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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
- 21
- 22
- 23
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 beamed as Hawkeye kissed me once we'd reached my apartment, my entire body growing warm with desire. After so many years of celibacy I knew I'd never get enough of his kiss, his touch, his mere presence. My God, how could someone love another person so much and not spontaneously combust from it all?
I desperately wished that I wasn't still so sore and so lethargic from the surgery so that we could physically express our love unhindered, but I vowed to myself that I would be completely healed by the time we saw each other next. Then we could make up for all this lost time.
Hawkeye had told me that he planned to try and leave early on in the week, though I knew he wanted to stay longer just as much as I wanted him to stay. I'd told him I would have Pancho arrange a first class ticket. I was sorely tempted to purposely delay in making the request to my assistant just so I could keep Hawkeye here a little longer, but I knew that was unfair.
"I've managed the last 20 years without you," I said, pulling back from the kiss. "But now that you're leaving in a couple of days, I have no idea how I'll get by again."
"I feel the same way…but at least it's not going to be another 20 years before we see each other." He told me, uncharacteristically optimistic. "We'll plan to get away in a few months. Maybe go to Madrid for a couple of weeks. By then you should be able to run with the bulls like a pro."
I laughed. "Somehow I highly doubt that, but let's still plan on it."
"July or August?" Hawkeye asked as he pulled me back in and started kissing my neck, fumbling with the closures on my cope.
I closed my eyes, running my fingers through his hair. "Can't we go in July and stay until August?"
He chuckled against my skin, now pulling at the sash cinched at my waist. "Now who's being selfish?"
"Oh, I absolutely am." I confessed breathlessly as I pushed his jacket off his shoulders, his fingers now working the buttons of my cassock.
"Do you really have to be in Rome for your job?" Hawkeye asked, nuzzling my neck as we continued to undress one another. "Can't you watch over your churches from Crabapple Cove just as well as you can from here?"
"I'm sure I could," I sighed. "But it's not up to me, Hawk, it's up to the Pope. I was assigned to work in Rome. You could always bring the Finestkind Clinic over here."
He laughed, nipping at my ear, "Spearchucker already hates my guts for taking him out of Philly and making him move to the whitest state in America—which he constantly reminds me refers to snow as much as it refers to people—so I don't think he or Duke would be too thrilled about relocating to Italy."
Hawkeye pushed the cassock off my shoulders, letting it fall—still half-buttoned—to the floor. By now he was down to his trousers, shoes and socks, and I was still mostly dressed. He sighed in feigned agitation. "Goddamn all these layers…."
I didn't rebuke him this time for using God's name in vain; instead helping him remove the remaining items of clothing until we were left standing nude in the tiny foyer of my apartment. I blushed softly. "Maybe we ought to move to the bedroom."
"Good plan," he teased, kissing the top of my shoulder before sliding his hands into mine and pulling me towards the bedroom.
When we crossed the threshold, I took control, slipping my hands out of his and lightly grasping his shoulders, turning him around. I pressed against his backside and grazed his ear with my teeth as I nudged him forwards towards the bed. "Be easy, Dago." He said, a bit of apprehension in his tone. "It's been a really long time for me."
"I know," the throaty purr of my voice surprised even me and I couldn't help but laugh softly as Hawkeye looked over his shoulder at me with a raised eyebrow.
"What's gotten into you?" He teased with a smirk.
I kissed along his neck. "I just want to make you feel good."
He groaned softly as I nipped at him again, "Oh, believe me, baby…you are. Where do you want me?"
"Lean over the bed," I murmured. "It might be easier on me if I can stand up."
"You sure, Dago? You don't have to—"
"I want to," I interrupted him.
Hawkeye placed his hands on the mattress, spreading his legs as he bent over and I sucked my index and middle finger into my mouth to moisten them before gently pressing them against his opening. He half gasped and half moaned at the intrusion, and I chose that precise moment to lean over and sink my teeth into the flesh of his shoulder. He hissed in a familiar mixture of pleasure and pain, but the effect worked just as it always had and he released the tension in his backside.
"Ready?" I murmured after a few minutes of pulsing my fingers in and out, getting lost in the soft sounds of his enjoyment.
"Oh yeah," he answered hungrily.
I chuckled softly, withdrawing my fingers and licking my palm before taking myself into my hand, stroking a few times until I was wet enough to enter him, then pressed into him. The feeling of being joined with him, being encased within him, took my breath away. It felt like the first time all over again and I groaned loudly as I tried not to spend myself right away.
"Ughhhawkeye…" I breathed incoherently, gripping his hips tightly.
"Christ…" he swore softly, clasping his hand over mine, incapable of saying anything else.
Once we'd both adjusted to the position, I began to slowly move in and out. It felt absolutely incredible and I had to make a conscious effort not to hold my breath, as I had a tendency to do. Though I was doing my best to stand up straight, I kept finding my body slowly angling down over Hawkeye's, straining the torn muscles of my back which gave a twinge of pain in protest. I was determined to outlast the pain until we both found our release, but had to redouble my efforts to stand up straight.
Between keeping rhythm, remembering to breath, and concentrating on posture, I was barely aware of how close Hawkeye was until he began to vocalize his pleasure…loudly. Though the walls here weren't nearly as thin as the canvas tents in Korea, I wasn't convinced that they were thick enough to drown out the noise to the neighboring apartments. I clapped my hand over Hawkeye's mouth to muffle him and felt his body go rigid as he found his release.
Biting my lip against my cry of ecstasy as his muscles seized up around me, I let Hawkeye's orgasm bring me to my own, and I quickly followed him into bliss, spilling myself inside of him. The room was filled with the sound of our heavy breathing, and I braced my hands against his back to keep upright as I withdrew myself from him.
"Jesus, Dago," Hawkeye panted. "You're not making it easy for me to leave, you know?"
I smirked, "Good. I don't want you to leave."
