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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
- 22
- 23
- 24
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. Enjoy.
**Additional Note:** Some scenes of this chapter reflect the plot of M*A*S*H Goes to Las Vegas, written by Richard Hooker and William E. Butterworth (1976). Some character dialogue has been directly quoted. No copyright infringement intended.

As I slid my tongue into Dago's mouth, my mind began to supply ideas of just how we could take advantage of being down in this dark basement alone. I'd heard that Spaniards were pretty open-minded and carefree as far as sexual promiscuity went, so surely I wasn't the first person to think about fucking my lover in the bathhouse. After all, it seemed like the perfect set up—no clothes, candlelight, a very large, very warm bath… how could a man resist?
I kissed along Dago's jaw and down his throat, before sliding my tongue along his neck to his ear. "Fuck me, Dago."
"Huh?" He answered automatically, too involved in the pleasure created from my lips and tongue on his skin to comprehend the actual words. When the request sank in a few seconds later, he pulled back and looked at me with that familiar mixture of shock and timidity. "What...here?"
I grinned wickedly at him and watched his cheeks burn pink as his eyes darted around for other signs of life. "There's no one here but us, baby. Come here…"
I pulled him more firmly against me, letting him feel my arousal as my lips found that place just behind his ear. He groaned weakly in protest even as he tightened his hold on me. "Damn you, Hawkeye," he murmured in surrender as his cock engorged with arousal.
Triumphant in my ability to win him over, I eagerly slid my hand down his the length of his body and took his cock in my hand, squeezing as I stroked him. Dago's breathing grew slightly heavier, and his hand mirrored my own—his wet fingertips sliding down from where they were twined in my hair until his hand curled around my erection. I groaned softly, but the noise still reverberated off the stone walls and Dago covered my mouth with his, muffling my sighs of passion with a fevered kiss.
I was almost content to just jerk each other off, but the closer I came to the end, the greater the need to be inside of him. I pulled back from Dago and turned him around, pressing him up against one of the benches that ran along the perimeter of the pool, and entered him quickly. His sharp intake of breath echoed in the room, and I had the brief presence of mind to whisper an apology before I reached around and took him in my hand.
Part of me knew I was being a little rougher than necessary, but if there was any lingering pain on Dago's end, he disguised it well. Dago had once told me that Danny had always been rough, and that he appreciated that I wasn't, but he never begged me to ease up whenever my inhibitions ran a little rampant. It had always left me wondering if there wasn't a part of him that enjoyed a little forcefulness sometimes. I knew the limit with him, the things he absolutely couldn't tolerate, but it was still tempting to push his boundaries a little.
I pressed myself hard against his back as I thrust deeply into him, the movement of my body creating small waves in the water that slapped against the lip of the pool. Dago was bracing himself against the bench, one hand reaching out to grip a marble slab at the edge of the pool as pushed his body back again me. "Hawkeye..." he moaned softly, his tone indicating that he was nearing his finish.
I kissed the top of his shoulder, then sank my teeth into the same spot. I felt him shiver as I gradually increased the force of the bite, trying to remember where that fine line between pleasure and pain was, but Dago let me know...
"Ben!" He cried breathlessly as his body convulsed with the intensity of his orgasm. His muscles seized my cock, milking me into bliss with him.
I rested my head against his shoulder as I spent myself, completely complacent and in no hurry to escape this moment. I could feel Dago's slightly shallow breathing, as he was still growing accustomed to one lung, but he didn't seem to be struggling for air as he had in the first weeks after the surgery. I couldn't help but smile, knowing that if he was breathing hard, it had been good for him, too.
"Do you think anyone heard us?" He asked meekly.
"It's possible," I answered, kissing between his shoulder blades. "But I'm positive we're not the first people to fool around in here."
"So what you're saying is that this is a cesspool of sin."
I snorted a laugh as Dago craned his head around to look at me over his shoulder.
"No wonder you wanted to come here," he teased.
We spent a little while longer down in the basement pool, with Dago floating effortlessly on his back with his eyes closed. I watched him, barely fluttering his hands in the water. He looked almost like he was meditating, or sleeping. It was relaxing just to watch him, and I envied his ability to float. I had never learned how—I always just seemed to sink.
We finally decided to get out when another couple—a man and woman—came down into the basement. Dago's propriety and Catholic modesty quickly kicked back in, and he averted his eyes from the woman, shielding his own parts from her view as best he could as he clamored for his robe and towel. The woman was younger than us—probably early 30s—and quite attractive, so I certainly didn't miss the opportunity to appreciate her buxom body before we moved upstairs.
By the time we left the bathhouse, Dago and I were both hungry and tired. I was surprised by how doing little more than sitting in water for several hours could make you sleepy, but remembered the experience was supposed to be relaxing...not to mention the fact that we'd had really incredible sex right off the bat.
We went back to the hotel, cleaned up and properly dressed, then went down to the hotel restaurant for dinner, which consisted of wine, tapas, and sopa de marisco—which Dago didn't translate until I'd had the first bite.
"I recognize the shrimp," I said as I poked at the soup with my spoon, trying to identify what else was in it. "I'm assuming the other ingredients are seafood too?"
He nodded, "Shrimp and fish mainly. It's a fish soup."
"It definitely sounds more appetizing in Spanish." I commented.
After dinner, Dago and I went up to the top floor of the hotel and onto the rooftop. There was a large pool with lounge chairs spread all around. The sun had set and the lights of city glowed radiantly all around us. Dago leaned on the rail of the balcony, looking towards a tall cathedral that seemed only a few blocks away. I stood next to him, but turned my back against the rail so that I could see his face.
"We should have done this a long time ago."
