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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
- 20
- 21
- 22
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. Thanks for reading.
Additional Note: At long last, here is the next installment. I have tweaked and re-tweaked the hell out of this chapter to try and make it as good as the others. I hope you enjoy.

It took me several minutes to remember how to read the strange little symbols Dago had introduced me to so many years ago, but after looking over his key and comparing it to the first words in the journal, it quickly came back to me. I leaned back against the headboard, propping a pillow up behind me for padding, and started to read Dago's ongoing letter that he had started in the summer of 1954…
Dear Hawkeye,
I can't imagine what you must think of me right now, how you must hate me for leaving, but I hope you can see that I had no choice. I can't tell you how much I miss you; how I wish you would have understood why I need to do this, but what is done cannot be undone. I can only hope that time will heal the pain I know we both must feel.
I have never been more certain that God has put me where I am needed, Hawkeye. Though I know you'd probably just laugh—my being here in Nepal is Divine Intervention. After I left you, I wept for days on end out of misery and suffering and grief that I'd lost you, when a voice—God's voice—told me to get up and stop crying. It was that very day that I went to see the Maryknolls to inquire about their decision on the mission trip to Nepal. When I arrived, I was told that the Pope himself had requested that I be a representative for a world-wide organization called the United Mission to Nepal.
Can you believe it? The Pope asked me to represent the Catholic Church. I can hardly fathom it. I've never even met the Pope, never even been to the Vatican or Rome! That the Church would entrust such an honor to me…I wish I could express how I feel, but there simply aren't words.
I've been sent to a small village on the border of Nepal and Tibet. It feels so much like I've come home. How I've missed this culture and its people. While I cannot go into Tibet, there are merchants and monks who travel back and forth that I visit with. I wish you were here to share this with me.
I read pages and pages of Dago's description of the town, the people, his work there. It seemed strange that a priest would have been forbidden to publicly speak about God, but I knew Dago well enough to know that his entire world didn't revolve around God, no matter what he might say to the contrary. He and I have had endless talks about everything under the sun; he only brought up religion when it truly mattered to him…or when he thought it would matter to me. That's one of the things that I really liked about Dago…he wasn't preachy unless he needed to be, but when he was, he could make a non-believer like me really listen.
We're getting into the height of monsoon season. I'd almost forgotten how much it rains here. The sanctuary is knee-deep with water, but still we go on. Sometimes I feel incapacitated with the memories of my imprisonment—the smell of the water in the cellar; that muddy, dirty smell—I almost hyperventilated once before a service already. I wasn't sure I would be able to go down there, but somehow I endured.
It's times like these when I need you the most. I've been having nightmares again. Last night I dreamt that a Chinese official found me and threatened to skin me and nail my hide to a cross. Silly, I know; but between the flashbacks and being this close to the border, I'm terrified they'll put me back in that jail.
It's only been a few months since I've been gone, but I wonder what you're doing without me. I look at the picture of us from Korea everyday when I write and I long for you. I always think of writing to you, begging you to forgive me, asking if you still love me, but I can't get those last words out of my head and it just breaks my heart all over again. I can't stand the thought that you might tell me you don't love me anymore. At least this way I can pretend…
I wanted to climb through the pages and the years of this journal and throttle the Dago who had been too afraid to write to me. I wanted to yell and scream at him for thinking that I would ever say such a thing to him, but I remembered so vividly that last day I saw him and the cruelty I showed him. How could he still love me?
I looked over at the man sleeping soundly beside me, feeling the tears burning my eyes. We had wasted a lifetime because I was too selfish to let Dago go, and he was too timid to make contact with me in the aftermath. My mind traveled back in time to the day I went home to the apartment. I knew Dago wouldn't be there, but still I'd hoped; I'd even stood outside the front door and prayed, but when I walked in and found no sign of him…I cried.
I hadn't read the letter right away; I hadn't been brave enough. Instead, I had gathered all the things that Dago had given me over the years—the Tibetan bracelet, the figure of Buddha, the letters. He'd left most of the clothes I'd given him hanging in the closet and I pulled down the red sweater that had become his favorite in the winter months, bringing it to my nose and breathing in the scent of him that still lingered on the garment. I'd never hated myself so much in my entire life.
It wasn't until I read the letter from him that I felt part of me die inside. I knew how badly I had hurt him, but to see it written in his letter…it was like a knife to my heart. What hurt even more was his forgiveness. I would never forgive myself for it…how could he? I'd known he would go to the Maryknolls, and that—even if he didn't get sent to Nepal—he would go back to being a missionary. I knew that I could track him down if I truly wanted to, but I was so ashamed of myself that I simply couldn't bring myself to do it.
When I stopped battling Jimmy Gargan at the VA, word got around that I was either sick or dying and soon I found myself being visited by Trapper John, who showed up on my doorstep with a bottle of scotch and a sympathetic ear.
"Alright," he said as he made his way into the apartment and sat on the couch. "You mind telling me what the hell's the matter with you? You're risking my reputation too, you know? It wasn't easy getting you this gig."
That was the night I told him about my affair with Dago Red. I told him how it had started out with a simple infatuation with him—a desire to know him, to befriend him, to just be around him—and how it had quickly spread into something much deeper than that. As we drank, getting drunker and drunker, I told him the details of how I'd followed him to the shower with the intent of molesting him, but how it had been him who had taken me by surprise with that first kiss. I told him how we'd sucked each other off later that night, how eventually he let me fuck him, how I let him fuck me, and how we'd been so careful to hide it from everyone in camp.
Trapper listened with a mixture of intrigue and disgust, but said nothing as I continued to tell him everything, right up to the day Dago had left me.
"I deserved it, y'know." I'd said drunkenly. "I was a fucking asshole to him. Only thing I could have done to make it worse was spit on him."
"I knew there something going on with you two," Trapper had said. "I knew there had to be some reason you wanted to be friends with him all of a sudden."
"What? Why couldn't I just want to be friends with him?"
Trapper had given me a knowing look, but hadn't verbally answered the question. "Listen, Hawkeye, maybe it's for the best that he left. This shit you two had goin' on…eventually someone was going to find out. It isn't natural for two men to live together—especially when one of 'em is married and the other's a goddamn priest. You had your fun, and I'm not judging what you did, but you're going to ruin your life if you don't get it together. If Gargan drops you, that's it. I don't have any more strings to pull."
"I know…I just miss him like crazy, Trap. I just want to tell him I'm sorry. Tell him I love him."
