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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
- 19
- 20
- 21
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 Mulcahy's POV. Please ignore any typos. I don't always catch them all. Thanks for reading. Enjoy. I think I still have one or two chapters left in me, so we're nearing the end, but I'm not quite there just yet.

As Hawkeye kissed me, I felt time stand still around us. I had missed this so much. My words to him had been true: I didn't regret the way our lives had turned out. I regretted that we had parted on bad terms, and that I hadn't tried to reach out to him before now, but I still believed that the separation was necessary. The more focused I was on Hawkeye, the less focused I was on serving God. I knew I couldn't truly devote myself to missionary work if I was always anticipating the next time I would see him.
Although I didn't doubt Hawkeye's surgical ability in the slightest, his anxiety over the procedure troubled me. I knew he was mainly concerned that it was too late for surgery, rather than a fear of me dying on the table, but either way it instilled in me the need to tell him how much I loved him…and had always loved him. If the surgery was a success and I was granted a little more time on this earth, then I would find a way to be with Hawkeye.
As much as I deeply desired to make love to Hawkeye that night, to let our passions combine, I was much too tired and far too preoccupied. I ended the kiss, having become slightly breathless, but rested my body against his as we sat on the couch in the small common room of the suite. His arms encased me in their warmth and I closed my eyes, listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart as I laid my head against his chest.
We sat in silence, not because there wasn't anything to say, but because there was too much. Neither of us paid much attention to the television as we were wrapped up in our own thoughts, but after about half an hour, Hawkeye pressed his lips to the top of my head.
"You should get some rest, Dago."
"I'd rather sit here with you," I sighed, albeit knowing he was right.
"Come on, baby." He said, gently easing me off of him. I let him pull me to my feet, following him into the bedroom. He pulled back the covers before he stripped down to his boxers and we both climbed into the bed, where I settled once again against his chest.
"You're incredible." He murmured after a few quiet minutes had passed.
"Why?"
"Just thinking about everything you've done. If you're not careful, they might make you a saint."
I couldn't help but laugh. "I doubt that. Besides, there's already a Saint John and a Saint Patrick, so there's no room for me."
"Ah, but is there a Saint Dago Red?" He teased. "Speaking of…How come you don't go by that anymore?"
"Because I'm not an army chaplain anymore. I'm an archbishop. While it may have been an endearment from Danny, I don't think others at the Vatican would appreciate it as much, least of all the Pope."
"Well, you'll always be Dago Red in my book."
"And you'll always be a horse's ass in mine."
He laughed heartily, squeezing my shoulders and I lifted my head to kiss his lips.
Pancho rang us up promptly at six the next morning to wake us up, and I found myself surprised that we had both managed to get a fair amount of sleep. I showered and took time to properly groom myself—if it was in the cards for me to die today, I wanted to meet my maker at my best. Hawkeye was already dressed and eating the continental breakfast delivered by the hotel. I knew I couldn't eat, but that was alright with me…I certainly wasn't hungry.
"You ready for this?" He asked around a mouthful of muffin.
"If I say 'no' can we call the whole thing off?"
"Nope."
"Then why bother asking?" I replied, jesting.
He smirked, "Thought I'd at least make you feel like you've got a say."
"That's very kind of you."
Though we were both kidding around, Hawkeye reached out and took my hand, looking at me seriously. "I'm going to take care of you, Dago; just like I did in Korea."
"I have every faith in you, Hawkeye." I answered, just as solemn.
"I probably won't get the chance to say this at the hospital," he murmured, standing up and running his hands down from my shoulders, over my arms, to my wrists, then back up before he cupped my face. "I love you, John."
"I love you, too, Ben."
He kissed my lips softly, tasting of blueberries, and pulled away only when there was a knock at the door to signal the arrival of Trapper and Pancho. I sighed and searched his eyes, hoping to find strength.
"It's time." I told him quietly.
The hospital sent a car to pick us up and I sat between Pancho and Hawkeye in the backseat while Trapper sat up front with the driver asking about what kind of mileage the car got. Pancho and I were discussing business affairs. While I had put everything in order in Rome, no matter what the outcome of today's surgery was, I probably wouldn't be able to perform any necessary duties for several weeks at best, and I would need to rely on Pancho to help me complete those tasks.
"One other thing," I told him quietly. "In my bedroom at home, there is a file box labeled with Hawkeye's name. Should something happen to me, please make sure he gets the contents of that box."
"Of course, Your Eminence."
We pulled up in front of the hospital and unloaded from the car, walking into the lobby where we were met my one of the nurses. "Archbishop Mulcahy, if you're ready, we'll get in a gown and get you prepped for surgery,"
"Of course; might I have a moment alone with my friends before you whisk me away?"
"Take your time." She smiled and politely moved away as I turned to Pancho, Trapper and Hawkeye.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to pray." I requested. Pancho, naturally, bowed his head and closed his eyes. Hawkeye and Trapper both bowed their heads respectfully, but didn't close their eyes. I bowed my own head and began to pray. "Heavenly Father, I thank you for reuniting me with two of my dearest friends in my hour of need. I thank you for giving them the skill they need to perform this operation, and ask that you watch over them and guide them today. Keep their hands steady, Father. I thank you for all that you have allowed me to accomplish in Your name, and ask that—if it is your will—let this operation rid me of the sickness that has invaded my body so that I may go on to bring you glory. I thank you for the friend I have found in your servant, Pancho, who has been of immeasurable help to me over the years. Bless him, Father, and may he know how dear he has been to me. In your name, we pray…Amen."
"Amen." The others murmured.
Pancho met my eyes as we lifted our heads, and he laid his hand on my shoulder. "Father, it would be my honor to anoint you before the surgery."