Hawkeye's departure still came all too soon on Tuesday morning, and I sat on the bed as I watched him pack his bags and repack my journals in the box, intent on taking them with him to read. Though we were both trying not to be melancholy about being separated again, you could have cut the tension with a knife as we both lingered on the edge of an emotional breakdown. Pancho had arranged for a car to come pick Hawkeye up and take him to the airport around the same time that I would be leaving for work. I was sorely tempted to play hooky so that I could see him off…
"I wish you didn't have to leave." I said quietly for the hundredth time.
"I know," came the hundredth reply. "I wish I could stay."
"I've never been very good at goodbye with you."
"I'm glad," he smirked somewhat sadly, sitting next to me and taking my hand. "If saying goodbye was easy, what would be the point?"
"True."
"And, it's not goodbye, Dago. We've got a trip to plan for in a few months."
I smiled warmly at that and squeezed his hand. "I love you, Ben."
Hawkeye leaned in and pressed his lips to mine, kissing me deeply. "I love you, too, baby."
The car arrived long before either of us was ready for it. I instructed the driver to take Hawkeye's belongings and wait in the car, then stood with my lover in the foyer until we were alone. I pulled him to me in a fierce hug, not caring how badly it was hurting me. Hawkeye's arms were around me awkwardly as he tried to avoid touching the surgical site as much as possible and still hold me just as tightly.
"Thank you," I whispered on the verge of tears.
"For what?"
"Everything."
He pulled back from the embrace, intense blue eyes cutting into mine for a long moment before he kissed me passionately once again. The car honked outside, signaling the impatience of the driver, and we slowly released one another. Hawkeye brushed his fingers along my cheek.
"See you in a few months, Dago."
"Have a safe flight, Hawk."
He smiled, then ruffled my hair before slipping out of the door. I watched him head towards the car, looking back for a second as he opened the back door. He held up his hand in a peace sign before winking at me, then climbed in the car, leaving me laughing softly and rolling my eyes as the car pulled away.
I arrived at my office slightly later than usual and found Pancho already hard at work. He stood as I came in, but I waved off his formalities, "Good morning, Pancho."
"Good morning, Your Eminence. I trust Dr. Pierce is on his way to the airport?"
"Yes, thank you for arranging his travel."
"Of course." He paused, uncertainly. "If I may, Father…I am very glad everything has worked out between you and Dr. Pierce. You seem much happier with him."
I felt my face flush. "Pancho…do you think my relationship with Hawkeye is obvious to anyone else?"
He seemed to consider my question for a long time before finally answering. "No."
We went about our day as normally as possible, but Hawkeye was never far from my mind. It had been less than 8 hours and I already missed him like crazy. How had I managed 20 years without him? Oh…right…that had been agony, too. I took a deep breath, feeling the tug on my mending muscles, and closed my eyes as I slowly let it out. Summer would be here soon and Hawkeye and I would go away together, but in the meantime, I had work to do.
The first few days without him were the hardest, and I found myself constantly wondering how he was doing and if he missed me at all. I never really knew how much Hawkeye thought about me when he was around Mary and his family. I was sure he'd been swallowed up whole by his patients, friends and family, so when a letter arrived three weeks later, postmarked in Spruce Harbor, Maine, I was thoroughly surprised that he had written me. I sat on the couch with a Dixie beer as I carefully tore open the envelope and withdrew the contents within. There was a color copy of the photograph taken of us during his visit here. I smiled as I looked at it, then read the accompanying letter.
Dago,
Boy, I wish I'd stayed with you. Coming back home was a nightmare. Trapper assigned several surgeries to me that were waiting when I got back. I suppose that was revenge for my taking off to Rome with you.
Mary sends her love. She's already had my pictures from Rome developed, and has framed the one of you and I that Pancho took. She made me dig through my box of mementos to find the one from Korea so she could put it up next to the most recent one. I have to say, other than looking a little weathered, neither of us has changed much.
After talking with Mary about us going to Madrid, she and I both think that mid-July would be the best time for me to take off. Johnny would be on summer vacation, and he's planning on attending football camp around that time. I haven't talked to Duke, Trap, or Spearchucker yet to find out if they've got anything planned around that time, but I think we should shoot for the second or third week of July. Depending on how much time you can get, maybe we can plan for two weeks in Spain—some time in Madrid, and some time traveling around. I know how much you like culture and history, surely there is bound to be heaps of both. Let me know what you think.
I love you; I miss you; I can't wait to see you.
Hawkeye
I read the letter twice more, glad to have gotten it, but sad there wasn't more. Still, it gave me something to look forward to and I intended to pencil in the trip for Madrid as soon as possible.
A few days later, as Pancho and I were having breakfast at our usual haunt, I made mention to the vacation and asked for his opinion—as a Spaniard—what the best sights to see were.
"If you're going to Madrid in July, then you should plan to visit the Convento de la Encarnación on the 27th, which is celebrated as the saint's feast day by many Spaniards. I have never been, but legend says that there is a phial of blood belonging to the Santo Pantaleón. On the day of the feast, the blood miraculously liquefies, bringing good fortune to those who witness it. It draws quite the crowd, as you can imagine."
I'd heard of some 'miracle' statues that supposedly cried tears of blood, but—like Pancho—had never witnessed any of it. I was intrigued and curious, and made a mental note to put that on our itinerary.
"July is a very good time to visit España," Pancho continued, contemplating all the things to do around that time. He also mentioned the running of the bulls, which happened in many towns. He talked about the museums and theaters, the flamenco dancing, the music festivals, the Seville Cathedral, the Archivo General de las Indias, the beaches in Galicia, and his hometown of Malaga.
"I don't know how we'll have time to do all of that," I laughed as I imagined us running ourselves ragged with sightseeing. I didn't think Hawkeye would appreciate spending his entire vacation catering to my interests, however, so I ventured a little further for information. "What is there to do as far as things Hawkeye might be interested in?"