"You're serious, aren't you?" Trapper said after a long moment, giving me a funny look.
"About what?"
"You really…love him…like that?"
"Yeah…I do."
"Fuck man…" Was all Trapper said before he took a long swig from the bottle.
We'd never talked about it again, but after that I was able to put myself back in the saddle. I didn't bicker as much with Jimmy, but I put up enough of a fight to stop the gossip until I'd gotten myself through the boards. I had put every reminder of Dago in a box and hid it out of sight, and—gradually—I began to think of him less and less.
I still thought about him during Christmas or on Saint Patrick's Day, and the day when Mary had given birth to our fourth child—a son.
"I want to call him John," she'd told me firmly.
"John?" I was completely unprepared for that. It felt like the air had been sucked out of me.
"Yes; John. He was a very important part of your life—our lives. And, even as much heartache as you two have caused each other, he was a good man, Hawkeye. He was decent, and kind, and he loved you very much."
"You're talking about him like he's dead." I'd grumbled as tears threatened to fall at the mention of my star-crossed lover.
We'd named him John Franklin Pierce, though I'd taken to calling him Johnny because it damn near killed me to call him just John. I'd always sworn I'd never follow in the footsteps of my father by naming one of my kids Benjamin or Franklin, but somehow at the time I felt I owed it to Dad.
Life had stayed busy enough between Mary, the kids growing up, the clinic, and running around with Trapper, Duke and Spearchucker that Dago became all but a distant memory at times. Of course I still thought about him, wondering where he was and if I ever crossed his mind at all, but life had moved on for both of us. I had learned to accept that.
When Trapper had told me about the TA&VD conference in New Orleans, I had told him flat out that I wasn't going. What did I care about the Vas Deferens anyways? I wasn't going to be performing any vasectomies on anyone, why did I have to be there? Rather than be rational about my refusal, Trapper had drugged me, stuck me in a straight jacket, and he and Mary had hauled my unconscious body onto the Louisiana-bound plane, where I'd woken up mid-flight.
"You're a dick." I'd told Trapper.
"You never know, Hawk, this could be a life-altering trip."
I had scoffed at his words then, but I wonder now if Trapper knew just how right he would be.
The unexpected knock on the hotel door followed by Trapper calling out that Dago Red was there had literally stopped my heart, and I'd nearly shaved half my face off. Surely I hadn't heard him right, but I had to see for myself. I rushed out of the bathroom, and there he was…
And, now, here I was with him; watching him sleep off the exhaustion from our trek around Rome. Separated from each other for twenty long years, the only thing that had seemed to change was time's lasting effects on the body.
I gently took Dago's hand in mine, careful not to wake him, and studied it. I'd always loved his hands…the delicate, fine-boned structure, the long fingers…they had always been so beautiful, so nimble. But his hands now were the hands of an older man.
I could tell, just by looking, that Dago had a mild case of arthritis, which had caused inflammation in the joints of his hands. I couldn't help but smile ruefully as I realized that the condition had probably developed from all the bead jiggling he'd done throughout his life, more than just a side-effect of age.
He still bore the deep, diagonal scar on his pinky finger over the distal interphalangeal joint. His nails were still perfectly manicured—as they had always been—but they were slightly yellowed from years of smoking, as was the skin of his index and middle finger where he'd always held his cigarette. The pigmentation of his skin had darkened slightly, creating a few age spots that freckled the back of his hand, which told me that he had spent a lot of time outdoors over the years. It made sense, really; Dago had always enjoyed being out in the sunshine—be it gardening, reading, or whatever else.
Other than looking slightly different, his hands felt different as well. There had been a softness about them before that didn't seem to be there now. Though they weren't the hands of a laborer, they were the hands of a man who had experienced so much, and I had missed out on all of it.
Despite everything, however, these were still Dago's hands…and they were still beautiful to me.
"What are you doing?" His hoarse voice made me jump as it broke the silence and my reverie.
"Jesus, Dago…you scared the shit out of me."
I looked up at his face as he chuckled quietly. His eyes were closed, his lips quirked up in a satisfied smirk. "Good…but that doesn't answer my question." He opened his eyes and looked at me, waiting for my response.
"Looking at your hands," I admitted, then quietly asked, "How did this happen, Dago? How did we let 20 years go between us without speaking to one another?"
He sighed softly, still looking at me. "How far into the journal did you get?"
"Not very. I got to where you said you thought of writing me but were too afraid and it just got me thinking about everything that happened between us then, and everything that's happened since."
"I always wanted to write to you, Hawkeye…I just never had the courage to. I wondered sometimes how things might have been different if you'd given me any answer other than the one you did. I couldn't ever decide if it would have been worse if you'd said yes, you did love me or no, you didn't."
"I did. Do." I corrected firmly. "I never stopped. I wish I'd never said I resented you. I didn't mean it."
"I know you didn't," he smiled softly. "At least not completely."
We looked at each other for a long minute before Dago spoke again.
"Did…did you ever think about writing to me?"
I felt tears prick my eyes, feeling the shame I had experienced so long ago all over again…almost as if it had never gone away. "Yes…"
"Why didn't you?" He asked, his voice a whisper with emotion.
"I couldn't. I was so ashamed of myself, Dago. I realized you were right about how selfish I was being. I didn't want you to go. I felt like you were abandoning me; abandoning us. I had this whole life planned out for us—a fantasy, I know…but I just wanted you to myself…just for a while longer."
"I wasn't abandoning you, or us." He said adamantly, squeezing my hand tightly. "I had to go, Hawkeye. God had called to me."
"I know…but I didn't want to accept that back then. I never blamed you for going; never really even resented you for going. I was just too stubborn to give up without a fight…and boy, did I make it a fight."
He laughed softly, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb in that familiar fashion. "You know, I tried so hard over the years to forget about you, to stop loving you. I eventually stopped writing in the journals because so much time had passed that I'd given up on ever seeing you or hearing from you again…but I could never seem to let go of you, no matter how hard I tried. I would dream about you, and you were never more than just a thought away. I confided my frustrations in Pancho, and his response was always the same. He'd always tell me that maybe I wasn't supposed to stop loving you. I always hated that answer because it was agony to constantly think about you and not be able to look at you or touch you or talk to you. However, the serendipity of everything that happened in New Orleans makes me believe he was right all along. It doesn't matter if our crossing paths again was planned by Pancho and Trapper, or arranged by God. It just matters that it happened, and that we both realized just how much we still love one another."