"Thank you, Pancho…I would like that." I looked to the two men I had known for so long and took a deep breath. "Don't stitch your names into me."
Hawkeye smirked, "Spoilsport."
I nodded to Pancho and, together, he and I followed the nurse down to a private room where I was giving a gown. Pancho took my clothing as I undressed, hanging it on the hangers provided in the room. I removed my watch and the cross hanging around my neck, giving them both to Pancho for safe keeping before I got into the hospital bed.
Pancho pulled a small bottle from within his robes that I immediately recognized as anointing oil. He set it on the table next to the hospital bed, then pulled out a small flat box and a flask which I also recognized.
"You truly came prepared, didn't you?" I asked, laughing softly at his portable communion supplies.
"Of course, Your Eminence." He smiled, then looked at me solemnly. "Would you like the Sacrament of Penance as well?"
The thought that I could die during surgery had never left my mind, and I knew that if I wasn't absolved of my sins before then, I would enter Heaven with a tainted soul. However, the sins I had committed—namely homosexual acts with Hawkeye—could not be absolved. I looked at Pancho, knowing that he probably knew I had sinned with Hawkeye while here in New Orleans, and I couldn't help but wonder what he thought of me for it.
"My sins cannot be absolved," I answered after a moment.
Pancho seemed to consider this for a minute, then raised his hand over my head and spoke, "Deus, Pater misericordiárum, qui per mortem et resurrectiónem Fílii sui mundum sibi reconciliávit et Spíritum Sanctum effúdit in remissiónem peccatórum, per ministérium Ecclésiæ indulgéntiam tibi tríbuat et pacem. Et ego te absólvo a peccátis tuisin nómine Patris et Fíliiet Spíritus Sancti." (("God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son

has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins;

through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."))
I looked at him in complete and utter shock, but without pause, Pancho began to recite the Lord's Prayer. He picked up the small box and opened it, pulling out a flat, round communion wafer and held it up to me.
"Corpus Christi," He said as he presented me with the Body of Christ.
"Amen," I answered, and he placed it in my mouth.
Pancho then picked up his flask and poured a small amount into a paper cup sitting on the table before presenting it to me. "Sanguis Christi."
"Amen," I answered again, accepting the Blood of Christ and drinking.
"Ipse te custódiat et perdúcat in vitam ætérnam." (("May the Lord Jesus Christ protect you and lead you to eternal life."))
"Amen."
I closed my eyes as Pancho first anointed my forehead with the oil as he spoke the sacred prayer, "Per istam sanctam Unctiónem et suam piíssimam misericórdiam, ádiuvet te Dóminus grátia Spíritus Sancti." (("Through this holy anointing may the Lord, in his love and mercy, help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit."))
"Amen." I murmured.
Then, anointing my hands, he said, "Ut a peccátis liberátumte salvet atque propítius állevet." (("May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up."))
"Amen." I said again.
Pancho laid his hand over my heart and, speaking in English, he prayed, "Father, you readily take into account every stirring of good will, and you never refuse to pardon the sins of those who seek your forgiveness. Have mercy now on your servant John, who has entered the struggle for his life. May this holy anointing and our prayer of faith comfort and aid him in body and soul. Forgive all his sins and protect him with your loving care. We ask this, Father, through your Son Jesus Christ, because he has won the victory over death, opened the way to eternal life

and now lives and reigns with you for ever and ever."
I nearly choked on the lump of emotion that had formed in my throat, managing to croak out a weak, "Amen."
Pancho concluded with one final prayer, "Benedíctio Dei omnipoténtis, Patris et Fílii et Spíritus Sancti, descéndat super vos, et máneat semper. Amen." (("May the blessing of almighty God, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, come upon you and remain with you for ever."))
"Thank you, Pancho." I said, hardly able to speak.
"I will be here when you wake up," he assured me.
"God willing." I sighed.
Pancho gathered his things, replacing them in his pocket and gave me a respectful bow before he left the room. The nurses came in shortly after to get me ready for the proceedure, and within another half hour I was moved to a gurney and rolled to the operating room where Hawkeye, Trapper and several other surgically garbed men were waiting for me.
"Father," Hawkeye said as they rolled me up to the surgical table. "I believe we have a table for you right here."
I appreciated his humor, as it helped alleviate some of the tension I was feeling. They got me settled onto the table and Hawkeye leaned over me as the anethesiologist got into place and the nurses drapped me with a sheet. My teeth started to chatter involuntarily from nerves and the sterile chill in the room.
"Don't worry," Hawkeye said softly. "I'm going to be here every step of the way. Just remember what you did in Korea—take deep breaths and relax, and Trap and I will do the rest."
The gas passer placed a mask over my nose and mouth and I did as Hawkeye said, trying to remember to take deep breaths, even though it hurt. My extremities started to go numb and tingly and my vision blurred slightly, darkening at the edges. Though I wasn't sure why, I suddenly started to get anxious and I heard one of the nurses inform Hawkeye that my blood pressure and heart rate were rising.
"Let up on the gas," Hawkeye told the anethesiologist. I felt his gloved hand on my shoulder. "Just relax, baby. You can breath normally now."
I nodded vaguely as his words processed in my fuzzy mind. My eyes started to get heavy as the anesthesia began to put me under.
"Good...you're doing good," Hawkeye's voice sounded far away, but the words carried me away into the darkness...
Coming out from under sedation was a strange experience, and I couldn't remember if it had been like this when I'd been put under for the knife wound in Korea. I remembered only bits and pieces of things as the anesthesia started to wear off, like opening my eyes to find Pancho, Trapper and Hawkeye all sitting around the hospital room talking, and the nurses coming in to check on me, waking me up just about every hour.