"Done what?" Dago asked, looking at me curiously.
"This…" I gestured to the city. "Travel together, like we'd planned to do."
"We're doing it now," he said softly. "That's what counts. Right?"
I shrugged, not convinced. "We could have 20 years of memories built by now."
Dago didn't say anything, but I could feel his sadness. It occurred to me that we probably wouldn't have another opportunity to make 20 years worth of memories. Dago was 62 and had just had a lung removed for cancer. Professionally, I knew that if Dago lived another decade, it would be because he truly was lucky. Despite the current state of his health, I highly doubted that his heart would ever learn to compensate for the lost lung. It would give out on him sooner or later. I couldn't stomach that thought and shook my head almost violently to get it out.
"I know we both wish things were different about the past, Hawkeye…but I truly think everything happened the way it was meant to. Being a man of God means living a life of sacrifice…and you were my greatest sacrifice to serving Him."
"I don't get God." I said after a minute. "Why does he want people to suffer?"
"He doesn't want people to suffer," Dago replied, looking at me. "Suffering is part of the human condition. It's not something God wants us to endure, but He knows we will. There's a famous poem called 'Footprints in the Sand' in which the poet writes about a dream of walking along the beach with God while thinking back over their life. The poet notices that at times of suffering, anguish, sorrow and defeat there is only one set of footprints. The poet says to God, 'You promised me Lord, that if I followed you, you would walk with me always. But I have noticed that during the most trying periods of my life there have only been one set of footprints in the sand. Why, when I needed you most, have you not been there for me?' and God said to the poet, 'The times when you have seen only one set of footprints, is when I carried you.'"
"Do you believe that? That he carries you through the bad times?"
"He must," Dago answered. "I'm not strong enough to survive on my own."
We held each other's eyes for a long moment until I finally had to look away. Sometimes I truly hated how strong his faith was. "Come on, baby…let's go to bed."
Seville seemed to be more of a tourist trap than Malaga had been—despite the resort and golf course we'd stayed at. We'd taken the double-decker tour bus to the main sights of the city, walking around the various ancient structures, learning about the history, and visiting gift shops. I ended up buying several souvenirs for Mary and Karen, and even found something I thought Johnny might enjoy. Dago was amused by the gifts in the shops, but managed to leave empty-handed.
At the end of the day, we ended up opting for room service and spent the night in our room watching Spanish television and making love. At some point, Dago's head was on my chest, and he'd grown so still and quiet that I thought he'd fallen asleep until he took a deep breath and looked up at me.
"What would you like to do, Hawkeye?"
"What?" I wasn't sure what he was asking exactly.
"I picked coming to Spain, I made the itinerary…I know you got to golfing and we went to the bathhouse like you wanted, but what else do you want to do? And not just in Spain. After this…where do you want to go? What do you want to see? What do you want to do?"
"Dago, I told you it doesn't matter where we go or what we do. I just want to spend time with you."
"I know, but I'm worried about it getting monotonous."
"You worry too much." I smirked, kissing his forehead.
"No, I'm serious, Hawkeye." Dago argued, sitting up. "I love being with you, but doesn't it feel like all we do when we're alone is sleep and have sex?"
"No," I answered honestly. "Sure we have sex a lot, and then we fall asleep because we're worn out from having sex, but we do a lot more than that, Dago. We talk, we joke, we laugh…what more do you want?"
"It's not that I want more," he said slowly. "I just…Is this what a normal relationship is like?"
"Baby, there's nothing normal about our relationship." I laughed. He gave me a hurt look, so I quickly sobered and amended my statement. "What I mean is, if this was a normal relationship, we wouldn't be living on two different continents—hell, we wouldn't be living in two different houses. Right now, we're trying to make up for all the years we lost, so…yeah, the majority of what I want to do is have sex with you, but it's not about the sex, baby. It's about you; it's about me wanting to be with you."
"How would things be different if we lived together? We tried that, remember?"
"You didn't exactly stay that long, as I recall. But even then it was hard to have a very normal relationship. Look, Dago, you can ask Mary what it was like when I was in med school, or when I was doing my residency. When you don't have a lot of time, you just have to improvise. You have to figure out what it is you want the most."
"So, how would it be different now?" Dago asked again, resolute to get an answer.
I sighed and tried to think about what life would be like if Dago and I lived together again, but with Mary in the equation, it all still added up to an abnormal relationship. I settled for a simple answer. "We wouldn't be so rushed. We wouldn't be counting the seconds we had left together."
This seemed to placate him for the most part, but he was quiet only for a moment. "You didn't answer my question…what else do you want to do?"
I sat up and cupped his face, drawing him into a gentle kiss. "Just like I said, as long as I'm with you, babe, I don't care what we do or where we go. Everything I need and want is right here with me. The rest of it is just a bonus."
By the time we finished seeing all of Seville and headed on to our next destination, Dago had forgotten about his insecurities and had stopped worrying that I would somehow get bored with him. True, with him I seemed to live a milder lifestyle than I did whenever I was around Trapper or Duke, but Dago had always had that kind of effect on me. I didn't feel the need to be wild and crazy around him…maybe because what we were doing together was wild and crazy enough. The story of a wayward priest and his adulterous lover would have any number of tongues wagging, my own included.
"You should write a book," I suggested to Dago as we headed north to A Coruña.
"About what?"
"Your life."
Dago laughed, "I hardly think anyone would ever want to read about the exploits of my life."
"I would. Hell, I already have in your journals, but I want to see what you'd say about us."
"If I wrote a book like that, I could kiss whatever chance I had of becoming a saint goodbye," he said, looking at me ruefully. "Besides, I don't want the world to know about you, or Danny, or even Tseten. I shared my life with you because you're special to me…I would never open up about those things to a complete stranger."