I leaned in and kissed him fiercely; completely at a loss for words until I pulled back and looked in his eyes, unable to keep from jesting. "So, do you still think you're not a fairy?"
He gave me a stern look that made me laugh, obviously still displeased with my inability to be serious for more than a minute. "Some things never change."
Pancho came by later that evening with some groceries to replenish Dago's kitchen, as well as a large box that had been postmarked in New Orleans. I helped Pancho carry everything in from his little 2-seater Fiat, admiring the squat little car with a whistle.
"Where'd you get this baby?" I asked as he put the box from the states in my arms. Whatever the package was, it was heavy as hell.
"The church provides transportation for us," he informed me.
"Why doesn't Dago have a car?"
"I escort His Eminence wherever he needs to go; or I simply run his errands for him."
"Jesus, Pancho, you're a one-man show. Is there anything you don't do for him?"
He chortled in amusement. "His laundry."
I had the feeling that was an inside joke, but simply smiled in return as we carried everything in from the car. Dago looked at the box completely at a loss as to who had sent it or what it might be.
"Open it for me, will you, Hawkeye?"
"Sure thing, babe." I said, drawing out the Swiss Army knife I kept in my pocket and cutting into the brown packing tape sealing it shut. I opened the box flaps and pulled out one of many bottles of Dixie brand beer. Dago and I both laughed as we simultaneously realized who had sent the box.
"Bless that Horsey Chevaux," Dago shook his head with mirth. "I made mention to him at some point during my visit how much I'd missed American beer. I guess this is his way of making sure I get my fill."
"Too bad he sent you this crap," I teased. "Want me to put a few in the fridge?"
"Please," he nodded, still chuckling.
Pancho stayed and cooked dinner for the three of us, and we sat around Dago's living room afterwards drinking a few Dixie's from frosted mugs that Dago kept in the icebox.
"You know, it's a sign of a true alcoholic when you always have a frosted mug on hand, Dago."
He smirked, "I guess it takes one to know one."
"I don't drink near as much as I used to." I countered.
"Is that why you had the portable still in New Orleans?"
"To be fair, Trapper brought that; but I didn't say I don't drink. I just said I don't drink as much."
Pancho ended up hanging around until nearly 9 o'clock, playing a few rounds of poker with me and Dago before he finally called it a night. "I've made an appointment for you at 10:30 in the morning for your follow-up with the doctor," he said to Dago as he got up to leave. "If you would like, I can leave the car so Dr. Pierce can take you."
I grinned at Dago who looked back at Pancho, "Are you sure you won't need it?"
"Not unless you wish me to take you instead."
"Don't worry, Pancho Villa," I said before Dago could respond. "I'll keep it in one piece. You take tomorrow off."
Pancho looked amused before he looked at Dago, as if for permission. Dago waved his hand vaguely, "I suppose one more day off won't hurt anything."
"Thank you, Father." Pancho said, half bowing to both of us in turn before bidding us goodnight.
I met Dago's eyes and an awkward silence fell between us for a long moment as we both came up at a loss for words. We both laughed softly. "This is still so strange to me."
"What is?" I asked, moving to sit next to him on the couch.
"You. Us. Everything." He answered. "It still feels like a dream."
I held his eyes for a long minute, searching the brilliant blue depths for any uncertainty on his part. "What do we do now, baby? Did you mean what you said before the surgery? That you'd give this another try?"
"Of course I did, Hawkeye. I'm not in the habit of making idle promises." He paused for a moment as he considered the answer to my question, then shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. "I honestly don't know. I can't leave Rome and you can't leave Crabapple Cove. We're stuck in the same boat we were in 20 years ago."
"Yeah, but this time I'm not letting you bail out. How often are you allowed to travel? Go on vacation?"
"I don't know, really. I stopped traveling a long time ago. There was so much work here, so much to learn and see and do. I suppose, so long as things are in order in my dioceses, that I can take leave a few times a year."
"And I can get away whenever I want—being your own boss has its perks," I grinned. "So what if we make plans to meet for a week or two every quarter? You could come to Crabapple Cove half the time, and I could come to Rome the other half."
"I'd rather get away where no one knows either of us," Dago said softly. "Somewhere we can just be ourselves, alone, without expectation or duty."
"I thought you said that being a priest is a full-time gig. Just because you take the collar off doesn't mean you stop working for God." I teased.
"I did, and it is," he said seriously. "But I want a chance to just be me with you again. I want to feel that separation between who I am and what I am the way I started to back in Korea."
There was so much angst behind his words that I found myself wondering why it took being with me for Dago to feel like himself…then I remembered something I'd said to him so long ago. No one had ever just let him be himself. He'd always lived up to other people's expectations. When he'd come to Rome, he'd even given up the last part of his true individuality—his nickname. I sadly realized that until he'd seen me and Trapper a few weeks ago in New Orleans, no one had called him 'Dago Red' since 1954. That revelation left me wondering, however, if he truly dropped the name for reputational reasons or because the name held too many painful memories. He'd lost Danny, who had given him the name; and he'd lost me, who rarely called him anything else. I didn't ask which was right; instead, I simply pulled him into a tender embrace, gently kissing his lips.
"Okay," I said softly. "Tell me where you want to go."
Dago smiled, resting his forehead against mine. "Anywhere…everywhere… Paris, Madrid, Sweden—"
"Sweden?" I interrupted with a soft chuckle. "What the hell's in Sweden?"
"The northern lights." He answered matter-of-factly. "There are tons of places I'd like to see, but I really don't care where we go, so long as I'm with you."
"Fair enough," I smiled, kissing him again before pulling back and reaching for the spirometer sitting on the end table, pressing it into his hands. "Do your breathing exercises, I'm going to see a man about a dog."
Dago rolled his eyes, shaking his head as I got up and headed for the toilet.
The next morning we got up and got ready for Dago's follow-up with his doctor. Had I the equipment, I could have done the follow-up myself, but I would just continue on as a consultant on Dago's behalf
The doctor ran him through a battery of tests, exercises and x-rays to make sure that his heart was handling the strain of pumping blood with only one lung. Possibly the only unknown to a pneumonectomy was how the heart would cope afterwards. If there was any chance of fatality post-surgery, it was typically due to heart failure. There was no way to predict it happening, but the fact that Dago was in good health other than the cancerous lung was a huge boon to his survivability.
"How are you feeling, Archbishop?" The doctor asked as he listened to Dago's heart and surviving lung.