I was in pain, naturally, but I could tell that I was being given some kind of medication that was keeping me mostly knocked out and oblivious to everything, which was probably for the best. The first real memory I had was of someone holding my hand. I managed to open my eyes and saw Hawkeye sitting next to the hospital bed, staring at me. He smiled broadly at me.
"Welcome back."
"I made it?"
"Of course; you let me operate, didn't you?"
"Was it…am I….?" I couldn't seem to finish the thought.
"The cancer was still contained to the left lung and we were able to remove it, though you're down a couple of ribs now, too."
"Ribs?" I asked, trying to pull through the fog in my brain so that I could actually comprehend what he was saying.
"Well, I had to remove your ribs to get to your lung. I can't exactly glue those back in." He said with a slight laugh. "Don't worry, baby, you'll hardly notice. Once the muscle has time to heal again, it'll just be a little softer in that spot, that's all."
"Thank you, Hawkeye…"
"You don't have to thank me," he murmured, squeezing my hand gently. "Why don't you try and go back to sleep, baby. The morphine's going to make you feel a little loopy, but it'll help manage the pain."
"What will you do?"
"If it's alright with you, I might go back to the hotel to shower, get something to eat and get some shut eye myself. Trapper's already gone back with Pancho."
"Okay. Thank you for staying with me."
"Stop thanking me," he said, leaning over and kissing my lips. "I'll see you tomorrow, John. Rest."
"…love you…" I mumbled as I quickly passed out again.
The next time I came to, I felt a little more alert than before, and more aware of the pain. There was a nurse checking the equipment that was attached to me and she looked over and smiled as she noticed I was awake.
"Good morning, Archbishop. How are you feeling today?"
"It hurts," I confessed.
"Yes, I'm sure it must. Dr. Pierce has asked me to limit the morphine this morning because he wants to try and get you on your feet for a little while today, or at least have you sit up in a chair."
"Where is Hawkeye?"
"He phoned from the hotel and said he'd be here in a while. That was about an hour ago."
"Thank you."
"Can I get anything for you in the meantime?"
"No; thank you." I repeated.
Hawkeye arrived not much later and smiled as he saw that I was awake. "Feel like shit yet?"
"Yet?" I scoffed weakly. "I think I passed that and went straight to 'Oh God, just take me already.'"
Hawkeye laughed and leaned in to give me a quick kiss just before Trapper and Pancho tagged along into the room after him.
"Father," Pancho smiled, coming over to touch my shoulder lightly. "It is good to see you."
"It's good to see you too, Pancho. Trapper, thank you for all your help."
"Don't mention it, Red."
"Feel like moving around a bit?" Hawkeye asked.
"No, but I have a feeling this is another one of those questions you're asking just to make me think I have a choice."
He grinned but said nothing, rather instead giving me a plump little pillow. "Here, hold this against your chest. Right now I just want to see how far out of bed we can get you."
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" I asked warily, gingerly hugging the pillow to me and feeling the protest of my body.
"It's necessary," he told me. "Not that I'm calling you old, Dago, but people of advanced years are more prone to blood clots after surgery than younger people."
"'Advanced years?'"
"You are in your sixties." He pointed out, lowering the rail on the right side of the bed. "I just want to get you mobile a little; get some good circulation going."
"What do I need to do?"
"I'm only going to offer you minimal support, but I want you to sit up as tall as you can, and hang your feet over the side of the bed. I'll let you get used to sitting up for a minute, but then you're going to stand up."
I nodded and Hawkeye put his hand on my right shoulder, helping me sit up straight. The pain was intense, much worse than I remembered from after the knife wound. Trying to move around back then had been hard enough; I was older now, not quite as spry… "Hawkeye, I'm not sure I can do this yet." I told him through clenched teeth.
"Yes you can," he said gently. "You're doing fine. Just move your legs over the side of the bed. And stop holding your breath."
I groaned as I carefully started to maneuver my body around, focusing on breathing and moving slowly. By the time I had my legs dangling off the edge of the bed, I was ready to give up. I could feel where they had cut me open from my back, down across my side and it hurt. I gripped Hawkeye's arm with my right hand, waiting for the intense stabs of pain to subside…but they didn't.
"Breathe, Dago," he reminded me.
Trapper was standing on my left side and gently pulled open the back of the hospital gown, looking at the surgical site and checking the stitches. "'Hawkeye and Trapper were here…'" He said as he gently ran the tip of his finger along the edge of the cut.
"So help me God, if you actually stitched that into me—"
They laughed, but it was Hawkeye who reassured me that Trapper was only kidding. I glared at both of them and Hawkeye finally pried my fingers off his forearm. "Time to stand up." He told me, taking my hand for support.
With his help, I was able to slowly stand up and even shuffle the 4 feet from the bed to the window in my private room and back again before the pain was overwhelming and I was out of breath.
"You did better than I expected," Hawkeye said, helping me back into the bed and putting the rail back up after I was situated. "I want you to eat something before we give you anymore morphine."
I nodded and Pancho left to tell the nurse to bring me something to eat. I knew I was hungry and needed to eat, but it was even painful to swallow. I managed a few bites of oatmeal before I begged Hawkeye to give me something for the pain.
"Alright," he conceded, moving over to the IV stand next to the bed and adjusting a shut off valve to the morphine drip so that the medicine began to mix with the solution that was connected straight into my vein. "But I don't want you to become addicted to morphine, so in a couple of days, I'm putting you on something less potent if necessary."
The three of them stayed to keep me company for most of the day, even though I still faded in and out of sleep quite regularly. Hawkeye had me get up a few more times to move around, and by the end of the day I was nearly able to get up without assistance. The nurses removed the catheter I'd had in since before the surgery, but kept me on the IV. Hawkeye lowered the amount of morphine I was getting, and ordered the nurses to switch me over to something else starting the following day.