Pancho chuckled knowingly. "I think he will enjoy the tradition of hacienda el vermut. It is very big on Sundays to imbibe vermouth with tapas."
"What are tapas?"
"It's like…how you say…finger foods?"
"Like appetizers?"
"They can be, yes."
"I'm sure that's a tradition he won't want to miss out on."
I spent the next couple of weeks studying a map of Spain and marking all the places Pancho had mentioned seeing. Two weeks would be a stretch to be able to see it all, but I called around to several of the tourist information centers in the places I thought held the most options for us and requested a few brochures, which they were happy to send out. Finally, when I had a decent itinerary in place, I wrote Hawkeye back.
Dear Hawkeye,
I'm sorry for the delay in answering your correspondence, but I had to do a bit of research before I could properly agree to the middle of July for our trip. Pancho thinks we should be in Madrid on July 27th (I'll explain why later) so I've made a tentative schedule of places to go, and things to see and do. I'm also enclosing several brochures that I managed to procure so you can read about it and tell me what you think.
As Madrid is the biggest airport for international flights, I think we should schedule to fly in there, meet up, then take a flight down to Malaga in south Spain. From there, we can rent a car in which to do our cross-country tour. I propose Malaga to Seville to Galicia, then back to Madrid where we will finish our trip. By my calculations, the entire trip from Malaga to A Coruña in the Galicia province would be about 700 miles, if we spent a few days in each of the big places, and took a day or two to drive the stretch between Seville and our northern most point, I think we should be able to make it back to Madrid and have several days to spend there before our two weeks were up.
I've tried to divide up the activities so that I don't bore you with museums and history the entire time. Pancho has assured me that Sundays are big drinking days, so I'm sure you'll be thrilled about that. And, the big drink is vermouth to boot. You could even bring your portable still and make your own martinis, though I won't be helping you lug it around, so you're on your own.
Please feel free to add your input on the itinerary; I promise not to be too offended if you change it.
Say hello to Mary, Trapper, Duke and Spearchucker for me. If anyone is interested in a post-surgical update, I am starting to feel better. I'm still very aware of the place you cut me open, but it doesn't kill me as much to move or stretch, though coughing and laughing are still somewhat unpleasant. I'm also noticing that I can walk further without having to stop and rest. All-in-all, I feel I'm made great strides in recovering. I can't thank you and Trapper enough, really. I owe you a great debt, Hawkeye. I have an appointment early next week to see my physician again. If there are any changes for the worse, I assure you, you'll be the first to know.
Cum magno affectu,
Dago Red
Hawkeye's reply came barely more than a week later with the proverbial thumbs up, and a jest for me to "stop lollygagging around and take care of church business" so that I'd be able to get away in July.
Things were going better than they had been in so long. I was in relatively good health, considering I'd just had a cancerous lung removed from my body, I was making plans to be with Hawkeye for a couple of weeks, and things were running smoothly in the Swengchan province, which always made my life easier. I think the mere fact that Hawkeye and I had reconnected went a very long way to improving my overall spirit and happiness. His Holiness had even made mention recently that I seemed like "a new man."
I didn't dare tell him that he owed any gratitude to Hawkeye and the fact that I had found the love I had lost two decades ago. Pancho was my sole confidant, and I knew—despite whatever his own personal feelings towards homosexuality—he accepted my relationship with Hawkeye, and even inquired about him often.
As July drew closer, Hawkeye and I took to taking turns making international calls to one another to firm up flight details and dates. I'd had Pancho call around to make reservations for us at the hotels under an assumed identity. I didn't plan to travel as Archbishop John Mulcahy, and he thankfully didn't question me about it. The money for the trip came from my own personal savings rather than church funds, as I didn't wish to misappropriate Church money. Hawkeye had insisted on paying for half of the expenses, but I told him the airline ticket was enough of an expense and that I was more than happy to cover this trip. After all, I hadn't taken a vacation in 20 years.
The day finally came for me to start packing my bags and get ready for my flight. As it worked out, Hawkeye's flight would be arriving several hours later than my own, so we planned on spending the first night in the hotel before flying down to Malaga. It was strange to pack my clothes, as I truly owned very few civilian garments. The selection in my closet was meager, and I doubted that I would be able to make it through the two weeks without wearing an outfit at least 2 or 3 times.
As I was staring into my suitcase bleakly, there was a knock on the door and I called for them to come in, knowing on instinct that it would be Pancho.
"Having trouble, Father?" There was amusement in his voice and I turned to look at him. He was holding several garment bags and I looked at him curiously.
"I hate to tell you, Pancho, but you know you're not coming with me, right?"
He laughed. "Of course, Father. I thought you might be a little unprepared, so I picked up a few things for you."
He held out the garment bags to me and I took them, completely surprised. There were several collared shirts, some trousers, a few pairs of shorts, and even swim trunks and casual shoes. "Oh, Pancho…you really didn't have to do all of this."
"You'll thank me later," he said with an amused smile. "The weather in Spain can be quite warm this time of year."
"Thank you, Pancho. Truly."
"Of course, Father."
I packed the clothes in my suitcase, leaving out one of the collared shirts to travel in and smiled as my bag looked far more likely to last the duration of the trip. I invited Pancho to stay for a couple of beers, giving him instruction on what to do if anything came up in the interim, but also telling him not to work too hard.
"You haven't taken much vacation for yourself over the years, Pancho." I noted. "Traveling to the states for my surgery was still work for you…I want you to take some real time off. If not in the next couple of weeks, then soon."
"Thank you, Father."
Flying into Spain and making my way through customs was quite the experience. As a church official, I could bypass going through customs, but since I was traveling incognito, I was doing things the civilian way. Once I had gotten my passport stamped, I assumed the identity of John P. Smith—the name Pancho had registered me with at all the hotels we'd be staying at.