"At least indulge me. If you did write about me, what would you say?"
"I don't know," Dago said thoughtfully, scratching his chin. "Can I think about it a while?"
"Don't think I'm going to forget and let you off the hook." I teased.
As we got closer to our destination, Dago instructed me on where to go according to his map and the directions given by Pancho until we finally ended up at the Hotel Riazor, right on the beach in A Coruña.*
Our room, again, had one of the best views of the beach and the ocean, and we could even see part of the historic district that sat on the small peninsula of land jutting out into the bay. We could also see storm clouds rolling in from over the ocean, threatening rain at any given moment.
Rather than venture a chance at getting caught in a downpour, I fished in my bag and pulled out a deck of cards, sitting at the small circular table in front of the window. Dago sat across from me as I shuffled the deck and dealt the cards out for a game of Gin Rummy.
"I think I'd write about how unlikely a pair we are," Dago said out of nowhere.
It took me a minute to figure out what he was talking about, then I remembered my question to him in the car. I had almost forgotten. "Unlikely how?"
He gave me an incredulous look and I smirked at him. He continued on without answer, "I'd probably write about when I first felt the attraction towards you. The unexpectedness of it and the fear that you'd somehow find out. I'd talk about how I tried so hard to avoid you, but you seemed to be everywhere, and you sought me out more and more. I'd write how I desperately wanted to be your friend, to be liked by you, but knew that my feelings for you would make me do something completely foolish. Then…one night…alone with you in the shower in a seemingly innocent situation where I'd forgotten my hand mirror, you offered to give me a shave. I can't say that I knew for certain you felt the same way about me, but…I took a chance, and kissed you. When you kissed me back, I was so overwhelmed…I remembered Danny and all the promises I made to myself and to God never to do that sort of thing again, but oh God…how I wanted you."
I was so mesmerized by Dago's account of that encounter that I'd stopped dealing the cards, and was listening to him with rapt interest. His eyes were out of focus and he wasn't looking at me, but I knew he was seeing me in a different light. He was seeing me the way he saw me twenty years ago, standing toe to toe with him in the shower. I didn't want to interrupt, but he'd stalled in his story, and I ached to hear him continue. "What did you do?" I asked in a soft voice.
A smile flitted across Dago's face and his eyes shifted downward as he blushed softly. "I think you know."
"I know what happened after I came to your tent," I countered. "I don't know what happened in the interim."
Dago licked his lips and flicked the corner of a card with his fingernail. "Well, I was completely mortified when Spearchucker walked in and nearly caught us. I was already feeling guilty and ashamed of taking advantage of you, but you stopped me before I could leave and asked to come to my tent, and my reply was automatic… I wanted you to come to my tent, I wanted to continue what we'd started, but when I left, I had no idea how I was going to. You know how often I struggled with my vows back then, Hawkeye. That night was certainly the hardest. Up to that point, I'd only ever been with Danny, and up to that point I'd sworn to God never to do it again. I went back and forth between wishing you'd come and hoping you wouldn't. At least if you didn't show up, it would make it easier for me to just forget it and act like nothing happened. I knew if you did come, I wouldn't be strong enough to tell you it had all been a mistake, or that I couldn't do whatever it was you wanted me to do. I don't think I loved you then…but I desired you more than anything in my life. When you knocked on my door…that desire overpowered all the shame, all the guilt, all the promises and vows… It overshadowed everything I was as a priest. All that mattered in that moment was how I felt about you."
"What did you think about while we were doing it?" I asked, truly curious.
Dago laughed. "Christ, Hawkeye, that was twenty two years ago. I don't remember."
"You can remember everything before and after that, but you can't remember what you were thinking while you were sucking my cock for the first time?"
"I'm sure it's not nearly as eloquent as you're hoping," he chuckled. "Honestly, I was so wrapped up in the moment and the pleasure and the fact that I wasn't dreaming what was happening, that there wasn't much else on my mind. I was too busy enjoying myself to have any real meaningful thoughts."
"What else would you write about us?"
Dago sighed, smiling as he looked at me. "How I quickly came to realize how very much I loved you. I'd never been in love before, but somehow I just knew that what I felt for you was love. As wonderful as being in love with you felt, it was also a huge burden on me. For one, you were married, with children. I was a priest. We were both men, in the army…so much was stacked up against the likelihood of anything ever coming out of our relationship. Not to mention the fact that I was fairly certain that while you were attracted to me, you probably didn't love me. I wrestled with all of this, and the guilt and shame continued. Not only had I broken my vows again, I'd broken His commandments. I was an abomination to Him. The thought that God might detest me was crippling, but I loved you too much to put an end to what we were doing. I knew that I was damning your soul right along with mine, and I prayed for God to forgive me."
I opened my mouth to rebuttal, to tell him he wasn't responsible for my soul, but he held up a hand to stay me.
"It was you that helped me come to terms with it, though." Dago said softly. "All the arguing we did about God, I realized that I felt guilty for breaking my vows, and I was ashamed of disappointing God…but I didn't feel wrong about us."
"Because you loved me."
He merely nodded, knowing we'd had that discussion before.
A flash of lightning outside caught our attention and we both looked out to see that the storm had finally rolled in. People were scrambling about outside as the sky opened up and the rain began to pour.
"What would you write, Hawk?" Dago asked as he turned his attention back to me.
"That it's been one hell of a ride with you. I don't know how I went from just noticing you, to becoming obsessed with you, to finally realizing I was completely infatuated and in love with you. You were my all consuming thought in Korea. All I wanted was to be with you—night and day. Everyone thought I was crazy. I honestly can't believe you and I never got caught."