"I feel fine, really. It still hurts a bit, especially if I cough or laugh too hard. I still find that I get tired easily."
"That's all normal," I was saying before the doctor had a chance to respond. They both looked at me in slight amusement. "Sorry, go ahead, Doc."
"Quite alright, Dr. Pierce. He is right, however. It will simply take a little more time."
"How much more time?" Dago asked, obviously not thrilled by that news.
"A month, two tops." I answered for the doctor.
"Dear God…two months!" Dago cried in exasperation.
"Tops," I reiterated.
Dago pinched the bridge of his nose, "Why did I let you do this to me?"
"Because if you didn't, you'd be dead right now."
He looked up at me, struck by the frank tone of my voice. "You're right… I'm sorry."
I waved off his apology and said nothing else as the doctor finished up and gave Dago a proverbial thumbs up. "Everything seems to be in working order. Heart rate is slightly elevated from your normal rhythm, but that is to be expected as well. However, should you experience any severe chest pains or other discomfort beyond what you feel now, please let me know. Otherwise, I would like to follow up with you again in a few weeks."
"Thank you," Dago said as he shook the doctor's hand.
We left the office and got back into the little Fiat Pancho had leant us. As I got us headed in the direction of Vatican City, Dago pointed me to another road that headed south.
"Take that road."
I managed to weave my way through traffic and merge onto the highway leading us out of Rome. "Where are we going?"
"Anzio. It's a little fishing village about 30 or so miles from here."
"Are we going fishing?"
He laughed softly. "No, we're going to the beach."
"I hate to rain on your parade, Dago, but neither of us is really dressed for the beach."
"Oggi per me, domani a te."
I looked at him, raising an eyebrow and waiting for the translation. Dago smirked, smug that he knew he always had the upper hand when it came to foreign languages. "I think you enjoy saying things in languages others don't understand."
"It's not my fault you don't speak Italian." He shrugged.
"What'd you say?"
"'Today for me, tomorrow for thee.'" He paused, looking out his window. "You reminded me that, had it not been for you, I'd probably be dead right now. We've both said it a thousand times, Hawkeye—we've wasted so much time, I don't want to waste anymore. You'll have to go back to Crabapple Cove soon and I don't want to spend this time I've got with you laid up in my bed."
"You've never complained about being in bed with me before," I lightly teased.
"Yes, well, you weren't gray and balding 20 years ago."
"I'm not balding!"
He laughed, "But you are graying…actually, in the sunlight it looks more white than grey."
I scowled at him, "You're really pushing your luck, Dago."
He smirked at me. I looked at my reflection in the rear-view mirror, trying to imagine how Dago saw me now. It was true that my hair was whitening, and far more rapidly than I liked to think about. I remembered when I'd turned 45, Mary had plucked what she thought was a gray hair from my head, but upon inspection we both realized that it wasn't gray…it was white.
"Dad skipped the gray phase too," I told Dago. "His hair was more on the brown side than blonde, but he went snow white in a matter of months. Luckily, mine isn't turning that fast."
"I like it," Dago said softly, smiling as he looked at me. "It makes you look dignified. Mine just makes me look old."
"It does not." I laughed, glancing over at him. "Okay, well, it does, but not in a bad way."
He narrowed his eyes at me, though the corners of his lips were turned upwards.
We eventually reached the town of Anzio, and Dago immediately went into tour-guide mode, pointing out points of interest and talking about the history.
"Anzio was one of the sites that the Allies landed during Operation Shingle in World War II. One of the longest and bloodiest battles of the war was fought on the beach here."
"You always take me to the best places," I teased as we found a place to park along the boardwalk.
Dago carefully leaned down and took off his shoes and socks, rolling the cuff of his trousers up to mid-calf. I watched him take off the roman collar around his neck and unbutton the top two buttons of his shirt before he rolled up his sleeves. When he'd finished, he looked over at me expectantly. "Well?"
I smirked softly and took off my own shoes and socks, rolling up the legs of my jeans before we both got out of the car and headed down the boardwalk towards the beach. There was a salty sea breeze blowing in from over the Mediterranean waters and gulls calling along the shore. We waded into the water until it was just past our ankles and Dago nodded towards an outcrop of rocks that bisected the beach in the near distance. Together we meandered along side-by-side down the beach, losing ourselves in conversation as we tried—once again—to catch up on the last two decades.
"Whatever happened to your family, Dago? Your mother and brother and nephews."
"They're all still around; still living in California."
"Your mother's still alive?" I asked, completely surprised.
He laughed softly, "Yes, she's 80, and senile, but she's still alive. She and my step-father are in a retirement home together. They used to come visit me in Rome every couple of years, but now that they're getting older, they don't travel as much. I haven't really talked to my brother too much, but he's still running a mechanic shop in San Diego. My nephews are grown, of course, all married with children of their own."
"What happened between you and your brother? And don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about."
Dago looked down at the water as we walked, not answering me for a long moment. "He found out about Danny."
"That you and he were—"
"Don't say 'lovers,' Hawkeye." He cut me off before I could even think of an appropriate label for his relationship with Danny. "But, yes…I told you I had written Danny to tell him I was home from Tibet? Well, Danny wrote me at least once a week, regardless of the fact that I didn't write back. Often he would say how much he missed me, how he wished I would come see him, how he 'needed' me because it had been so long, and asked why I wasn't writing back. Michael—my brother—was trying to figure out some way to help me cope with the nightmares and everything else, and I suppose he thought that maybe I had mentioned something to Danny in a letter that might be useful, so he read Danny's letters without my knowledge trying to glean something from them. When he realized Danny was talking about sex, he hit the roof. My brother is a very good person, but he's also very Catholic. He believes what the Bible says about homosexual acts—that it is an abomination to God. Michael was outraged; he told me I was a mockery of the Church and a disgrace to our family, then basically threw me out. I'm sure if he'd been holding a stone, he probably would have thrown it at me."
"Jesus, Dago," I reached over, taking his hand. "I'm sorry."
"Thank you." He murmured, squeezing my hand gently but not releasing it as we walked on. "I'm sorry for having lied to you about what happened back then. I love my brother very much, and we did have a good relationship up until then, but…there really is nothing worse than being disowned by your own flesh and blood. It wasn't easy to talk about…still isn't, honestly."