I'd fallen asleep again before I'd gotten a chance to say goodnight to them. Trapper and Hawkeye didn't come back with Pancho the next morning to the hospital and I realized that I had never even asked what the two of them were doing here in New Orleans in the first place—other than being pawns in a plot to remove my cancerous lung. Mary and Trapper must have given Hawkeye some reason for coming here.
"There is a medical conference they were scheduled to attend," Pancho informed me after I questioned him.
"Did you arrange for that to be here as well?" I asked pointedly, not putting it past him.
He laughed but shook his head, "No, that was a happy coincidence and provided Dr. McIntyre with the excuse he needed to bring Dr. Pierce."
"I want to know how you planned all of this, Pancho. How'd you know where to find Trapper?"
"It was not difficult to locate him, Your Eminence." He said. "From all of your stories of Korea, I knew that Dr. McIntyre was from Boston and that Dr. Pierce was from Maine. I called the general hospitals in Boston to inquire about where Dr. McIntyre might be staffed now, and was told he was working in Maine at a clinic run by Dr. Pierce. That was also not hard to locate, given his reputation. I had wanted to contact Dr. Pierce initially, but given your history, I was unsure if that would be an appropriate measure to take and did not wish to make the situation worse between you and him. So, I thought I would contact Dr. McIntyre to explain the situation and to—how you say—get a feeling for how Dr. Pierce might respond. I had only hoped that your friends might talk to you about the surgery so that you would consider it…I had not hoped they would actually perform the operation themselves."
"That was my doing," I told Pancho. "I told Hawkeye if anyone cut me open, it had to be him or I wouldn't do it."
"But why, Father? Why would you risk your life in such a way?"
I looked at him for a long moment. "Because I trust him, Pancho. It's not that I doubt other doctors' abilities, but…he cares for me in a way that other doctors don't and he understands me in a way that no one ever has. It may seem silly, but…it just had to be him."
"I think I understand, Father." Pancho said gently.
I reached over and placed my hand on his. "Thank you. For everything, Pancho. Not just going behind my back to set all this up, but for your discretion and understanding in my relationship with Hawkeye. I hope I have not burdened you with all of this."
"Of course not, Your Eminence," he told me with complete sincerity. "I understand the position of the Church in this matter as much as you, but I know that you are not alone."
I looked at him curiously. I knew he wasn't referring to himself, but I couldn't help but wonder who he was speaking of.
"Besides, your sins are not so great, and your good deeds are far more significant. We all see the love of Christ when we look at you, Father. God has done many wondrous things through you. It is why we are all so selfish and want to keep you here much longer." He smiled, teasing me and I wanted to laugh, but knew it would probably kill me, so I just smiled back.
I was released from the hospital after 4 days and told to take it easy and not lift anything over 5lbs until a follow up visit with my primary care doctor in a few weeks. As Hawkeye had said, they gave me a spirometer, teaching me how to use it and making me exercise my lung several times a day. It hurt like hell, but I was determined to get back on my feet as quickly as possible.
Trapper had gone back to Maine after the conference, needing to get back to the hospital for several surgeries that were stacking up in his absence, but Hawkeye stayed with me and Pancho in New Orleans. He wanted me to wait another week before traveling by plane back to Rome, to give my lung time to adjust without getting crushed by the change in altitude, especially on such a long flight. I spent much of the time resting and healing from my surgery while Hawkeye corrupted Pancho with his card games and gambling. I was still moving slow, sore and in pain, but seemed to be making progress each day.
As I was laying—propped up on several pillows—in bed one night, Hawkeye offered to accompany me back to Rome.
"You really don't have to do that, Hawkeye."
"I know I don't have to," he said quietly. "But you're going to be leaving in a few days and I'm not ready to say goodbye again. We haven't really been able to be alone for very long here."
"I'm going to have a lot of work waiting for me when I get back," I countered. "It wouldn't really be that fun for you."
The hurt look on his face made me feel like I'd just kicked a puppy and I found myself quickly amending my statement. "That doesn't mean I wouldn't want you there, though."
"So I can come?"
"Are you sure Mary and the clinic will be alright without you?"
"Mary will understand; in fact she'll probably beg me to stay as long as I can. Trapper and Duke can handle things at the clinic until I get back."
"Hawkeye…" I said curiously. "Does Trapper know about our relationship?"
He looked at me for a long moment, as if trying to gauge how I might respond to his answer. "Yes."
I was surprised. "When did you tell him?"
"A long time ago." He admitted. "He said he always kind of suspected there was something between us. I asked him what tipped him off and he just laughed."
"Meaning what?"
"Meaning that the fact that I had become close friends with you tipped him off."
"Well, yes, I suppose it would seem quite odd."
He laughed softly. "He asked me about it back in Korea, you know. I lied about it then."
"I guess Trapper is much sharper than he appears to be. How about Duke?"
"No," Hawkeye said firmly. "Duke would shit himself if he knew about us. He's still the most racist, self-righteous bigot on the planet. Still calls Spearchucker 'the niggra' even after 'Chuck threatened to skin him. I think he does it now just to piss him off, but he hates blacks, Jews and faggots, that's for sure."
"What's his problem with Jewish people?"
"Same problem he's got with Catholics. They're 'backwards.'"
I shook my head sadly, "I suppose some people are incapable of change and growth."
"You know the weirdest thing about Duke…his granddaddy was the slave owner who set Spearchucker's daddy free."
"What?" I asked, thoroughly confused by that revelation.
"Swear to God," Hawkeye laughed at my expression. "Duke's granddad owned a plantation in Georgia. Spearchucker's grandfather worked on that plantation, and Spearchucker's father was born there the same year that the civil war ended and the slaves were set free."