It was completely liberating to feel totally divorced from the Church, but the constant guilt that I was still on duty for God nagged me at the back of my mind. Though I wouldn't be actively serving, I knew that if an opportunity to minister arose, I couldn't pass it by.
A taxi took me to the hotel, where I checked in and informed the clerk that my companion would be arriving sometime later. He assured me that Hawkeye would be shown to the room without any problems, and I was given a key and told that my bags would be brought up promptly. I thanked him and headed for the elevator.
The room was quite spacious, with a magnificent view of the city. I spent quite some time sitting near the window and watching the comings and goings of all the pedestrians down below, as well as the cars that zipped through the streets on their way to some unknown destination. As I sat there people-watching, I quickly lost myself in introspection.
Being in foreign countries was always a real eye-opener as to how much the world had changed in my lifetime. Even traveling back to America after twenty years abroad was disorienting. Though I'd never been New Orleans before, the sheer scope of the city was breathtaking. I almost wished I hadn't been sick so I could have enjoyed Bourbon Street and the jazz clubs, but being with Hawkeye again had more than made up for any lost opportunity at tourism.
Being in the city seemed to also make me more aware of the passage of time around me. I'd lived in Tibet, Korea and Nepal for many years, and had grown accustomed to the unhurried way of life in those countries. Time simply had no real meaning in any of these places. Even in the war-torn Uijeongbu, the locals always went about their business as if bombs weren't exploding in their backyards. Days were marked by sun-up and sun-down, not by how many hours remained in the day. When I'd moved to Rome, the hustle and bustle of urban living had quickly swept me away like the undercurrent of a river. It had been hard to adjust at first, and I'd often longed for a quiet, simple, country life again, but eventually I'd grown accustomed to the Italian way of life, and found it comfortable. Now, being in an entirely new place, I felt conscious of time again and it made me feel anxious, as if Hawkeye and I were once again wasting precious moments by this delay in our reunion.
Our room was equipped with a television, and I knew it would still be a few hours before Hawkeye arrived, so I sat on the edge of the bed with the remote and began to flip through the few stations available. Several of the stations were solely in Spanish but, thanks to Pancho conversing with me from time-to-time in the language, I could still understand it fairly fluently.
I'd gotten wrapped up in an episode of Juan y Manuela, though I truly had no idea what the premise of the show was, when Shave and a Haircut was tapped out on the door. My grin was already spreading from ear to ear before I'd reached the door to the suite. I leaned against the door, eager to see Hawkeye but unable to resist toying with him a little.
"Who is it?"
"Housekeeping," he said in a high falsetto Spanish accent.
"I'm sorry, we don't need you yet. Come back in an hour and change the sheets before my other lover gets here."
"Hey!" Hawkeye laughed through the door, surprised but amused by the comment. I laughed and opened the door to find him feigning anger. "Who is he; I'll kill him?"
I smirked, "You assume it's a 'he.'"
His eyebrow arched with intrigue, "Oh?"
"Get in here," I laughed, grabbing him and pulling him to me. "God, I've missed you."
His arms still held me awkwardly, obviously not wishing to cause me any pain, so I hugged him tighter in response.
"It's okay, Hawkeye. It doesn't hurt anymore."
His answering squeeze almost made me regret the words, but I simply smiled as he whispered, "I missed you too, Dago."
I pulled him into the room and he dragged his suitcase in behind him. The door closed behind us and I claimed his lips as his hands cupped my face. How could just a few months have passed and it still feel like eons since I'd last held him?
Hawkeye pulled back from the kiss and gave me a rueful look. "You're watching TV."
"Yeah," I laughed softly. "Mainly just to pass the time until you got here."
"Well, here I am," he grinned, pressing his body a little more solidly against mine. "What do you want to do first?"
I grinned back at him, my cheeks flushing, and Hawkeye's eyes darkened with answering arousal.
An hour later, we lay together in the bed, our entwined naked bodies cooling after a rather ardent sexual experience. We were sated, but not tired, and spent the time filling each other in on the last couple of months. I closed my eyes and soaked in this moment—the feel of his body, the sound of his voice, the woody undertones of his cologne. I wished that I could imprint him on my soul much the same way a hand could be imprinted in cement.
"I love you," I said as I looked up at him, unintentionally interrupting his ramblings.
Hawkeye looked at me strangely, but smiled all the same, obviously unsure where the sudden assertion had come from. "I love you, too."
After a while longer, we decided to take a bath; again not rushing our time together. Hawkeye sat behind me in the tub, gently massaging my shoulders as I leaned against him.
"So, do you feel like you again?"
"I'm starting to," I smiled. "When I first got here, I felt almost like a refugee, or someone in hiding. I'm even registered under a false surname. I know this is a terrible thing to say, but it's nice to be away from the Church for a while."
"I don't think it's a terrible thing to say," he countered gently. "You've got the unfortunate drawback of never being able to leave your office. At least when I go home for the day I can hang up my stethoscope and say, 'Sorry folks, the doc is out.' Sure, there are emergencies I have to attend to, but I don't have to see people after hours, you know? For you, there are no set hours. You've always got to be in priest-mode…or archbishop-mode now, I suppose."
It was nice to hear him affirm me and I smiled. "You know, as awful as the war was, there are times I'd give my right arm to go back to Korea. There isn't much I would do differently; well, maybe not pick up your bad habits."
He laughed somewhat sadly. "I should have never got you hooked on cigarettes."
"It was my own fault, Hawk. You never forced me to do anything I didn't want to."
"I'm not so sure," he contended. "I think you did some things just to try and fit in with us."
I couldn't argue with that, and he chuckled at my silence, kissing my neck.
"It always made things interesting whenever you did though," he murmured silkily in my ear. "I loved watching you do things with the guys. Like when Spearchucker was teaching you to throw the football at the river. I still remember the way you looked that day."