"You don't have to apologize, baby. I always knew there was more than what you'd told me." I tried to envision what life must have been like for Dago in the months following his return from Tibet. Trying to cope with the torture of his imprisonment, the loss of Tseten and his other monk friends, having his faith shaken, and ultimately being cast out by his brother… I'd always gotten the impression that Dago looked up to Michael a great deal, so I could only imagine how devastating his rejection must have been, and how it must have compounded his anguish and anger with God.
"Hawk?"
I realized I'd lapsed into my own thoughts for several moments and I looked over at Dago to find him looking at me curiously. We'd reached the outcrop of rocks and I sat down on a relatively flat one as I looked up at him. "Do you believe all that crap, Dago? That homosexuality is an abomination."
"Do you really want to open that can of worms, Hawkeye?"
I nodded, genuinely curious about how—or if—his beliefs had changed. Dago let out a heavy breath, casting a long suffering look towards the sky, then sat next to me on the bolder.
"That's not an easy question to answer," he started. "As a Catholic—and as a priest—I should accept the Bible as the absolute truth; the unerring Word of God as told by His disciples."
"Should." I caught on to the keyword in that statement.
He nodded, "I don't doubt that homosexuality is a sin in the eyes of God, but it's only a sin because it defies His original intent of sex for procreation. By Biblical standards, all fornication without procreation is an abomination because The Book dictates that sex should be between a man and woman who have been joined in marriage for the sole purpose of producing offspring. It's not that clear-cut, obviously, but that's the bottom line. Catholics believe that if a man's seed is spent in any fashion other to impregnate his wife, then he has committed an atrocity. It's why Catholics don't believe in utilizing birth control, and why masturbation is considered a sin."
"Catholics really have no idea what they're missing." I murmured jokingly.
He chuckled softly, but continued his thoughts, "But as far as homosexuality, the Bible makes only 12 references to homosexual acts—2 refer to the rape of the Angels in Sodom and Gomorrah, 5 refer to prostitution, 2 verses in Leviticus mention that a man who lies with another man is an abomination and both should be put to death, Romans talks about how God gave us over to our own immorality because He saw how corrupt we were, 1 Corinthians is an all-encompassing reference to all wrongdoing, including murder and theft, and 1 Timothy talks about the law of the land at that time and the punishment for crimes."
"Christ, do you have all of these verses underlined in your Bible, Dago? You just know this off the top of your head?"
He gave me a rueful smile, "I told you this was a can of worms, Hawkeye. I've spent many years trying to understand why God would let me struggle with something that He considers a Hell-worthy trespass. I've done my research."
"And?"
"And this is where I disagree with the Church and the Bible," he said softly, but assuredly. "In the context of rape and prostitution, yes homosexuality is an abomination, but no more than a woman who sells herself or a man who rapes a woman or molests a child. The Old Testament very specifically says that a man who lies with another man in the way he lies with a woman should be put to death because he is detestable to God. However, it's not just homosexuality that was punished in this way. The law of the Old Testament ruled that death should be the punishment for all misconduct —murder, theft, deception, disrespect of a parent, doing work on the Sabbath, lying about your virginity—all of these were considered high crimes. Today, the only thing we truly bat an eye at anymore is murder. The Old Testament also mandated that women should be subordinate and that slaves should be obedient to their masters, two concepts that have been revolutionized by the abolition of slavery and the women's rights movement. As society evolved and the norms changed, the laws of the land were also revised, making the mandates of the Old Testament null and void. Beyond that however, the birth of Christ and the writing of the New Testament became a complete contradiction to the Old Testament. Obviously, some things remained the same—like the 10 Commandments—but the teachings of Christ were those of love, compassion, acceptance, forgiveness, tolerance, and humility. These became the cornerstones of Christianity. The biggest division between the Old Testament and the New Testament though is the forgiveness of sin. While the God of the Old Testament detested sinners and cast us out of His Kingdom, the God of the New Testament accepted that we were sinners. That's why he sent his only Son as a sacrifice, so that His blood would wash away the sins of the world and purify us in the eyes of God. I do think God still abhors crimes against man—like murder and rape and molestation—but even these can be forgiven. The sinner might spend some time in purgatory to atone for their sin, but so long as a person accepts Jesus as the Savior, then all sins will be forgiven."
"That was a very long-winded non-answer, Dago." I pointed out.
"I wasn't finished." He said with a slight laugh. "I was merely taking a breath."
"Oh, by all means, continue rambling." I teased.
"I told you this wasn't a simple answer, Hawkeye. It's not just a yes or no to me. It's a complete understanding of God's compassion and love for us, and the sacrifices He made so that we could enter His Kingdom."
"Dago, I'm kidding." I made a gesture for him to continue, not letting on that I actually found what he was saying somewhat interesting. "Go on."
"Anyways, when it comes any sexual activity, I believe that you have to make a distinction between whether or not it is consensual and whether or not there is love involved in the matter before you can classify it as truly sinful. As a priest, I do not condone sexual promiscuity for anyone—gay, straight or whatever. However, be it two men, two women, or a man and woman…if they are in love, and they both consent to sexual activities, then I feel that no crime has been committed. Obviously, it is preferable that the couple be married, but seeing as how that is an impossibility for homosexual couples, one does have to make some concessions. The question remains, however, whether or not homosexuality is a sin in the eyes of God and whether or not it is an abomination. My religiosity tells me that, yes…it is a sin, but so is any sexual act outside of the sanctity of marriage that isn't used for procreation. Is it an abomination? Like I said, in the context of prostitution and rape, yes it is. I feel that society has made it more of an abomination than God has simply because it is not the norm, and people tend to pick and choose which parts of the Bible they want to apply to their lives so they focus on the Old Testament and the vengeful God rather than the love of Christ. I've come to believe that love—all love—is God-given. I didn't choose to fall in love with you, Hawkeye. I tried desperately not to have feelings for you, but I do and I have for many, many years. God isn't in the business of tricking us or tormenting us, so I have to believe that my love for you is by His design rather than some deviance or perversion on my part."
"That's quite the 180 from how you used to feel about it." I said as he looked at me, obviously finished with his rant now.
"I told you, I've had a lot of time to think about this. And I may be wrong in the end, but I'm willing to take that chance because I have faith in my God and my Savior. The problem is that the Church obviously disagrees with my point of view. While they wouldn't put a homosexual to death, the Church still feels it is an abomination and that you cannot grant absolution to homosexuals in confession. Nor would the Church let a known homosexual partake in Communion. I'm sure you remember my struggle with Painless' situation? Back then I believed that I should never question the rulings of the Church, I should never question the Bible, but the reason I was always so conflicted in carrying out those mandates was because I never fully agreed with them."