"Well, to be fair, you said that Trapper had known all along."
"That's true. And Radar knew of course."
"Radar?" Dago asked in surprise.
"There isn't anything that went on in that camp that Radar didn't know, Dago."
He looked completely mortified, but all I could do was laugh.
We spent the afternoon verbalizing the chapters of the book that we would never actually write. Only the four walls of our hotel room would ever hear the story of our love affair, but somehow that was enough. There were people who knew of our relationship, but the intimate details and the private thoughts and struggles were ours to keep between us. I knew that once I did lose Dago, I would at least have the memory of this afternoon to look back on and hear his recount of our love over and over again. I would never forget it so long as I lived.
A Coruña was one of the most relaxing places Dago and I had been thus far. The rain hadn't lasted past that first day, and he and I spent much of the rest of our time on the beach picking up shells, soaking up a little sun, and even a fair amount of time in the water. The waves were perfect for body surfing and Dago had spent some time watching me ride the waves in from his spot on the shore. After a while, I saw him get up and—hesitantly—make his way towards me in the water, stopping when he was in up to mid-thigh.
"Teach me." He said as I came towards him.
I was surprised, but delighted by his request, and eagerly taught him how to crouch down and wait for the right moment to hop the wave. Though it took him several tries to figure it out, he finally caught a wave and let it carry him into the shore. He was laughing as he got to his feet, and I applauded him with gusto. We spent much of an afternoon playing in the surf until we dragged ourselves out onto the sand to dry under the sun.
"Is it safe to assume your fear of the ocean has been cured?" I asked as we lay on our towels.
Dago smiled, his eyes closed, but he shook his head. "Not completely. I still would like to avoid coming face-to-face with a man-eating shark, but I suppose as long as I don't venture out any further than we did today, I'll be alright."
Nights in A Coruña were spent in our hotel room. Dago and I would order room service—with fresh strawberries and champagne as dessert. We would eat, then bathe, then feed each other the sweet fruit as we sipped champagne before making love as many times (and in as many ways) as we could handle before finally lying in each other's arms in the dark with the curtain open so we could see the moonlit ocean. Though Dago had worried about this being boring to me, the nights with him were probably the most memorable experience of the entire trip.
Our last night in A Coruña was no exception to the others, but as we lay together in a state of post-coital bliss, I could feel Dago growing somewhat restless.
"What's the matter, baby?" I asked him, brushing my fingers through his hair as he laid against my chest.
"We've only got Madrid left," Dago answered with a melancholy tone. "I know I should be grateful for the time we do have together, Hawkeye…but I don't want this to end."
"The only thing that's ending is this trip, Dago," I told him. "We'll start planning the next one right away."
"It's the time between that I'm not looking forward to," he admitted. "I know we'll both be busy, but it's the nights I hate. I get so used to having you next to me…it's hard to adjust to not having you there."
As hard as it was for Dago, I couldn't help but feel that it was even harder for me. I knew I couldn't offer him any substantial comfort. I couldn't move to Rome, he couldn't move to Maine, and there was still the fact that no matter where I was, I was either leaving him or Mary hanging on the line. "I need a twin…or a clone."
He laughed softly but shook his head, "I'm not sure it would be the same as the real thing."
I sighed and kissed the top of his head, offering the only words I could. "I'm sorry."
"You don't have to apologize, Hawkeye," he murmured. "I know this has never been an ideal situation for either of us."
"Maybe not," I said after a moment of thought. "But at least neither of us has ever given up on it."
He raised his head and gave me an incredulous look. "Except for that small lapse of twenty years?"
"I refuse to acknowledge that any time has passed between then and now."
Dago laughed, his expression softening. "I love you, Benjamin Pierce."
"I love you, too, John Mulcahy."
Time seemed to be moving faster than normal as Dago and I made it to Madrid, and he seemed to be moving slower. I was worried that all the travel was too much on him, but he assured me that he was fine…just a little tired. We took Madrid at a slower pace than the other cities, seeing only the most famous historical markers and enjoying what the city had to offer in the way of culture and food and beer.
We spent an afternoon at the bullfights, though Dago seemed less than thrilled about the cruelty to the bull, and the Spaniards' desire to see bloodshed—be it the bull or the matador.
"This is barbaric," he muttered, shaking his head as we watched a bull slowly bleed to death in the arena from the multiple spear wounds on its body. The crowd was going wild around us. "Is it absolutely necessary to kill it?"
"It's the sport," I offered, feeling a small bit of empathy for the beast myself. "Better it be put to death than live in agony, having to go through this time and again. At least he only has to endure it once."
"It's still barbaric." Dago said distastefully.
On the last night of our Spanish vacation, Dago and I had a nice dinner at a popular restaurant, followed by a flamenco dance show. The dance itself didn't seem all that complicated, though it did seem to require a lot of passion and energy, and fast feet. The ladies dancing were both pretty and talented, which made it easy to stay interested, though I quietly likened it with having to sit through a ballet.
When we finally made it back to our hotel room, we were both longing to be in each other's arms, but not rush. Dago undressed me slowly, circling me and planting kisses all along my chest, shoulders and back the way he used to do in Korea. I felt myself slipping back in time with him, aching to be standing under that drab canvas cover of his tent. Maybe if we went back in time we could do things all over again, we could do it right, we could have another twenty years together. God, how things could have been different…
My eyes never left his as I lowered him to the bed, his hand pulling me down by the back of my head to kiss him. His lips were soft and warm, just as they had always been. He sighed contentedly as I entered him, holding me close to him and tangling one of his legs around mine. Though he said nothing, I could read his mind. He was begging God to stop time, to let us stay joined like this for eternity. I knew this because I was thinking the same thing.