I closed my eyes, listening to his sultry voice as he reminisced about that summer day back in 1952. I could almost feel the warmth of the sun as he spoke. "I remember you taking over for him and teaching me your technique for throwing. Standing behind me, holding onto me as you took me through the motion. Then tackling me in the water."
He erupted with laughter. "That was before I knew of your fear of rivers, lakes, oceans and the like."
"I know," I said, with mock annoyance.
He chuckled. "That was such a perfect day. Well… it would have been."
That had been the day I'd been stabbed by the North Korean boy. "Even despite that, it was still a wonderful day…and it was the first time you saved my life."
Hawkeye pulled me back against his chest and rested his head next to mine. "We must be nuts, Dago. I've never been able to figure out why I'm so crazy about you."
"Me either," I admitted, smiling softly. "But it doesn't matter why…it just matters that we are."
We ordered dinner from room service and ended up finding something on the television to watch as we lay in bed together. Hawkeye was beginning to feel the effects of jet lag, so I let him doze off, content to just be next to him. When the wakeup call came the next morning, I hadn't even realized that I'd fallen asleep as well.
The flight from Madrid to Malaga took little more than an hour total, it seemed. I felt that almost as soon as we were airborne, we were landing again.
"We should have just driven," I commented as the plane touched down in Pancho's hometown.
"Air travel is deceptively quick. It would have taken a lot longer to drive here." Hawkeye reassured me.
As soon as we debarked the plane and I stepped out into the bright, warm coastal sunlight, I was in love. Malaga was magnificent. Flying in, I had been able to see the mountains that had sloped down to the beaches of the Mediterranean Sea. The sky was a brilliant shade of blue and was dotted with puffy white clouds, making it the perfect subtropical-Mediterranean climate. I envied Pancho for having grown up here.
"You know, Malaga is one of the oldest cities in the wor—"
"Dago," Hawkeye chuckled, giving me a look. "We haven't even left the airport yet."
I blushed, laughing softly. "Sorry."
We found a cab that taxied us the 5km to the resort that Pancho had booked for our stay, saying that it would be one of the most appealing things for Hawkeye, but he hadn't told me anything more. As we approached the resort, however, it quickly became clear.
"I'm going to kiss Pancho," Hawkeye exclaimed with glee as we both looked at the impressive 18-hole golf course spread out around the entire hotel.
Pancho had booked us at the Parador de Malaga Golf. I shook my head ruefully; glad that at least this first stretch of our trip would be likeable to Hawkeye. I, however, still held little interest in golf, though I knew that Hawkeye would more than likely drag me out on the course to play a round or two. I could feel the still mending muscles in my back already growing sore again at the mere thought.
As we checked in, Hawkeye was already asking about tee-times and where to check out golfing equipment, and if casual attire was permitted on the course. I was amused by his enthusiasm, and even more amused when he picked up a pamphlet and started reciting the resort history to me.
"This is amazing, Dago! The golf course was built by Tom Simpson. Tom Simpson! He's designed courses all over the world."
I gave him a look of mock offense, "So if it's a history lesson about golf you care, but if it's general history you don't?"
He gave me a sheepish smile, "Sorry."
"It's alright," I chuckled.
We were shown to our room, which had a beach-front view across part of the golf course, and Hawkeye dropped his bags, flopping down on the bed to read more about the golf course from his pamphlet. I set my bags down and stepped out on the balcony, leaning against the rail and looking out at the sandy beach and teal blue water of the Mediterranean. It was hard to believe that Spain and Italy shared the same sea.
"Trapper will kill me when he hears we stayed here," Hawkeye called from inside the room.
"Just so you know," I called back. "We're not golfing the entire time we stay here."
He came up behind me, placing his hands on the rail on either side of me as he leaned against my back and nuzzled my neck. "Just the majority," he teased.
I playfully elbowed him in the ribs, making him laugh, but he rested his chin on my shoulder as he looked out at the ocean with me.
"So what's our plan? I know you've got this planned down to the minute."
"Not to the minute," I laughed. "If you want to go see about renting your golf clubs, I don't mind if you spend today golfing. But tomorrow I want to go see the sights."
"And what are you going to do if I go golfing?"
"I'll come with you. At least for a while. I'm not sure if I can get through all 18 holes."
He kissed my cheek and rested his forehead against my temple. "Have I told you're incredible lately?"
"For what this time?" I smirked.
"Do I need a reason?"
I turned my head to look at him, feigning suspicion. "Yes."
He chuckled and kissed my lips. "Come on, we'll play a few holes and then see about checking out the beach. But first, we should probably change clothes."
I readily agreed and we both changed into more casual clothing—Hawkeye wearing cut off denim shorts and a t-shirt, me wearing khakis shorts and a short-sleeve collared shirt. He pulled a canvas bucket hat from his bag as well and flopped it over his shaggy locks. I laughed as I looked at him.
"All you need are the tinted glasses and I'll start wondering if I've gone back in time."
He grinned.
"Whatever happened to your glasses anyways? You stopped wearing them after the war as I seem to recall."
"I considered what you'd said about liking my eyes," Hawkeye shrugged. "I got contact lenses. I still have glasses, but I don't wear them very often, and they aren't tinted anymore."
"I've never seen you put in or take out contacts," I said, thinking back over the years.
He just smiled smugly in return and stuffed his sock-less feet into a pair of slip-ons. "I am surprised you don't wear glasses, though. One of the first things I ever noticed about you in Korea was the fact that you always held that little book of yours right in front of your nose to read it."
I laughed softly, blushing as I admitted, "I do have glasses. I just rarely ever use them because I hate the way I look in them."
"So you were being vain back then." He said, sounding like he'd just solved a great mystery. "Do you have them here? Put them on! Let me see."
"Yes…and no." I answered, putting on my own shoes and moving toward the door.
"Spoilsport," he muttered playfully behind me.