"Careful, Dago; don't let the Church get wind that you're free-thinking individual," I teased.
He laughed softly, "The sad thing is that there are probably many in the clergy who think along the same lines as me, but we fear being excommunicated for speaking out against the Church. Pancho is among the few, I think. He's never condemned or shamed me for my love for you. He could have outed me to the Church the minute I told him about you and me, but he didn't. When I was in the hospital, before the surgery, he absolved me of my sins. All of my sins."
I understood the meaning. We sat there, allowing a companionable moment of silence to pass between us before a thought struck me. "Did you know the APA declassified homosexuality as a mental illness last year? At least being queer doesn't mean you're a nutcase by default anymore."
"Hawkeye," he admonished with a slight laugh.
I couldn't help but smile, and reached out for his hand again. "Maybe that's the start of the revolution the Church needs to accept that homosexuality isn't an abomination. I mean, if society accepts it, then the Church has to amend their views, right?"
"You give the Church too much credit," he said softly, as if afraid someone might overhear him. "Don't get me wrong, I'm proud to call myself a Catholic, but Catholic dogma isn't created by God…it's created by man, and man is fallible. So long as those in charge of establishing Dogmatic law are opposed to homosexuality, the Church will never change, and by extension the followers who believe that Church law is God's law will also never change."
"So what if you became Pope one day and spoke out against the laws in place?"
"I'd probably be tried for heresy." He said matter-of-factly. "Maybe even crucified. But, I don't want to be Pope. Being an advisor is overwhelming enough, and it's not even an official duty of mine."
I considered everything he'd said for a long moment before speaking again, "So, where do you think all of this leaves you and me?"
"In a world of hurt if I am wrong," he said lightly, though seriously. "While I still don't know that I would call myself gay, I am obviously guilty of committing homosexual acts. What compounds it is the fact that I'm a priest and you're married. As I've pointed out before, adultery is very big on God's list of things not to do. I can't excuse or justify or forgive that in anyway, and it is a factor that I still feel immense guilt over, but what's done is done. For now I just have to accept things as they are. I can't speak for how you feel about our relationship, or whether you believe you'll go to Heaven or Hell or somewhere in between or neither, but—as your former Chaplain—I can offer you salvation through Jesus Christ."
Though he said the last part in jest, I knew that he was also quite serious. I laughed softly but shook my head. "I'm still not so sure where I stand in my beliefs about God, Dago. If He does exist, I still think He's a real asshole. But, if it's any consolation, I envy your faith in Him. The fact that you're so certain of His existence…I'd give anything for that."
"It isn't certainty, Hawkeye. It's just faith. I know the two terms are synonymous, but there is a difference. Certainty, to me, requires evidence of indisputable proof. The only proof I have that God exists rests in a book written thousands of years ago. To a non-Christian, the Bible is little more than a book of fairytales because they don't have faith in it. Faith means believing in something without proof of its existence or truth. Take away the Bible, and what proof is there of God? If we didn't know the story of the Virgin Mary, would we believe in Immaculate Conception? Would we believe that a human child was the Son of God? Without faith, these things seem absolutely ludicrous. I've questioned my faith countless times, even doubted the existence of God sometimes, but in the end I truly believe that there is something greater than us out there. I have faith that that 'something' is God."
"What happens to me if I never have that faith in God?"
"I can't say for certain," he said softly. "But it is Christian belief that you will be denied entry into the Kingdom of Heaven for all eternity. However, God is the ultimate judge of people's hearts, and it is He who decides who is worthy of His Kingdom."
I looked out at the surf as I absorbed all of what Dago had just said. It was somewhat amusing that I tended to always steer the conversation towards God-talk, especially since I hated being preached at, but I always found Dago's beliefs to be somewhat inspiring, even if I didn't fully agree with them. So many ministers and priests were so quick to condemn people, telling them they would go to Hell, but not Dago. If anyone was like Jesus Christ, it would be John Mulcahy. I fully believed that Dago should break away from Catholicism and start his own branch of Christianity. He made me want to believe in God and Jesus, he made Christianity appealing. The Bible was his tool and he used it to motivate rather than reprimand.
As I lost myself again in thought, Dago bent his head down, brushing his nose against my shoulder. I leaned my head gently against his, enjoying the closeness and appreciating the intimacy of the moment. "How are you feeling?"
"Good," he said softly.
"No pain?"
"No more than usual."
"Not tired?"
"No more than usual," he said again, this time with a slight smile. I turned towards him, bringing my hands up to cup his face and drawing him into a tender kiss. He faltered after a few seconds and pulled back. "Hawkeye…people could be watching."
"So? Let them watch if they want." I felt him hesitate again as I tried to resume the kiss and sighed softly, looking around for some place more discreet. There was a small cove created by the rocks that would block us from view of any on-lookers, so I took Dago's hand and pulled him to his feet as I led him towards the cove. "Better?"
His cheeks tinged with pink as he looked around the secluded rock formation. I gently took him into my arms, mindful of the surgical wound across his back and under his left arm. We kissed; tenderly at first, then more heatedly as desire flared up within us. Dago pulled back again, but this time he was looking at me with a fiery expression. "Make love to me, Hawkeye."
"Here? Now?" I asked, surprised by the request. He merely nodded. I smirked, teasing yet again, "Geeze, Dago, it really is all or nothing with you."
His blush deepened, and he smiled somewhat meekly before carefully leaning up against a tall, flat rock that jutted up out of the ground. I closed the small space between us and gently pressed up against him, kissing along his jaw and finding that spot behind his ear that had always rendered him absolutely defenseless. Judging by his intake of breath and quiet moan, I was willing to bet it still had the same effect. Dago's fingers plunged into my hair, massaging my scalp and letting the shaggy strands glide between his fingers.
My own hands skimmed down his chest to his belt, pulling the black leather strap free from the simple silver buckle. I popped the button free from the buttonhole and eased the zipper down before sliding my hand into his pants and down the front of his underwear, grasping the solid length of his cock and giving it a loving squeeze. Dago's hands slipped down to my jaw and he gently maneuvered my lips back to his, kissing me deeply and sucking my tongue in that sensual way that always drove me crazy.
I pulled back after a long minute, nuzzling his ear. "Turn around, baby."
I felt Dago shiver slightly as he complied, carefully leaning against the rock. "This seems oddly familiar," he teased lightly as I pushed his pants down his hips.