I made love to him slowly, passionately. If I couldn't give him forever, at least I could give him as much time together as possible. Neither of spoke as we came…we simply wiped each other's tears, and held each other tightly. I kissed him again and again as we laid there together, unable—or unwilling—to stop until he finally laid his hand against my chest to stay me.
"I need a breath," he said sheepishly.
I grinned at him, but rolled off next to him, propping my head up on my elbow to look at him. "So, where and when are we meeting next, Dago?"
"I told you," he said rolling over to face me and mirroring my position. "You're picking."
"And I told you the where doesn't matter to me, babe. It's the when I'm more concerned about."
"When can you get away again?"
"I dunno…later this year, I'm sure. You should come spend Christmas with us, too."
"Hawkeye…" He started to protest, but I put a finger against his lips.
"Please, Dago."
He sighed softly, kissing my finger before pulling it away. "I'll try."
The next morning we set about getting ourselves presentable, packing our suitcases, and enjoying the breakfast brought up by room service. Our flights were just a couple of hours apart, so we planned to check out, return the car, and go to the airport together for our final goodbyes.
I expected Dago to be in a somber mood, as he typically was when it came to bidding each other farewell, but he was uncharacteristically chipper. "You're in a good mood."
"I've had a great vacation," he said simply, before meeting my eyes. "Why shouldn't I be in a good mood?"
By the time we made it to the airport, checked our bags, and received our boarding passes, there was time for little more than a quick drink in the airport lounge.
"I know you don't care where we go next, Hawkeye, but will you pick all the same?"
"If it will make you feel better, I will."
"It will." He nodded. "I know you think it's silly, but it does matter to me."
"Then I'll be sure to consider it carefully."
He smiled. "Thank you."
My flight was announced over the intercom and I sighed heavily as I tossed back the rest of my scotch. "I guess that's me, babe."
"I wish you didn't have to go," the somberness finally set in.
I wrapped my arms around Dago and hugged him tightly. "Me too. I'll miss you."
"So will I. You'll write, won't you?"
"Of course I will, and call when I can. Tell Pancho thanks for me."
"I will. Give Mary my best."
"Will do." I pulled him into a fierce kiss, brushing my thumbs along his jaw as he lightly sucked on my tongue.
"You better go," Dago whispered as he pulled back a little.
"I know," I said, pulling him back in for one more kiss. "See you soon, baby."
"Love you."
"Love you." I echoed, squeezing him tightly and releasing him as I picked up my carry-on and headed for the gate.
I ordered another scotch from the stewardess before we were even airborne, and stared out the small window next to me as I settled in for the long flight home.
It was late afternoon when the stewardess woke me up and informed me that we'd be landing soon, and asked me to fasten my seat belt. Though I hadn't slept the entire flight, I was surprised I'd managed to sleep the majority of it. I had driven myself to the airport and left my car in the lot, so I didn't have to worry about meeting anyone or waiting to be picked up. It had only been a matter of hours since I'd last seen Dago, but I already missed him. This was the part of our relationship I resented—the damn distance between us. Still, as much as I wished that I was with him, I was eager to get home to my wife.
I had barely walked through the front door of my house when Mary greeted me with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. "That was very nice of you, Hawkeye."
"Nice of you to say so," I smiled, drawing her into a proper kiss. "What was very nice of me?"
"Recommending Trapper John for membership in the Matthew Q. Framingham Theosophical Foundation."
"Oh, that." I gave her a curious look. "How did you find out about that?"
"A letter came."
"The Matthew Q. Framingham Theosophical Foundation wrote you a letter?"
"No, silly," Mary scoffed, slapping my chest. "They wrote you a letter."
"Which you, naturally, opened and read?"
"Naturally," she smirked, quite pleased with her snooping.
I could barely contain my own smirk. "I don't suppose it would be too much to ask if I could have a look at my letter?"
"Of course not. It is, after all, addressed to you." Mary preceded me into the living room, heading towards the Spinet piano along the far wall of the living room that I had bought for Karen when she was 12 and had been endeavoring to be the next Liberace. That dream, however, hadn't panned out beyond a few local piano recitals and years of having to listen to musical scales and metronomes.
I veered for the table containing a bottle of gin, a bottle of vermouth, a jar of olives, and a shaker and began making the perfect mixture for a martini. I could hear Mary's annoyed sigh behind me.
"Won't that wait?"
"It isn't every day that I hear from the Matthew Q. Framingham Theosophical Foundation," I told her. "Besides, I've just crossed several time zones and flown across an entire ocean to get home…I thought a small libation was called for." I told her as I speared two olives on the end of a tooth pick and dropped them into my drink. Mary waited until I'd taken the first sip before she handed me the letter.
The letter was pretty standard, thanking me for my nomination of Trapper to the foundation and reminding me that membership was dependent upon a probationary period at which the nominee would be considered an associate member and would be expected to contribute to the archives a scholarly treatise on philosophy, theology or science—the subject, of course, to be decided upon by the associate member and the Committee on Associate-Member Theses. The letter also gave me the authority to inform Trapper of his election to associate member status and to invite both of us to attend a special meeting to be held at the HQ in Cambridge, Massachusetts on the last Friday in August.
I handed the letter back to Mary and sipped my martini. "I'm glad he made it. You never can tell, until after the Membership Committee meets. Many are called, but few are chosen."
"When are you going to tell him?" She asked anxiously.
I checked my watched, noting that he would probably be home by now. "I think I'll call him right now. After I finish my drink, of course. And, I don't want you spreading this all over town, Gossiper Pierce. The foundation and its members prefer anonymity."