I was trying t do the math in my head. I was fairly certain that Spearchucker was a year or two older than Hawkeye, but even still, if his father was born in 1865, then Spearchucker's father would have been…
"Old when 'Chuck was born." Hawkeye finished my thought. I hadn't realized I'd been talking out loud. "I think somewhere in the neighborhood of 50? Spearchucker's mama was a lot younger than his daddy. Second, maybe third, wife."
"That explains a lot." I said, finally puzzling it all out.
"He and Duke have a lot of history and didn't even realize it until we all got together after the war. Which just makes things worse every time Duke calls someone a 'niggra.'"
"Well, he really ought not to."
"Not everyone's a saint like you, Dago."
"Oh, please," I scoffed. "I'm the furthest thing from a saint."
"I doubt that." He grinned, knowing he was far less likely to be considered a saint. I quietly agreed with that. "So what's Rome like? I haven't been to Italy yet."
"Busy. And Catholic. If you want I'll take you on a private tour of the Vatican—if you promise me you'll be on your absolute best behavior. No exceptions."
"Are people like me even allowed into the Vatican?"
"They give tours to the public, though they limit a lot of what people see."
"Can I meet the Pope?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because he's a very busy and important man. Even I have to request an audience with him unless I'm sent for. We can't exactly just pop in and say hi."
"That's alright, I'm sure he's not as much fun as you are."
"I'm not even sure I'm still much fun, Hawkeye; if I even ever was."
"Of course you were." He countered. "I told you, whenever you stopped being so damn concerned about what others were thinking, you were a helluva lot of fun, Dago. I'm willing to bet that hasn't changed…especially since you certainly have no qualms about putting me in my place these days."
"What do you mean?"
"'Call me Dago Red again and I'll make you eat the glass.'" He said, parroting my idle threat from that first night in New Orleans. He grinned, "Pretty harsh words from an archbishop."
I chuckled, still not ready to attempt a real laugh. "Yes, well, the last thing I need is gossip in the Vatican. I'm fairly certain His Holiness, the Pope, has no idea that I once willing introduced myself to others as 'Dago Red' and I'd like to keep it that way."
"Why? It's a great nickname. And a great story."
"It's one thing to have nicknames and stories like that as a mere army chaplain, maybe even just a simple priest…but not for someone in my position. There are certain expectations. Drunken debauchery is one of those that rank high on the lists of things the Church frowns on from the clergy."
"Eh…What do they know?" Hawkeye said dismissively.
"Promise me you'll be behave, Hawkeye."
"Well, if I can't call you 'Dago' there, what should I call you?"
"John." I said after a moment's consideration. "I'm not sure having you call me 'Father' is appropriate."
"Why not…Father?" He teased, smirking at me.
"Hawkeye." I warned.
"Come on, Father, there must be a reason, Father."
I sighed. "If moving wasn't so painful, I'd throttle you."
He laughed loudly and leaned in to kiss my lips. "See…you're still fun."
The day to fly home finally came. Hawkeye had called Mary to let her know he was going back with me and to have her send his passport down priority mail so that it would be there in time for our trip. As we boarded a private jet back to Rome and Hawkeye helped settle me into a seat, padding the area between me and the backrest with pillows, that surreal feeling returned and I couldn't believe that Hawkeye and I were really together again.
I started to think about all the years that had passed since that afternoon in Crabapple Cove, and again wondered how our lives might have been different if I'd stayed. It was hard for me to fathom just how easily he and I had picked up again after so long. It was just…natural. We'd only been together physically the one time that first night after our reunion, but sex wasn't the basis of our relationship, it was just a bonus. I knew that Hawkeye wasn't coming with me just for the prospect of sex—it wasn't likely that I'd be up to any extracurricular activity anytime soon, anyways—and it made me realize just how deep of a connection he and I had. It made me love and appreciate him all the more, and I held his hand as he sat beside me, trying to convey my affections for him by mere touch alone.
I tried to sleep for most of the flight, though Hawkeye woke up several times for my breathing exercises or to get up and move around the plane. He was right that air travel was harder on me with one lung, but it was more just the discomfort than anything else. The air pressure in the cabin helped make it not so hard to breathe, but I felt somewhat winded all the same.
By the time we finally landed in Rome, I was exhausted. Even though Pancho and I were officials of the Church, Hawkeye still had to go through customs, so it took more time than usual to get out of the airport. Luckily, Pancho had the forethought of loading our bags into a taxi so that we could leave as soon as Hawkeye was processed and his passport stamped.
The first thing on the agenda was food, but I was in no mood to go somewhere and sit down so Pancho had the driver drop off Hawkeye and I at my apartment. Hawkeye carried our bags in before he got me settled into the armchair in the living room.
"There's some beer in the refrigerator," I told him. "It's Italian beer, so it's not very good, but help yourself."
"I thought Italians were supposed to be well-versed in the art of brewing."
I shook my head, laughing softly. "They're wine makers. They're well-versed in grape stomping and fermentation."
"We should visit a grape vineyard while I'm here," he said, popping the top of a can of beer and sitting on the couch. "It would be like that episode of 'I love Lucy' when she stomps the grapes."
"All the more reason not to visit a vineyard," I teased. "You're capable of causing enough trouble without reenacting scenes from 'I Love Lucy.'"
"Spoi—"
"Don't say it." I cut him off, making him laugh.
Pancho eventually made it back to the apartment with a fresh pie from a pizzeria near the church and the aroma alone made my mouth water. If Italy had anything going for it, it was definitely the food. Pasta and pizza and lasagna made by real Italians couldn't be beat, but even the pies made by Italian-Americans in the states had a different taste. Maybe it was the ingredients, or maybe it was the atmosphere of being in Italy, but nothing ever tasted as good as it did here.