Hawkeye checked out one set of clubs, insisting that we would share them since I wasn't sure how long I would play. He checked out a golf cart as well and drove us over to the first hole. I listened as he described the strategy, which club to start off with, and how many strokes it should take to put the ball in the hole. I knew the basics of golf, but Hawkeye's knowledge and love for the game far exceeded my own.
I watched him take a full-swing, cringing as I wondered how such a movement was going to affect me. Hawkeye seemed to notice the look of dread on my face and, gratefully, offered to drive my ball down to the other end of the green for me.
It was much less daunting to simply try and putt the ball into the hole under or at the Par level, and we played through half the course in this manner—with Hawkeye driving the balls, and me putting in the end. It was probably an unconventional way to play golf, but it was fun and Hawkeye laughed every time I overshot the hole. We took a small break near the water hazard by the 10th hole, sitting in the shade of a palm tree as we watched a guy trying to dig his way out of a sand trap.
"Thanks for letting me play, Dago." Hawkeye said sincerely.
"You don't have to thank me, Hawkeye; this is your vacation too."
"Yeah, but the point is to spend time together."
"We are, aren't we?"
"Are you having fun?" He asked skeptically.
"I am," I smiled. "I'll admit I still don't hold any great affection for golf, but it's fun because I'm with you."
"Well, it's not as fun as trying to blow up the mine field," he teased. "But you're still a natural."
"Yes, because putting a ball a few feet into a hole is extremely difficult."
"No, but doing it in a limited number of strokes can be." He bumped his shoulder against mine. "You want to call it a day or keep going?"
"We're half-way there, why don't you finish up and I'll watch the Pro from Dover show me how the game is really played."
He grinned and pulled me to my feet. "That, I can definitely do."
Hawkeye's game turned a little more seriously at that point and he took a little longer lining up his shots and choosing his clubs. He was good from what I could tell, but I supposed when you truly enjoyed something, you worked hard to be the best you could at it.
The 18th hole conveniently ended at the clubhouse where you returned all your equipment, so I waited for Hawkeye to return his clubs and the cart, then suggested that we get something to eat before going on to anything else. Hawkeye readily agreed and we wandered into the resort restaurant for a late lunch, then back to the room to change into more appropriate beachwear. Though I didn't intend on getting into the water, I put on my swim trunks. Hawkeye lent me his t-shirt to wear, saying that I should protect the scarring flesh of my back from too much exposure to the sun and sand. We grabbed a few beach towels, then made the trek down a path from the resort to the beach.
Hawkeye kicked off his shoes and laid his towel out on the sand before he looked over at me with a grin, "Coming?"
I knew he was talking about into the water and I shook my head violently. "Oh, no. I'm not going in any further than my ankles."
"Come on, it's fun."
"You go ahead; I'll watch."
Hawkeye shrugged, then jogged down the beach and straight into the water, diving into a wave just before it crashed into his waist. I felt my body grow cold with fear and anxiety as thoughts of what kinds of creatures were lurking in the water. I set my own towel down next to his and toed off my shoes before padding down to the water's edge and letting it lick at my bare feet as I watched Hawkeye alternate between diving into waves and jumping over them until he was nearly neck deep in the sea.
"Come on, Dago!" He shouted back at me.
"Aren't you out a little far?" I hollered back.
Hawkeye let a wave carry him back towards the shore, stopping several feet from me and dripping from head to toe. The water was at knee-level and he motioned to me. "Come here."
"Hawkeye," I sighed. "I can't."
"You can, baby. Look, you can see the bottom; there aren't even any fish right here."
I sighed again in exasperation, but took several small steps towards him, still standing a few feet away. "This is deep enough."
Hawkeye stepped towards me and took my hands in his, imploring me with his eyes. "Trust me, John."
"I do," I choked, discerning how much it meant to him to at least try and get me over my fear. "But I can't."
"Yes you can," he said softly. "Just to your knees. For five seconds, then you can go back."
I closed my eyes, feeling nauseated, but nodded. I kept them closed as Hawkeye gently pulled me deeper into the water until the waves were touching my knees.
"Look at me," he murmured, stepping in close to me and cupping my face. I opened my eyes, seeing his soft smile just before he kissed me for a long moment. When he pulled back, his smile brightened. "It's been seven seconds."
Though I was practically clinging to him, I didn't feel as anxious about standing in the knee-deep surf and even looked down at our feet in the water, giving a nervous laugh. "I can't remember the last time I was in this deep."
He laughed softly. "See, it's not so bad, right?"
"Easy for you to say," I scoffed. "I'm still terrified of the things living in here."
"Nothing will get you," he reassured me, taking my hands again. "Want to go a little further?"
"No." I said adamantly, the panic quickly returning.
"Just relax, Dago." Hawkeye said, easing me towards him as he slowly stepped backwards little by little. I was terrified that he would let go of me and I'd be paralyzed by my fear, unable to go forward or backwards, so I had little choice other than to let him lead me away from shore. The waves were crashing against my thighs, knocking me back a step and only intensifying my anxiety and great dislike of this whole experience.
"Please, Hawkeye…I want to go back."
"Come out to your waist, then we'll go back."
"First it was to my knees," I said sharply. "Now it's to my waist. What's next? My neck?"
"Calm down," he said gently, though obviously amused by my ire. "I promise. Just your waist. No further."
"Fine." I grumbled.
"Dago," he laughed softly, making me meet his eyes. "It'll be okay."
"Let's just get this over with," I said snidely as I pulled my chin away from his hand.
The strength of the waves only got worse as he pulled me deeper, and he had to hold my hands tightly so that they didn't drag us apart or knock me down. This wasn't fun in the slightest to me.
"I really hate this, Hawkeye."
"It's better if you get out passed the breakers," he said as we fought the push and pull of the water around our waist, the waves crashing hard against us, rising up past my navel with each pass. This seemed far more than waist-deep to me.