"I don't see why," Mary touted, crossing her arms in mock insult. "After all, membership in a foundation dedicated to the advancement of philosophy, science, and theology is something to be proud of.
"Modesty," I told her, taking another sip and heading to the couch. "Is the watchword."
Mary sat next to me and pulled her feet up under her as she leaned against me. "How was Spain?"
"Really nice. You would have liked it. I think all the sightseeing did Dago in, though. He was tired by the end of the trip."
"How is he?"
"I think he's okay," I said after a minute of consideration. "I think after all he's been through he'd tell me if something was wrong. At least, I hope he would."
"I miss him."
"Well, if all goes according to plan, you'll see him in December." I told her. "I invited him to spend Christmas here."
"Oh, that'll be wonderful, Hawkeye! I hope he will come."
"Did I miss anything while I was gone?"
"Not a thing," she smiled, leaning up to kiss me.
I finished my drink then headed off to make my call to Trapper. Before it even had a chance to ring a second time, it was answered by Trapper's young wife, Lucinda. Trapper and Evelyn had started going downhill not long before little Lucinda Lewis had started working as our receptionist at the Finestkind Clinic. I knew instantly that Trap liked Lucinda, and it was fairly obvious the feeling was mutual. From what I gathered, after a night of drunken lovemaking, Trapper had accidentally spoken Lucinda's name instead of his wife's and an all-out fight ensued that ended with Evelyn kicking Trapper out. He didn't even bother trying to fix his marriage, and instead began seeing Lucinda before the divorce papers were even signed.
"Lucinda," I said, speaking formally. "This is Dr. Pierce. May I speak with Dr. McIntyre, please?"
"Oh, thank you, Hawkeye!" Lucinda gushed suddenly. "I just can't wait till my mother finds out!"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oops." Lucinda said meekly. "I forgot. I promised Mary I'd never let on that she told me."
I rolled my eyes at my wife's inability to keep anything under her proverbial hat. "May I speak with Dr. McIntyre?" I repeated, feigning sternness.
"Oh yes, of course," Lucinda answered, obviously embarrassed. As she pulled the phone from her ear, she bellowed for Trapper. The sound of her voice vibrated on my end of the line and I had to pluck the receiver off my ear to keep from going deaf. "Trapper! It's Hawkeye! He's going to make it official!"
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smirking as I waited for Trapper to get on the line.
"This is Dr. McIntyre," he said, feigning formality the same as I had. "With whom am I speaking?"
"Dr. McIntrye, this is Dr. Pierce."
"Ah, the famous Dr. Pierce. Just returned from Spain, is it?"
"Indeed, sir."
"And how did Spain find you?"
"Very well, sir."
"I trust your charge is doing well also?"
"He is indeed."
"To what do I owe the pleasure of your call, Dr. Pierce?"
"Doctor, it is my great personal pleasure to inform you that your nomination as an associate fellow of the Matthew Q. Framingham Foundation has been favorably acted upon by its Membership Committee."
"I hardly know what to say," Trapper feigned surprise. "It is a great honor, of course, simply to be nominated. I never dreamed that I would be accepted for membership the first time around."
"Well," I smirked, "standards are slipping all over these days."
"I beg your pardon?" Trapper sounded affronted. "You certainly do not mean to suggest, sir, that the high standards of the Matthew Q. Framingham Foundation have, in any way whatsoever, been compromised?"
"An unfortunate slip of the tongue, Doctor. I meant to imply nothing of the sort."
"Of course not, Doctor."
"So, how would you like to go to Cambridge next month for a special meeting of the Foundation?"
"A special meeting, you say?"
"Yes indeed. It's safe to say there will be a fair bit of conferencing going on." 'Conferencing' had been the term that Trapper and I had adopted to mean boozing and gambling. Most of the medical conferences we attended were always more about the card games than they were about any real issues.
"Well, I think I can pencil that in. When is this special meeting?"
"August 30th. We'll probably be there a few days."
"Well, that sounds mighty fine, Dr. Pierce. Thank you for your invitation. Can we expect you to be back in the office soon?"
"I believe I can make an appearance, yes."
"Very well, Doctor. I shall look forward to making your acquaintance."
Life and work resumed normally after that. I went back to work and waded through the surgeries that had been scheduled in my absence, playing golf with Trapper whenever we both had the same down town, and getting back in the habit of my Friday night poker games with Trapper, Duke, and Spearchucker. In between that and spending time with Mary and Johnny, I wrote to Dago.
I was fairly sure that he was busy back in Rome, as it took more time than it normally would have to get his first letter of reply, but he was fairly vague about what he'd been up to since Spain…not that I expected details on what being the Archbishop of Swengchan actually entailed for him. He did say, as expected, that he missed me and hoped I was doing well. He also asked if I'd given any thought to our next adventure…which I hadn't.
"How's John?" Mary asked as she came into the bedroom rubbing moisturizer on her face.
I folded his letter and set it on the bedside table. "He wants me to decide where we go to next. I don't have any idea where to take him."
"Take him to Paris," Mary suggested as she pulled back the covers and slid into the bed beside me. "You liked Paris, didn't you?"
"I liked it well enough, sure. It certainly would be interesting for him—art, history, museums…Dago can't get enough of that crap."
Mary gave me a stern look. "It isn't crap, Hawkeye. It's culture. Something you could use a little of."
"A few more trips with Dago and I'll have all the culture I can stand." I teased.
Mary hit me in the shoulder without even looking, turning out the lamp on her side of the bed. I knew that was the end to the conversation, and—ironically—it had helped me decide where we would go next. For once, I would have the upper hand over Dago. I'd been to Paris, he hadn't. Though I wasn't an expert, I knew the places to go and the hotel to stay at. My problem was solved.