"Oh?" I pulled my cock free, spitting in my hand to slick myself up.
"I seem to recall a night in Korea outside post-op."
I laughed, having nearly forgotten about that, and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. "I seem to recall you rather enjoyed that."
He tossed me a rueful look over his shoulder and I pressed myself against his ass.
"Ready?"
He gently pushed back against me, "You shouldn't have to ask."
As I entered him, reaching around to slowly stroke him, we both groaned simultaneously in pleasure. I placed my free hand over his against the rock wall. "God, I've missed this."
"It's only been a few weeks, Hawkeye," he teased throatily.
"Years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes…it all feels like a fucking lifetime, Dago. I've never missed sex with Mary the way I've missed it with you."
Dago spread his fingers under my hand and I laced my fingers through the gaps, locking our hands tightly together. It was extremely difficult trying to remember not to be overzealous, or to lean too heavily against his back, but Dago didn't complain if he felt any pain at all.
With the sound of the waves crashing nearby on the shore, the seagulls calling, the smell of the salty sea air, the warmth of the sun overhead, Dago's hoarse voice moaning softly and the feeling of being balls deep inside of him, my senses were on overload. I couldn't help but think of how ridiculously erotic this probably was. Eat your heart out, Deborah Kerr, I thought with a salacious grin.*
I felt Dago starting to tense up, his breathing becoming more erratic, moans a little more desperate, and knew he was on the edge. With that as my cue, I thrust a little harder into him, pressing against his prostate. Dago's head fell back a little as he cried out, squeezing my hand even tighter as he came, murmuring my name over and over again.
I listened to his sounds of ecstasy, letting them carry me towards my own blissful release, which came but mere moments later. I rested my forehead against his shoulder as I spilled myself inside of him, losing myself in this moment with him and wishing to his God time would stop for us here and now. I pressed my lips against his neck before finding the shell of his ear. "I love you."
Dago's fingers squeezed mine again in response and I felt his breath hitch slightly. I pulled back a little and looked at him—head slightly bowed. There were tears on his cheeks, and my first thought was that I'd hurt him accidentally.
"Dago?" I asked softly, withdrawing gently from him. "Did I hurt you?"
"No," he shook his head, laughing softly and reaching down to hitch his pants up before I remembered to pull up my own. He turned and looked at me as I wiped my hand off on the leg of my jeans. "I love you, too."
"What's with the waterworks?" I asked, still confused by his tears.
"I'm just…happy," he smiled, wiping his eyes. "Being with you, hearing you say you love me…it just feels good, Hawk. Twenty years without those words…"
Dago shook his head, unable to finish the thought and I smiled at him in understanding, taking his hand in mine as I led him out of our little cove and back over to the rock we'd been sitting on. We watched the waves form, crest and fall over and over again for a long while, alternating between random conversation and companionable silence.
"When are you planning on going back?" Dago asked quietly.
"I haven't decided," I answered, looking back at him. It was Thursday, and I knew I probably shouldn't stay more than another week or two, even though I wanted to stay forever. "When do you go back to work?"
"I'd tentatively planned on Monday. I can't put it off any longer." He sighed softly. "You can stay as long as you want to, Hawk…but, as much as I don't want you to leave, I know you have your own life to get back to."
"You're a part of my life, too, Dago." I told him sincerely. "I wish I could clone myself so that I could be here with you and be with Mary at the same time."
He squeezed my hand, and sighed resolutely. "I'm hungry; let's get something to eat."
We headed up to one of the eateries along the boardwalk and ordered some lunch, sitting outside on the patio as we waited for our food.
"Tell me about Johnny," Dago requested out of the blue.
"Johnny? He's a typical 15 year old boy, following in his father's footsteps. He's quarterback on the junior varsity football team at his high school. He does all the sports, really—football, basketball, baseball. He's even talked about going out for track this year. Here, I've probably got a picture…" I dug my wallet out of my back pocket and flipped it open to the sleeve of pictures, finding Johnny's most recent school picture and handing it over to Dago.
"Good Heavens, Hawkeye, he looks just like you." Dago flipped through the sleeve of pictures, looking at each one carefully. "This must be Karen."
"It is indeed. But don't tell her that she looks like me." I smirked.
Dago laughed, "She has your eyes, but that's all. She looks more like Mary. She's quite beautiful."
"She's a little heartbreaker." I smiled, nodding in agreement. I watched him flip to the next one of Charlie. "That's Charlie's senior picture from high school, a bit old now, but the only decent one I have of him that I can fit in my wallet."
"Another spitting image of you," Dago remarked before turning to a picture of Tommy in his army dress uniform. "This must have been taken when he finished basic training."
I nodded, feeling a sudden surge of intense emotion. "Yeah. Dumb kid. At least he didn't become a marine."
"You should be proud of him, Hawkeye. I still remember all those boys who came through the Double Natural—scared out of their minds, but proud to be soldiers. Well…the ones who weren't drafted anyways."
"I try to be…but what I remember about Korea is the bodies, Dago. I can't stand the thought that he'll end up on some idiot meatball surgeon's table over there. Someone that isn't going to take the time to try and save him right and who's just going to take the short cut because that's what the army tells you to do and because there are so many damn bodies to save."
Dago put his hand over my clenched fist, "You have to have faith that God will protect him, Hawkeye. But if something happens to him, you have to trust that the doctors will do everything in their power to save him. And he must know that, no matter what your personal feelings of the army and war are, you're still proud of him."
I felt my eyes water and looked away, nodding. "Yeah…I guess you're right. It's just hard, you know?"
"I know." Dago said quietly, handing me back my wallet with a gentle smile. "I've always thought you had a beautiful family, Hawkeye. You're a good father."
"You've got to stop being sentimental, Dago," I teased, still feeling on the verge of tears.
"I'm 62 years old, and I just had my left lung removed; I think I've earned the right to be a little sentimental."
I laughed, brightening his smile.
We ate and talked and spent the rest of the afternoon leisurely strolling along the beach, stopping to rest whenever Dago got short of breath or tired. It was a perfect day, and as we loaded back into the car and headed for Rome, I was sad to see it end.
Dago spent the next few days showing me the rest of Rome. He took me on a private tour of the Vatican, taking me through several wings that weren't open to the general public, and—again—playing the knowledgeable historian. I was impressed by how much history he could retain about places. He'd told me that he'd lived here long enough, he should know something about it, but—Hell—I'd lived in America my entire life and I could barely recall the capitals of all the states. I still needed the mnemonic device to remember when Columbus sailed the ocean blue.