"Can we go back now?" I asked tightly.
"Alright," he conceded.
I nearly had the urge to kiss the sand as we emerged from the water, but I contented myself with simply sitting down as my legs shook unsteadily. He sat beside me and draped his arm over my shoulders, smiling.
"You did it," he said triumphantly.
"Barely." I countered.
"Doesn't matter. Barely or not, you did it and lived to tell the tale."
"The tale of how I'm never doing that again."
He laughed, then kissed me. "Even if you don't, I'm proud that you did now. Even if you did hate it."
"I was alright up to my knees, but…" I shook my head. "Any further than that is just too much."
The next day was spent in a whirlwind tour of the cathedral, the Alcazaba, the Roman Theatre, and Picasso's birthplace. The cathedral was one of my favorites, of course, but not simply because it was a church. This particular cathedral was from the Renaissance era, designed by Spanish architect Diego de Siloé. Spanish and Roman architecture were two very different things, and though Roman Catholic cathedrals typically all had the same layout, the intricate details in both the exterior and interior structure were what I truly admired.
Hawkeye enjoyed touring the Alcazaba, which was a walled fortress that had been built by the Moors sometime in the mid-11th century and captured by King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella in 1487. The fortress had been built in the center of the city overlooking the port, and was designed to impede the progress of attackers by confusing pathways that doubled back through the entrance gate, and towers which turned at sharp right angles. Inside the fortress, however was a beautiful courtyard, and several elaborate fountains, as well as the Cuartos de Granada, which had served as the home of the governors. The innermost citadel of the fortress was now housed the Malaga Archeological Museum, which we took the time to tour.
When we got back to the resort, it was late afternoon but still too early for dinner. I was tired from walking around in the sun all day, but I could see Hawkeye looking longingly at the golf course from the open doorway. I smiled as I sat on the edge of the bed and took off my shoes.
"Go play a round of golf," I told him. "I think I'll stay here and get a nap before dinner."
"You sure?" He asked, torn between wanting to play and wanting to stay with me.
I nodded, "Yes, you've indulged my history fascination long enough. I now grant you permission to have a little fun."
He chuckled, but came over to the bed, leaning down to kiss me. "I had fun. This time you didn't know everything about everywhere we went beforehand."
I glared playfully up at him but couldn't help but smile as he kissed me again.
"Sure you don't want to come with me?"
"No, you go ahead. I'm worn out." I answered, falling back against the pillow.
Hawkeye changed clothes, kissed me goodbye, then headed off to rent another set of clubs. I knew I would have several hours before he made it back, and I blissfully succumb to sleep in the meantime.
We checked out of the resort mid-morning the next day, and a taxi took us to a car rental company where Pancho had made reservations for us. He'd arranged for us to have the car for the rest of our trip, and for it to be dropped off at a sister site in Madrid the day we planned to fly home. I felt somewhat guilty for having Pancho work out all the details of my personal vacation, but resolved to get him a nice thank-you gift to show my appreciation to him.
Hawkeye loaded our bags into the hatchback of the small two-door SEAT 600, which looked similar to the Fiat that Pancho drove around, but was painted a pale yellow. Though both of us were unfamiliar with the geography, I did have a road map and elected to be the navigator, as it had been quite some time since I'd last driven, and didn't care to get behind the wheel for the first time in a foreign country. I managed to get Hawkeye onto the right highway that would take us from Malaga to Seville, then sat back with a contented sigh. I was somewhat sad to leave Malaga, as it had been very beautiful, but there was still so much to see and do and we were already 3 days into our 2 week vacation. The sand was slipping through the hourglass.
"I'm starting to think an eternity wouldn't be long enough with you," I said in response to my own thoughts.
Hawkeye glanced over at me, "I think eventually you'd get sick of me. We haven't really had enough time together for my charm to wear off."
"I doubt that." I chuckled, then sobered as I pondered. "Do you think you'd ever get tired of me? I still think I'm exceptionally dull compared to your other friends, and even Mary."
"You're different, not dull," he clarified. "But no, I don't think I'd ever get tired of you either."
"Different how?"
"Haven't we had this conversation before?" He asked. "I have an odd sense of déjà vu."
"It's possible, I suppose…but I still want to know."
"You just…are, Dago. Not that I think any of my friends are simpletons, but you're a true intellectual. You speak several languages; you're a walking encyclopedia… Duke, Trapper and Spearchucker know how to gamble, how to drink, and how to operate. We fish, fuck, and father our children in the interim. The four of us used to travel around a bit in the spirit of your suggestion back in Korea to meet up once a year, but eventually got too scattered between our families and the clinic. Or maybe we just grew up…I don't know. The point is that you're different and that's what I like about you."
"It's so strange you and I should get along as well as we do," I said, looking at him. "About the only thing we have in common is the fact that we like each other."
"Dago, I've been married for almost 40 years and if there's one thing I've learned about love, it's that it's not about having things in common so much as it is being able to appreciate what you don't have in common. Our interests are varied enough that we're constantly learning from one another. I think that's what's important, and that's what keeps us from getting bored with each other."
I hadn't considered it quite like that, but Hawkeye was right. I reached over and took his hand, smiling as companionable silence lapsed between us. After a few moments, I looked back over at him. "You've really been married for almost 40 years?"
He nodded, "Proposed to Mary right out of high school. We were 18. We waited until I was out of med school before we had the boys. Money was already tight enough. The first year of my residency, she lived with her parents and I had a little slum apartment—much worse than the one in Jersey—near the hospital. I used to call it the Swamp because it was such a dump. Obviously the name carried over to the dump I shared with Trap and Duke in Korea."
"You know, if you three would have picked up your dirty clothes and made your beds, it wouldn't have been so bad."
"That's why we had Ho-Jon…until those bastards marched him off to war."