At the end of August, Trapper and I hopped a plane to Massachusetts, and by nightfall found ourselves fully encased in a few beers and a good game of poker with Matthew Q. Framingham VI and the Honorable DeWitt L. Canady II, a former Vermont Supreme Court Justice, both of which were Senior Fellows of the Matthew Q. Framingham Theosophical Foundation like me.
We played well into the night, until some of us were down and others were up, and most of us were too drunk to know the difference. Trapper and I leaned on each other as we staggered to our room, fumbling with the key and snickering each time we missed the keyhole.
"I feel like I'm in college," Trapper chortled. "The only thing that's different is that it's you hanging off my arm instead of some hot broad."
"Are you saying I'm not attractive enough to take home?" I tittered.
"Are you kidding? There's only two people in the whole world crazy enough to fall for the likes of you—your wife and Dago Red."
"Crazy, or clever?"
Trapper finally managed to open the door, turning to look at me curiously for a minute, before nodding decisively. "Crazy."
Flopping onto one of the double beds, I couldn't wipe the grin off my face at the mention of Dago. I wondered what he was up to at that very moment and couldn't wait until our trip to Paris. We still hadn't hammered out the details of when we'd get away again, but I'd at least written to him and told him to brush up on his French.
Trapper stumbled into the bathroom and I rolled over and reached for the phone, dialing in Dago's number on the rotary phone and listening to it ring once, twice, a third time… I looked at my watch, noting that it was just before 2am. What time did that make it in Rome?
"Hello?" A sleep-addled voice answered.
"Hi baby."
"Hawkeye?" Dago said slowly, obviously trying to gather his wits. "It must be the middle of the night there, what are you doing? Is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine, Dago; I just wanted to call and hear your voice."
There was a slight pause. "Are you drunk?"
"Maybe a little," I confessed. "Trap and I are in Cambridge at a conference."
"Some conference," Dago lightly mocked.
"Sorry if I woke you. What time is it there?"
"A few minutes before 8 in the morning." Dago yawned. "I should be getting up soon anyways, so I'll just consider this an nice, albeit unexpected wake-up call."
"It's Saturday; what have you got to do?" I scoffed, having spent enough time with Dago to know that he generally tried to sleep in on Saturdays. "You should go back to bed."
"Mmm…" I could hear him stretching as he protested. "I'm already awake now. What's this conference you're at?"
"A special meeting of the Matthew Q. Framingham Theosophical Foundation. I nominated Trapper for membership and he's been accepted."
"Theosophical Foundation? What's that?"
"It's a club for high-class members of society—like myself."
Dago dissolved into laughter. "Come on, be serious."
"I am being serious. I'll have you know that one of the senior members is a former Supreme Court justice."
"And what does this Foundation do, exactly?" He was trying to contain his mirth now.
"Mainly get together to gamble and drink," I admitted. "But we are legit. We do actually have functions were someone will present an article on philosophy, or theology or some other 'ology' and we have an archive of papers presented from members on various topics."
"Sounds intriguing." He quipped. "How long have you been a member of this organization?"
"Senior member," I said self-importantly. "For a few years now. You know, I could nominate you too, if you want. I'm sure they'd love an archbishop in the ranks."
"Thank you; I'll consider the offer." He chortled.
"How've you been?" I asked; my tone softening as the conversation turned to a more intimate subject.
"Not bad, I suppose. Things have been kind of…tense…recently."
"Tense?" I suddenly felt more sober than I probably was. "Is everything okay?"
"Well, earlier this month—right after I got back, really—a terrorist group known as the Ordine Nuovo set off a bomb on a train headed from Rome to Munich. It killed about 12 people and injured a lot more. The group is claiming that they want to show the nation that they can place a bomb when they want and where they want. The Vatican is under high alert, of course, but we're all a little on edge."
"They could really bomb the Vatican?" My gut was knotting with worry.
"Should they manage to get through the extra security that we now have in place, I'm sure they could plant a bomb wherever they pleased."
"Sure you don't want to move to Crabapple Cove?"
Dago laughed. "It's a sorely tempting offer."
"You're always welcome," I said sincerely.
"I know," I could hear the smile in his voice. "And I appreciate it."
"Pancho, too, you know. I know you come as a set now."
He laughed at that. "I'll pass the offer along to him."
"Just be careful, okay?"
"Don't worry. I'm hardly venturing anywhere I don't need to right now. My apartment and my office are about the only places I've seen the last couple of weeks." He paused long enough to cough and clear his throat. "So when are we going to Paris?"
"When do you want to?"
"Well, I'd say 'now' but I haven't packed and you're drunk." He paused as I laughed. "Soon," was the only answer he gave me, though.
"That narrows it down," I teased. I heard the toilet flush and Trapper hock up the phlegm in his throat, signaling the end to my private moment with Dago. "I better get going, baby. I'll look at my schedule and let you know when would be best for me and hopefully we'll find a time that works for both of us."
"Alright. Get some sleep, and try not to drink the entire weekend."
"I'll do my best. Sorry I woke you."
"It's okay. Goodnight, Hawkeye."
"Goodnight."
"Who was that?" Trapper asked as he emerged from the bathroom to see me hanging up the receiver.
"Dago. He said to tell you to stop drinking."
"He would." Trapper snorted as he fell face-first into the pillows on the other bed. He was probably unconscious half-way down to the mattress.
The next day found us in another grueling session, pitted against Framingham and Canady when the phone rang on the far side of the room. Matthew went to answer it and my ears pricked up as he informed the caller that I was in conference and couldn't take a call, followed by Trapper being in conference with me and also unable to come to the phone. He assured whoever was on the line that he would make sure one of us received the message and that he would inform us to call at our first opportunity. When he came back to the table, he dropped a chip into the pot and looked at me.