"You should have been a history teacher," I'd teased him. "Maybe I would have paid more attention if you'd been my teacher rather than Old Man Hadley."
"You probably would have just called me 'Old Man Mulcahy.'" He jested back.
On Sunday, Dago and Pancho took me to St. Peter's Basilica to observe mass with them. I was threatened within an inch of my life to be on my best behavior, but I assured him that even I wasn't so crass as to misbehave in a church. Plus, Mary would kill me if I'd gotten myself thrown out of Vatican City.
Though Dago was moving around easier by this point, he still couldn't fasten all the buttons down the front of the long cassocks he had to wear. Before leaving for the service, I helped Dago get dressed by buttoning the robes from his feet to his waist while he buttoned down from the neck and met me in the middle. These particular robes were a midnight black and had purple piping and buttons. I watched him tie a matching purple sash around his waist before fastening a short cape-like garment around his shoulders and affixing what looked like a purple skull cap to his head.
I had to admit that Dago always looked very regal in his vestments; very handsome. It gave him an untouchable air, like he would be somehow tainted if I did, but that thought always led to darker thoughts of just how much I'd love to taint him…and feel him taint me. It was deliciously erotic to imagine Dago in such a devious way, even if I never had the intention to act on that impulse.
Dressing myself in a simple black suit and tie, I shivered as Dago came up behind me, carefully folding his arms around me to help straighten my tie as I fussed with it in the mirror. The image of us posing for a photograph on my last Christmas in Korea sprang to my mind and I felt like I was looking at our former selves for a brief moment as I met his eyes in the mirror. He and I had looked good together then. I smiled as the image faded and I was staring at the visage of our present selves. We still looked good together.
The church service was nice…for a church service. It was also very elaborate, long, and packed with people. As a guest of the Archbishop of Swengchan, I was granted permission to sit in the papal seats with the other priests, deacons, bishops, cardinals and whatever other clergymen were attending the service.
A hundred people must have come up to Dago with well wishes. I was sure his arm must have been tired from shaking hands and greeting people. I hovered close to Dago's left side to try and deter anyone from clapping him on the shoulder or back. He introduced me to a few people, but thankfully not everyone. Pancho, however, felt the need to inform me of who was who and exactly what they did for the Church. I didn't have the heart to tell him I really didn't give a shit.
I'd never been to a true Catholic mass, so I had no idea what to expect. There was a lot of standing, a lot of kneeling, a lot of creepy cult-like repetition where the entire congregation spoke as one. I didn't know how they all knew when to do or say what, but it was fascinating to watch.
By the time the actual message of the service was being given, I felt like a kid trying to sit still. The pews were hard and uncomfortable, it was warm with all the bodies pressed in around me, and I had the urge to ask Dago several times how much longer this would take. I knew he'd be pissed if I did though, so I suffered through. I looked at the architecture of the church—the high domed ceiling with depictions of Biblical scenes molded in gold. Across the front of the room, just under the ornate crown molding, the words "Dicit ter tibi, Petre, Iesus: Diligis me? Cui ter, o electe, respondens ais: O Domine, tu omnia nosti, tu scis quia amo te" were inscribed in large letters against a gold background.
My Latin was limited to medical terminology, but I could recognize a few words like 'amo,' and I could work out a few other words like 'respondens,' 'tu,' and 'te'. What it all meant was lost on me, and I finally had to lean over and ask for a translation.
"Dago," I whispered, pointing up at the inscription. "What's that say?"
Dago glanced up briefly before turning his head and leaning in close to my ear, "'A third time, Jesus asked him, 'Simon, son of John, do you love me?' 'Yes, Lord', Peter said, 'You know that I love you.' Over there is where St. Peter is said to have been crucified."
I looked over at the large mosaic of a man hanging upside down on a crucifix, feeling oddly ill-at-ease by the knowledge that this place had once been the site of martyrdom.
After the service was over, Dago gave me yet another history lesson about the church, leading me up towards the center altar as people filed out of the church.
"This is the Altar of St. Joseph. This sarcophagus has several relics that belonged to the apostles Simon and Jude Thaddeus."
"You know, Dago, this is kind of a creepy place if you think about it."
He laughed softly. "It's history, Hawkeye."
Dago took me all around the Square and the Basilica, showing me the statues of the saints, and other points of interest we hadn't had time to hit over the last few days. It was late afternoon by the time Dago, Pancho and I finally decided to find something to eat.
We, again, sat outside some little eatery as we waited for our food, and I pulled my camera from a pocket inside my suit jacket. "Pancho…would you mind to get a picture of me and Dago?"
Dago laughed, amused that I'd carried my camera around all day. I stuck my tongue out at him as Pancho took the camera and instructed us both to stand up. He didn't have to ask us to get in close, as Dago threaded his arm around my waist almost automatically. I did the same to him and we both smiled genuinely as Pancho snapped a picture.
The three of us ate and talked for a while before Dago and Pancho began discussing Church business and working out priorities for when they returned to work the following day. I knew that I would probably be leaving in the next few days, and wouldn't see Pancho again before my departure, so when we bid each other farewell at the end of the meal, Pancho shook my hand firmly.
"It has been a pleasure, Dr. Pierce. I cannot thank you enough for everything you have done for His Eminence."
"Please, Pancho, call me Hawkeye. No one calls me 'Dr. Pierce' unless I'm in trouble."
"Yes, of course, Hawkeye."
"Thanks for calling Trapper," I told Pancho sincerely. "If you hadn't…"
"Yes, I understand." Pancho looked over at Dago and gave a slight bow. "Your Eminence, I will see you tomorrow."
Dago merely laid his hand on Pancho's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.
As we walked back to his apartment, I looked at Dago carefully. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired," came the expected reply.
"It'll get easier, Dago."
"I know," he sighed. "I just feel like this time together is being wasted."
"Believe me, baby…it's not. It's enough to just be here next to you. You could have spent the last week comatose and I'd still be relatively happy."
Dago chuckled. "You probably would have just taken advantage of me."
"Yeah, probably," I grinned, following him into his apartment and dragging him into a passionate kiss as soon as the door had closed behind us.

TBC
Deborah Kerr costarred with Burt Lancaster in "From Here to Eternity" which featured a very racy scene of the two of them kissing on the beach. The scene caused a scandal at the time, but is now considered to be a classic love scene.
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Infatuation