I did find, much to my disappointment, that the pizza seemed rather bland.
"Probably just due to the surgery," Hawkeye said, scarfing down a slice. "Some people say that their senses are affected for a while—mainly taste. It's a common side effect of some of the medications."
"It's an unfortunate side effect," I lamented with a sigh as I looked at the bland piece of pizza in my hand.
I managed to eat several slices despite the off-taste of it, and once we were finished I felt well and truly beat. I thanked Pancho for the pizza and for his taking the time to accompany me overseas, and told him to take the next day off to rest and recuperate.
Hawkeye licked his fingers clean, having finished off the last slice of pizza as Pancho and I said goodbye, and looked at me knowingly. "Do you want a shower or do you want to go straight to bed?"
"I should shower," I said tiredly. "But I feel dead."
He laughed softly. "I could give you a sponge bath."
"Yes, that won't make me feel like an invalid."
"At least you'd be cleaner."
"I'll take my chances with being dirty." I got myself up and into the bedroom with Hawkeye on my heels. "You can stay up if you want to; I told you I'm not going to be much fun."
"You just had major surgery, Dago; I don't expect you to go out and run any marathons right now."
Though I was capable of dressing and undressing now, Hawkeye took control. He carefully unbuttoned my shirt and slipped it off of my shoulders and down my arms, checking the surgical site to make sure that it was healing well and not infected. Satisfied, he unbuckled my belt and pulled it free from my trousers before he undid the fastenings of my pants. He dropped to his knees in front of me, pulling down my pants and taking them off of me one leg at a time before he reached for my underwear and slowly pulled them down. He pressed his lips just under my navel, kissing across my lower abdomen to my hip, where he gently nipped my skin.
I sighed pleasantly, running my fingers through his shaggy, graying blonde hair. "You need a haircut."
"I thought you liked my hair longer." He murmured, kissing his way lower.
"Not this long," I chuckled tiredly. "A few more inches and people might mistake you for a woman."
"I doubt that," he smirked, looking up at me. "You feel up for a little action?"
"As much as I want to, I just don't think I have the energy for it."
He kissed my thigh, whispering, "You don't have to do anything but enjoy, baby."
His tongue flicked out across the head of my semi-erect penis, making me moan almost involuntarily and close my eyes as my erection became more pronounced. I held onto his head for stability as he took me into his mouth, his lips and tongue working up and down the shaft. "Hawkeye…"
He hummed softly as the head touched the back of his throat and my knees nearly buckled. He chuckled softly and pulled back. "Maybe you ought to sit on the edge of the bed."
I nodded, feeling my cheeks redden, but moved to the bed and gingerly sat down. Hawkeye crawled across the floor to me, kissing his way up from my calf to my hip before taking me into his mouth once again. I closed my eyes, tipping my head back as he sucked and slurped at me furiously. The wet noises of his mouth around me, though familiar, were sweet to hear after so long without them. This almost felt like the first time all over again, and it wasn't long before I was rapidly encroaching on my release.
"Hawkeye…" I moaned hoarsely, gripping the strands of his hair between my fingers. He pushed my legs further apart, bringing one hand up to cup my testicles, squeezing them gently.
I lost it.
"Ben!" I cried, panting and moaning as I came into his mouth.
I felt lightheaded, but completely contented, and wasn't even fully aware that Hawkeye was gently shifting me up against a pile of pillows and moving my legs up into the bed until he pulled the covers up around me and leaned in to kiss me. I could taste myself on his lips, and a random thought popped into my head that made me laugh softly.
"What's so funny?"
"Do you remember that conversation we had about where we'd be in 20 years? We must have still been in Korea at the time. I recall something about you saying you might not want to perform oral sex on me anymore."
He laughed. "I'm happy to report that I have no problem sucking you off."
He kissed me again and I blushed again.
"Though, I do remember you saying something about me going bald? I'd like to take this opportunity to point out the fact that I am most certainly not going bald."
"Just grey." I teased, running my fingers through his hair.
His eyes narrowed. "You're lucky you're injured right now, Dago."
I laughed tiredly, weakly pulling him back into another kiss. I lightly sucked his tongue, wishing I could reciprocate what he'd just done to me. Hawkeye moaned softly into my mouth, kissing me back just as ardently as I was kissing him. Once again, I had to pull back as I became breathless.
"This lack-of-oxygen business is really a pain in the ass, Hawkeye." I panted.
He brushed his nose against mine, "I know, but it's temporary. I promise."
"I hope so," I sighed and closed my eyes, far more tired now than I had been 15 minutes ago. "Will you lay with me…just for a while?"
"Of course," he murmured, moving to the other side of the bed and slipping in next to me.
I took his hand and held it. "I'm sorry I can't reciprocate right now."
"Don't worry," he teased lightly. "You can owe me."
I smiled, unable to keep my eyes open any longer and fell asleep to Hawkeye stroking the back of my hand with his thumb.
We were both awakened the next morning to the sound of knocking at the front door. Hawkeye, who had stripped down to his boxers at some point after I'd fallen asleep, lifted his sleepy head off the pillow, looking towards the origin of the noise.
"You expecting anyone?" He asked, sleepily.
"No," I answered, trying to sit up. "It's probably just Pancho."
"Should we let him in?"
"Yeah, I suppose we ought to. Just put on some pants…and hand me mine."
Hawkeye hopped out of bed, swiping his pants off the floor and tossing me the trousers I'd worn the day before. I managed to get my trousers on and fastened and went to the closet for a clean shirt. I could hear Hawkeye down the hall as he answered the front door.
"May I help you, sir?"
Sir?I thought, suddenly realizing that it must not be Pancho at the door.
"Pardon me, I was looking for Archbishop Mulcahy; this is his residence, yes?"