"Poor kid," I murmured, remembering the Korean boy who worked around the camp. "It's a shame he had to leave us with your lasting influence of alcohol, pornography, and general debauchery."
"Nah, we taught him how to be a man," Hawkeye grinned. "He'd never seen a nice pair of tits until Duke gave him a nudie magazine to gander at. And he would have gotten a nice peak at Hot Lips if you hadn't have dragged him off like there was a fire."
One of the most infamous pranks that the Swampmen had ever pulled was when Hawkeye, Trapper and Duke had resolved to find out if the major was a natural blonde. They had rigged the shower tent flaps so that the unsuspecting major would be bared to the camp in her birthday suit whenever a rope was cut. I had paused to see why such a crowd had gathered—some even pulling up chairs—and had been standing next to Ho-Jon when the event unfolded before my eyes. I was shocked and embarrassed for the woman, who had nowhere to hide and no way to cover herself from the onlookers. Noticing that Ho-Jon—who was barely 17 at the time—was standing next to me, I shielded his eyes in a vain attempt to protect what remained of his innocence and quickly led him away despite his protests that he wanted to see.
"That was highly inappropriate, Hawkeye." I said staunchly.
"Was there anything we did that was appropriate, Dago?"
I considered that for a long time. "Other than saving lives, I can't think of one damn thing."
Hawkeye dissolved into laughter.
We arrived in Seville and found our way to the El Hotel Fernando III, which seemed to be almost in the heart of the city, and quite close to the points of interest listed on my itinerary. The hotel itself was relatively new—a long, white building with individual balconies for every room. There were only four floors, but there seemed to be a couple dozen rooms just on the exterior side of the building. Our room was on the 3rd floor, but the view wasn't as great as it had been in Malaga. There wasn't much we could see around the buildings on the opposite side of the street from the hotel, but that was okay.
After checking in and depositing our luggage in the room, Hawkeye and I headed down to the bar on the main floor of the hotel for a drink and something to eat. I collected a few brochures from a stand in the lobby and laid them out between us on the table as the server brought us both a beer from the tap.
"We should see about doing this," Hawkeye said, tapping his finger on a brochure of a sight-seeing bus. The brochure-written in Spanish, English, French and German—ensured that tourists would get the best tour of the city with stops at the Torro del Oro, Monasterio de la Cartuja, Plaza de España and the Parque de Maria Luisa, and the Jardines Reales Alcázares (The Royal Alcázares Gardens). The tour was scheduled to begin around 10am, and didn't end until 6pm.
"Gee, Hawkeye…it's an 8 hour tour. That seems like an awfully long time."
"Come on, Gilligan," he teased. "We'd spend the same amount of time—if not more—trying to drive to all these places ourselves. This way, we don't have to bother with the car or a map, and we can see the city."
"Alright," I conceded. "But it doesn't go to all the places I wanted to see."
"Well, we'll do those the next day."
I nodded, looking at the other brochures. "What else would you like to do? I don't want this to be all about what I want to do."
"I've never been here before, so I'm along for the ride this time…unless there's a golf course I don't know about nearby."
I gave him a playful glare and he hid his smirk behind one of the brochures he'd picked up off the table. "This looks inviting."
I took the brochure from him. "The Aire de Sevilla, Baños Árabes.* You want to go to a bathhouse?"
"Why not?" He shrugged with a sly grin.
"It says you don't need an appointment," I read, then glanced up and met his eyes. "Would you care to do that today?"
"Sounds good to me."
We finished our lunch and headed back up to the room to deposit my brochures, then drove just a few blocks until we arrived at the bathhouse. The building seemed like it might have been around for quite some time, though some renovations had been done.
The reception area was done in white marble and was softly lit with candles and sconces. Two women greeted Hawkeye and I and gave us robes, slippers and towels—swimwear was optional—then pointed us in the direction of the men's changing area.
There was a place to shower yourself—which the attendant in the changing room informed us was necessary before entering any of the baths. He also told us that were several different baths available for our use—three on the main floor which ranged from cold to temperate to hot, and a salt water bath located on the original ground floor, which was now considered the cellar of the building. We thanked him, undressed, showered, then wrapped up in our robes.
"Let's go down to the cellar first." Hawkeye suggested. We descended the marble stairs that led down to a long, narrow room. The walls and arched ceiling of the structure were made of stone, and I felt as though I was in the catacombs in Rome. There were two window openings in the stone that were blocked by opaque glass, letting a bit of sunlight stream in, but even despite the natural light and candles down the length of the room, it still seemed far too dark. Besides the two of us, no one else was down on this level. "This is creepy."
Hawkeye's voice reverberated off the stone and marble. I nodded in agreement.
"Want to go back upstairs?"
"No," I murmured. "We're down here…let's give it a try."
We set our towels down on a marble bench, then shed our robes. I carefully stepped down the marble steps into the bath. The water was chest-deep , but there were high marble benches all along the edge of the water.
"How is it?" Hawkeye asked as he dipped a toe in over the edge.
"Nice. It's actually quite warm." Which was inviting in the cool cellar-like room.
"Geronimo!" Hawkeye cried, leaping off the edge and cannon-balling in the water next to me, sending a wave of warm salt water into my open mouth as I started to admonish him. I sputtered the water back out, wiping it out of my eyes and off my face.
"Hawkeye!" I said, thoroughly unamused. "You're going to get us banned from here. I specifically recall a sign that said no diving."
"I didn't dive," he said simply, swimming past me towards the far end of the salty pool, where he sank down in the water like an alligator, with his eyes just above the waterline. I couldn't help but quietly laugh as I moved towards him. Hawkeye surfaced just to his chin and reached for my hands, gently pulling me down into a passionate kiss.

TBC
I couldn't find any history on the bathhouse in Seville, other than it had been recently updated. I'm judging by some of the pictures that it has been around a long time, and for the purposes of this story, I'm making an executive decision to add it in.
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Infatuation