whose passengers waved as we flew passed them. Dago never seemed able to relax completely, and, after a time, he leaned over.
"I want to go back." He said weakly.
I squeezed his hand and motioned for Horsey to take us back and he nodded, turning us around and heading back to his house. I leaned over to Dago. "You okay?"
He shook his head, looking a little green around the gills and I could tell he wasn't much of a seafarer in any capacity.
"Dad would have been disappointed," I teased as I helped him off the boat once we'd docked. Dad had passed on a few years back, leaving his boating business to my brothers, but he was a man of the sea 'til the day he died, and he'd even demanded that we cremate him and scatter his ashes off the coast.
Dago looked at me weakly as I deposited him in a rocking chair on the porch and Horsey brought him some seltzer to calm his stomach. I asked Horsey about his boat as the three of us sat out on the porch, and after a while, I looked over to see Dago nodding off. I knew it was the cancer that was making him so tired, but it still seemed strange to me to see him so weak. In Korea he'd seemed almost invincible—fighting the elements, fighting the odds, fighting the days upon days without real sleep. Now it seemed like a gentle breeze might carry him off like a dried up leaf. I didn't want to seriously consider him old—hell, he was only 5 years older than me—but seeing him in this feeble condition reminded me, once again, that we weren't the young men we used to be. The naïve, child-like impression of Dago that I'd always cherished was gone, and in its place was this worldly, wizened man who had done so much good with his life and—somehow—still loved a miscreant like me.
It was so unfair that he suffered now, and I hoped that this surgery tomorrow would bring back a little of the Dago I remembered from so long ago.
When we got back to the hotel, the sun was setting, and Dago still seemed very lethargic. We went first to my room to find Trapper and assess the damages of last night. Trapper and Pancho were both in the room, which had been cleaned up from our party, and all the bodies removed.
"What's the word?" He asked as Dago sat on the couch next to Pancho.
"We're doing it tomorrow morning," I told him, as he poured me a martini. "Care to assist?"
"They're letting you operate?"
"I'd like to see them try and stop me," I winked. The four of us went down the hotel restaurant for dinner, though whether Dago was too tired, too nervous, or too sick from earlier to eat I couldn't tell. He pushed his food around his plate, only managing a couple of bites before pushing his plate away.
"I'm tired." He said, looking at me.
I knew he was quietly asking me to take him back to the hotel room, so I told Trapper to get us some doggie bags and take it back to the room so I could finish my meal later, and I escorted Dago back to his suite with Pancho on his other side.
"Is there anything you would like me to do, Your Eminence? Any orders you have for tomorrow?"
"No, Pancho. Everything is in order in Rome in case something happens to me, but for now I'm fine." Dago hesitated. "I would like to ask Hawkeye to stay with me tonight…if that's alright with you."
Whether or not Pancho approved of our relationship, he merely nodded to Dago. "If you need anything, Your Eminence, I will be downstairs with Dr. McIntyre."
"Thank you, Pancho." Dago said sincerely. "See you in the morning."
I could tell that Dago was starting to get scared about the surgery, starting to consider his mortality quite seriously, but before I could ask him if he wanted to talk about it, he told me he wanted to go take a shower. I sat on the couch and picked up the television remote, flipping through the stations over and over again nervously.
I was still worried that we'd find that the tumor had either spread to his heart or had grown beyond his lung, and I itched to cut him open just to find out. I knew we both needed a good night's rest, but sleep was the further thing from my mind. Dago emerged from the shower wearing his pajamas and a robe and sat next to me on the couch, taking my hand in his as I continued to flip through the channels.
After several minutes, he took the remote and set it aside as he turned slightly to face me. "In case I don't make it," he started to say.
I shook my head, "Don't you start with that, Dago. I pulled you through when you got stabbed by that Korean kid, and I'm going to pull you through this one, too."
"You and I both know this is a little more serious than a knife wound, Hawkeye." He said gently. "I can see it in your face that you're as scared as I am about tomorrow."
"That doesn't mean you're not going to make it."
He simply looked at me for a long minute, imploring me with his eyes to listen, and so I did.
"In case I don't make it, I want you to know how blessed I feel to have known you…and to have loved you, Ben. Even if I do pull through, I want you to know this. We can't change the past, or get back all the years we've lost, Hawkeye, but even without each other life has been good to us. I've helped change an entire country—giving them medicine and education, teaching them… I've been an unofficial advisor to the Pope and, vicariously, helped to change the future of the Catholic Church—hopefully for the better. And you…you've established the Finestkind Clinic and Fishmarket. You've raised three wonderful children, and are still raising a fourth. Our lives would have been drastically different if we'd stayed together; so much would have been missed or might never have happened. I wish you and I had more time, but I don't regret the way my life has turned out…and I don't want you to regret yours either, my love."
Never, in all the time I'd known Dago, had I ever heard him refer to me by any type of pet name other than 'Hawk.' To hear him refer to me as 'my love' made my heart sing and my eyes water, and I tightened my hold on his hands. "Promise me that when you go back to Rome, that won't be the end of us, John. I can't live another 20 years without you. I know you think I'm selfish, but I love you too much to let you go again."
"I promise, Ben. We'll find a way this time."
I pulled him into my arms and kissed him deeply. Ours wasn't a perfect love, but it was love that had withstood the test of time. I understood, now, that I would rather have Dago in my life and see him on only a few occasions than to not have him at all. I'd made that mistake once…I wouldn't do it again.

TBC
- 18
- 19
- 20
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Infatuation