My heart stopped. I knew that voice anywhere. It was the Pope. I stuffed my arms into the shirt in my hands, moving too quickly and causing my wound to protest. I nearly cried out in pain, but stifled it as I buttoned my shirt, moving as quickly as I could towards the living room just as Hawkeye was explaining that this was my residence and asking if he may tell me who was calling.
"Your Holiness," I wheezed in Latin as I came into the room.
"Geeze, where's the fire?" Hawkeye said, grabbing my right arm as I swayed a little. "I told you I didn't expect you to be running any marathons."
I ignored him and looked at the Pope, speaking to him in Latin. "My apologies, Your Holiness. I was not expecting you this morning."
"Please, John; I'm not here on official business. I simply wished to see how you were doing." He replied in Latin. "Who is your friend?"
"This Dr. Benjamin Franklin Pierce," I said, speaking in English so Hawkeye could understand. "My long-time friend from Korea, who—incidentally—was in New Orleans the same time I was and who was kind enough to perform the surgery I needed."
The Pope smiled widely. "Dr. Pierce, it is my honor to meet you."
Hawkeye looked at me as the Pope shook his hand, obviously having no clue who was standing in the doorway.
"Dr. Pierce, may I present His Holiness, Pope Paul VI."
Hawkeye's eyes went wide in complete surprise and, for the first time in my life, I realized that Hawkeye had no idea how to act or what to say. "Your Holy Popeness, the honor is all mine."
His Holiness laughed, "Please, Dr. Pierce, call me 'Father' while I am here. I only wished to come and see how my friend, John, is doing after his surgery."
"You knew?" I asked, quietly surprised.
"Of course I did," he smiled knowingly. "Might I come in?"
"Oh, yes, forgive me. I seem to have misplaced my manners." Hawkeye and I stepped aside as he swept into the apartment.
"Would you like a beer, Father?" Hawkeye was the one to offer.
"I would like that very much, Dr. Pierce. Thank you." His Holiness said as he seated himself on my couch. I lowered myself into the armchair. "I've heard some interesting rumors from my spies in New Orleans."
"Rumors, Your Holiness?"
"I told him, now I'm telling you…call me Father." He smiled. Hawkeye came over with two beers, handing one to the Pope. It never ceased to amaze me how anyone could drink before mid-afternoon, but even in Korea when time had no meaning I couldn't drink unless the sun had been up for about 8 hours.
The Pope continued to speak to me as Hawkeye sat on the far end of the couch. "There is a rumor that one of my archbishops once went by the name Dago Red."
I blanched, casting a heated look at Hawkeye. "I'm afraid that rumor is true, Father…it's about me."
He laughed softly, "'Dago Red,' John?"
"It was a long time ago, Father." I admitted, blushing as I told him the edited version of how I'd gotten the nickname.
He laughed heartily and looked at Hawkeye. "And you call him by this nickname?"
"Hard to think of him as anything but Dago Red," Hawkeye said, smirking at me. "In Korea, that's all anyone ever called him. Well, except Radar. He was the only one who preferred 'Father Mulcahy' over 'Dago Red,' right?"
"Him and a few of the nurses, as I recall." I nodded.
"Well, it is perhaps good that you ceased to go by such a name once you came to the Vatican." There was a mischievous glint in his eye that belied his slight admonishment.
"Yes, most assuredly so, Your Holiness…sorry, Father."
He laughed softly, "Ah, how I do miss being able to get away and have a drink with you, John. These days I can hardly sneeze without my advisors consulting about it. I'll never know how Good John managed to sneak out at night."
"You're more than welcome here anytime, Giovanni."
He smiled warmly as I used his given name and sipped his beer. "Tell me, John…how are you doing since the surgery?"
"It gets a little better every day, but let's hope I never have to do that again."
"I don't think you'll have to worry about that," Hawkeye commented. "You've only got the one lung left, if it goes to hell, you're toast."
"I am glad you decided to have the operation." His Holiness said to me in all seriousness. "God has not finished with you yet, John Mulcahy."
"So I get the feeling," I smiled.
His Holiness stayed for a while longer until he'd finished his beer. He spoke with Hawkeye, getting to know more about the man who'd saved my life, then he bid us both farewell, shaking Hawkeye's hand vigorously at the door. "Enjoy your stay in Rome, Dr. Pierce."
He turned to me and, speaking in Latin, said in a very stern voice, "Rest and recover. Forget about your work for now; it can wait. Enjoy your time with your friend."
"Thank you, Your Holiness," I replied, also in Latin.
"Dago…" Hawkeye said as I closed the door.
"What?"
"Would you put in writing that I just met the Pope? No one at home will ever believe that."
"I can't believe it," I replied, shaking my head. "In all the times we went for a drink before he took over the office, he never came by my home, nor I his. He was the last person I ever expected to show up on my doorstep."
"So I figured," Hawkeye chortled. "The way you flew in here…are you alright?"
"Yeah, just over-exerted myself a little." I breathed a heavy sigh, trying to collect myself after such a surprise visit. "What would you like to do today?"
"You got anything to eat?" Hawkeye asked, rubbing his stomach. "Beer for breakfast is okay for an army doctor, but I need something a little more substantial."
"I probably don't," I admitted. "We could go to one of my favorite coffee shops nearby. They have the best cornetto you'll ever find."
"What's cornetto?"
"It's like a croissant but there are several varieties—plain or filled with cream or fruit jam."
"Sounds alright to me."
"Bring your camera," I told him as we properly dressed for the day—me in clericals, him in a pair of trousers and a collared shirt—then we headed out, catching a taxi into the heart of Rome.