"Well, Hawkeye, it's twenty bucks to you. Fish or cut bait."
"Your twenty and twenty more," I bet, adding an extra chip.
"That's too rich for me," Trapper remarked, pushing his cards away.
"I'll call," Canady grouched. "I refuse to believe that he can be this lucky this long."
"That makes it twenty to you, Matthew," I said, swigging my beer. "Put up or shut up."
Matthew held my gaze for a long time, trying to determine whether or not I was bluffing before he ponied up another twenty dollars in chips. With all bets made, I turned my cards face up on the table.
"Read 'em and weep. Aces, three of them over queens. What they call a full house." I watched the expression of my three colleagues sour as I raked in my newly amassed fortune.
"That's enough for me," Trapper said. "Maybe you senior members are used to these high stakes, but I'm just a lowly associate-member. Not to mention we played until nearly 2am last night and it's barely after lunch now. Don't you guys ever stop to eat?"
"Yes," Canady nodded. "Dr. McIntyre is quite right. We should adjourn for a small recess."
"Who was that on the phone, Matthew?" I asked as I stacked my chips into neat piles.
"Oh, yeah… I almost forgot. That was your wife, Hawk."
"I've forbidden her to call here," I said curiously. "It must really be important."
"She said there was no medical emergency," Matthew supplied.
"Why do you take calls at all?" Trapper asked the two other senior members.
"Otherwise, they might doubt that we're here," Canady said, raising a portly finger. "Hell hath no fury like a curious wife. I'm surprised you haven't learned that."
"I thought the first one was just defective," Trapper said, referring to Evelyn. "Lucinda and I have only been married for a few years now. She still buys all my crap."
"That won't last," Matthew foreshadowed.
"I suppose I better call her," I said, rising from the table. "Just to let her know that I'm here, of course."
I made my way out into the hallway where a line of phone cubicles stood for private calls and got the operator to connect me with Mary. "I'll have you know, I was in serious conference with Trapper and the Honorable Justice Canady when you called."
"Oh, shut up and listen," Mary said, effectively ruining my attempt to sound disturbed. "Radar is here."
"Radar? As in Radar O'Reilly?" I was surprised by that revelation. The last I'd seen Radar had been just over a year ago when Trapper and I had gone to Paris to perform surgery on some Russian opera singer's adenoids—thanks to our connection with the TA&VD society. Radar had been there on business, and—from what I remembered—had fallen pretty hard for the sister of the singer we'd operated on. She also happened to be an opera singer, and quite attractive. "What's he doing in Crabapple Cove?"
"Looking for you, apparently. He's getting married."
"Married?" I blanched, surprise going straight to shock. "Radar?"
"Hawkeye," Mary warned, then continued sweetly. "Her name is Kristina Korsky-Rim…Rim.."
"Rimsakov?"
"How'd you know?"
"Trap and I met her in Paris. We were the ones who helped Radar hook up with her. Her brother was the kid we operated on there."
"Small world." Mary didn't sound impressed. "Well, anyways, they're hoping to get married as soon as possible. In Las Vegas. And they've asked us to come. Trapper and Lucinda too."
"How soon is soon?"
"How soon can you be home?"
"Seriously? What's the rush?"
I heard Mary sigh in annoyance. "I'm planning the wedding, Hawkeye. Kristina asked for my help and I'm trying to work on the arrangements, but they're staying with us and I need you here to keep Radar busy—"
"While you do the girly stuff, I get it. I'll tell them that we've got a small situation at home that requires our presence, and Trap and I will be there as soon as we can get a flight out."
"I knew there was a reason I loved you." She said, triumphantly.
"Yeah, well, you owe me." I said, and hung up.
My three cohorts were busy eating lunch that had just been served as I made my reentry. Trapper was leaning against the windowsill chomping on his club sandwich as I addressed him. "Trapper, I want you to brace yourself."
He looked at me curiously and I reconsidered my approach.
"Perhaps you better sit down." I told him as I led him towards a chair.
"Not bad news, I hope, Hawkeye!" Canady exclaimed at my theatrics.
"The worst, I'm afraid… Trapper, I must tell you that Radar and Kristina are going to get married."
Trapper looked mortally wounded. "I saw it coming…I guess I just didn't want to believe it, but I saw it coming."
"I think we both did."
"When does the deed take place?"
"Just as soon as possible, I'm afraid. And they're doing whole vulgar ritual, as I understand it. Mary's planning it, so you know it'll be a big hoopla. In Las Vegas, no less."
"Las Vegas?" Trapper asked. "Why Vegas?"
"I was so shaken, I didn't think to ask." I answered. "Probably something to do with the reception. When somebody like Radar finally takes the plunge, he often goes off the deep end."
Trapper and I packed up our belongings, cashed in our chips, and managed to sweet talk the woman working the flight reservations into the last two first class tickets on the next flight to Maine at a special "surgeon's discount." We claimed there was a medical emergency that required our immediate attention and that her denying us the tickets might cost a young man his life. She was, of course, more than happy to oblige us.
"Maybe there's still time," Trapper said as we fastened our seatbelts. "Maybe we can talk him out of getting married. Look at me… I made that mistake twice. Hasn't done me any favors."
"I fear it may be too late, my friend." I replied. "They've enlisted the help of my wife, who will no doubt soon be enlisting the help of yours, at which time, dear Radar shall be royally screwed."

TBC
Note: I could not find a date for when the Hotel Riazor was built, but according to online reviews it was in need of some renovation, so for the purpose of this story I'm going to assume it's been there since at least 1974.
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Infatuation