We arrived at the Sant'Eustachio Il Caffè located in the vicinity of the famous Piazza Navona. There were several people seated outside at tables and, as we entered, men lined up at the counter with their coffee and pastries, talking loudly in Italian. I knew how Hawkeye liked his coffee, but I didn't want to muscle my way up to the counter and risk getting an elbow in the wrong place, so I took out my wallet and handed Hawkeye a 5,000₤ banknote*.
"Go to the counter and order one caffè and one cappuccino. While they're making the coffees, pick out whatever pastries or cornettos you think look good and give them the note. Most people don't tip, so they will give you your change. You can leave the coins if you want, I always do. Just be sure to hand it back to them and say 'Grazie' so they don't think you're just a stupid American who left his change. I'll go find us a table outside."
Hawkeye made his way to the counter and I smiled as I watched him wait to order, then turned and headed out on the street to wrangle a table in the shade. When he joined me a few minutes later, balancing two saucers with coffee cups and cornettos perched precariously on the side of the plate, I smiled.
"I'm guessing the cappuccino is yours," he smirked, setting it down in front of me.
"Thank you."
He dug my change out of his pocket and handed it to me before he sat down and sipped his coffee. "So do you speak Italian now, too?"
"A little bit. Most Italians speak English, but I'll speak Italian to them as a courtesy."
"Have I told you lately how incredible you are?"
I blushed. "I'm not, Hawkeye."
"You are, Dago. You live in Rome for godsake. This is part of your everyday life."
"Well, not every day, but Pancho and I come here from time to time for coffee." We both dug into our cornettos and I looked down the street toward the statues of the Piazza Navona. "I'll show you around a bit after we've finished, if you want."
"Are you sure you're up to it?"
"I'll be alright for a bit," I nodded. "Besides, being an archbishop does have some perks—namely, we don't have to wait in any lines at the tourist traps."
"And you get house calls from the Pope."
"That certainly isn't an everyday thing." I chuckled.
We finished our breakfast and walked down the block to the famous city square known as the Piazza Navona. I told Hawkeye what I knew about the history of the square, about the Domitian's Stadium, which was once known as Circus Agonalis and used for athletic contests and gladiator games.
"The stadium was paved over to create the square of Piazza Navona, but there are still remnants of the stadium that are visible, and they give tours of the underground monument."
I told him about the three fountains found in the square—the Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi, which was constructed between 1647 and 1651 at the request of Pope Innocent X; the Fontana di Nettuno, which was built in 1576 by Giacomo della Porta and depicted Neptune surrounded by sea nymphs, which were added later in the 19th century; and the Fontana del Moro, whose central statue of a Moor holding a dolphin was constructed in the 17th century and the tritons around it added later in the 19th century.
"Jesus, Dago…you really are a history aficionado, aren't you?"
"I've lived in Rome for 10 years; I should know a thing or two about the history, right?"
I took Hawkeye on a brief tour of the Church of Sant'Agnese in Agone, which was also commissioned by Pope Innocent X, before meandering through the alley of sidewalk painters and sketchers and other fledgling freelance artists who peddled their works in the promenade. Once Hawkeye had seen all he cared to see there, and taken several pictures, we headed for the Pantheon, which was several blocks away.
By the time we walked through the Pantheon, and visited the neighboring statutes and fountains in the Piazza della Rotonda and Piazza della Minerva, I was wiped out. It was early afternoon, and we'd both walked off our small breakfast several times over, it seemed. We found a little trattoria that offered dine in as well as take-out service. Though I was tired, I was glad to sit and rest a spell, so we sat at a table near the window. Hawkeye ordered a zesty pasta dish called bucatini all'amatriciana, and I ordered a puntarelle romanesche—a typical roman salad.
"We'll go back to your apartment after lunch," Hawkeye assured me. "I think I've seen enough for one day."
"Good, because I'm not sure I can walk another step."
"Are you in pain at all?"
"A bit, but it's bearable. I'm mainly just exhausted."
"Remember baby, you've got one lung doing the work of two and it's still adjusting to the change. You don't need to push yourself so hard."
"I know," I sighed tiredly. "I'm just not used to feeling so strung out."
"Dago, you've busted your ass your whole life—in Tibet, in Korea, in Nepal, here in Rome—give yourself a break. Let your body heal."
We ate our lunch, letting it settle for just a minute as we talked about nothing in particular, then we headed out to catch a taxi back to the west side of Rome to the Vatican City and Piazza San Peitro where my apartment was located.
"If you don't mind," I yawned as we entered my apartment. "I think I might take a little pisolino."
"I'm guessing that doesn't mean 'take a piss?'"
I laughed and shook my head. "No. It means a nap."
He smiled softly, "Sure thing, baby. Before you do though, you said you kept those journals your wrote to me here?"
"Yeah, they're in a box in the bedroom. Do you want them?"
"Yeah. Sure. Why not?" He feigned nonchalance.
I laughed but motioned for him to come with me. I opened the closet and pointed to a box up on the shelf with Hawkeye's name written on the side. He pulled down the box, surprised that it was heavier than he anticipated, while I found a sheet of paper and a pen. I quickly wrote a new key for him so he could translate the runes. Hawkeye sat on the edge of the bed, putting the box in front of him.
"Mind if I read in here while you sleep?" He asked, pulling off the top of the box and looking at the contents within.
"Not at all." I answered, taking off my shoes and slipping out of my shirt and collar.
I leaned back on the pile of pillows so that I was somewhat propped up and Hawkeye leaned over and gave me a slow, sweet kiss. I watched him look over the key, relearning how to read the ancient symbols, then he cracked open the first volume and started reading as I dozed off.

₤ - Symbol for Lira, which was the dominate form of currency used in Italy until the Euro became popularized between 2002 and 2008. According to currency converters, 1 American dollar would convert to about 1431.08₤.
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Infatuation