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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
- 23
- 24
- 25
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. Also, I have no personal knowledge of medical conditions or treatment beyond what I read on WebMD and other various medical sites. Please take all procedures, conditions, and treatments with a grain of salt. 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.

"John, I don't want to worry you, but I'd like you to go see a cardiologist."
"A cardiologist?" I looked up from buttoning my shirt towards my doctor in surprise at the request.
"It could be nothing," he said holding up his hands. "But all the same, I think it's a good idea. Your blood pressure is still much higher than I would like it to be, and there seems to be a slight irregularity to your heart beat. Have you been experiencing any shortness of breath? Dizziness? Nausea? Chest pains?"
"I still have a hard time not feeling short of breath or tired, but the only thing that's really been bothering me lately is I seem to cough a lot at night and just after I wake up."
"I've got someone I'll refer you to," he told me. "I don't want you to sit on this too long."
The doctor's request followed by his urgency that I not wait to see the specialist certainly did nothing to alleviate any concerns I had. I'd barely been home two weeks from my trip with Hawkeye, and had gone to him just for a routine checkup. I hadn't been worried until now. I thought about calling Hawkeye for his opinion on the matter, but there was little point in making him worry when it really could be nothing at all.
I called the specialist as soon as I was back at my office and made the appointment, but it would be a few days before he could get me in. I wasn't looking forward to the wait, with the knowledge that something else might now be wrong with me weighing heavily on my mind. I didn't want to tell anyone anything until I knew for sure, but I could tell that Pancho sensed my anxiety.
Every time I took a breath, I was hyperaware of how my chest felt. Was it tight? Did I feel dizzy? Could I feel my heart beating irregularly? What did it all mean? What would happen to me? What was the cardiologist going to say? The anticipation of it was overwhelming and I felt as though I'd hardly even slept the two nights before my appointment.
I went alone to see the cardiologist, telling Pancho that I had an appointment, but not specifying where. After a long series of tests, x-rays and monitoring, I was finally given the news.
"The EKG does show a slight arrhythmia that we call tachycardia, or a rapid heartbeat. I'll need to run further tests, of course, but my guess is that your body is working in overtime to compensate for reduction in oxygen. That could be what's causing your high blood pressure, which in turn is pumping too much blood into your heart and your heart is trying to pump faster to compensate."
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Oh, there are plenty of options," the doctor told me. "The problem is determining the extent of the damage done, and figuring out the best treatment. I have two concerns at this point…One is the shortness of breath you're experiencing and the nighttime cough. These are indicative of fluid leaking into your lung. Two is the rapid heartbeat. If we can't get it under control, it will lead to more serious complications."
The doctor and I talked for a while longer, scheduling more appointments for further tests to figure out an appropriate treatment plan. He assured me that, though this was serious, he was certain that we caught it early enough for treatment to be effective. His assurance, however, didn't placate me and I lost more sleep as I worried whether or not to tell Hawkeye. I knew he'd want to know, but I hated to worry him with this. There was nothing he could do from Maine and he had his own patients to worry about.
When my phone rang unexpectedly on a Saturday morning—following another full day of heart and lung exams—I fully expected it to be my cardiologist with dooming news.
"Hello?"
"Hi baby."
That seemed like a strange way for a doctor to greet a patient, but the familiar voice I heard wasn't Dr. Goodgame's. "Hawkeye? 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." I could hear that happier-than-usual lilt and slur that often accompanied a session of heavy drinking.
"Are you drunk?"
Of course he was. He told me about the conference he and Trapper were at, and asked how I was. I wanted to tell him about the visits with the cardiologist, but instead I'd simply told him about a recent bombing that had everyone on edge. When he asked me when I wanted to go to Paris, the only answer I could come up with was, "Soon."
If I hadn't already felt like time with Hawkeye was precious, the new health concerns certainly made me aware of that fact. I wasn't willing to sacrifice any more time with him than was absolutely necessary.
It was Sunday afternoon when my phone rang again, and this time I expected it to be Hawkeye calling to verify that he had called me the previous morning when he'd been drunk, but as I answered, it wasn't Hawkeye's voice that came through the line this time.
"Father Mulcahy?"
"Yes?" There were very few people who still referred to me as Father Mulcahy.
"Gee, it's really you. This is Corporal O'Reilly, sir; from the 4077th."
I laughed, shocked by the call from someone I hadn't seen since Korea. "How are you, Radar?"
"I'm doing really swell, thanks! Listen, I asked Hawkeye if he knew where to reach you and he gave me your telephone number, so I hope it's alright that I'm calling."
"It's perfectly fine, Radar; what can I do for you?"
"Well, do you remember before I left Korea I asked if you might someday—you know, if I met the right girl and all—if you would marry us?"
"I do."
"Well, you see, Father…I've met someone. And we're planning on getting married in Las Vegas. And I was hoping you might perform the wedding if it's not too much trouble. I know you must be busy, being an archbishop and all."
A wedding seemed like a perfect distraction from my health issues. "I'd be delighted to, Radar. What kind of ceremony are you and the bride-to-be hoping to have?"
"Well, she really wants a traditional wedding. She's from Russia, you see, and her whole family is Catholic."
"And what about you? I seem to remember you were raised Methodist?"
"Oh, yeah… I was, but I've been a practicing Buddhist for a while now. That won't be a problem, will it?"
"I don't see why not. One of my dearest friends was a Buddhist monk. When is the happy day set to occur?"
There was a slight pause. "Would it be too much to ask for you to come to Las Vegas in a couple of days?"
"A couple of days?" I laughed. "Well, it might be a little difficult to arrange a flight—"
"Transportation won't be a problem," Radar cut in. "Do you remember Horsey Chevaux? He was a wounded soldier that Hawkeye operated on?"
"Oh, I remember Horsey quite well. I saw him just earlier this actually. Why?"
"Well, Kristina—that's my fiancée—her brother was in the same platoon as Horsey, they're good pals. As a wedding present, Horsey has offered for us to use some of his jets to fly everyone in."
"That's quite nice of him," I smiled fondly.
"Hawkeye's wife is helping us plan everything, and when I mentioned that I'd sure like you to preside over it, that's when Hawkeye said I should call you."
"So it's safe to assume Hawkeye will be attending the wedding?" If he was, that was all the more reason to say yes to Radar.
"Hawkeye, Trapper, and even some of the others from the 4077th."
"Radar, you make sure the plane gets here and I'll make sure to get on it." I told him.
"Really! Oh gee that's swell! Thank you, Father!"
"I will, of course, need to bring my assistant with me."
"Whoever you need, Father."
"And Radar…congratulations."
Two days later I was packing the last of my vestments and clothing into a small black suitcase while I was waiting for Pancho to come pick me up and take us to the airport. I was anxious about seeing old friends, but even more anxious about telling Hawkeye that I'd been to a cardiologist. I truly didn't want him to worry, but I knew that he would quickly see right through me if I tried to pretend that nothing was wrong.
The knock at the door wasn't unexpected and I called down the hallway from the bedroom, "Come on in, Pancho; I'm nearly packed. Be a good guy and bring me a beer, will you? There's a couple of bottles in the refrigerator."
"I'm afraid that I don't know where your refrigerator is, John."
I felt myself stiffen in shock and spun around to see His Holiness, The Pope standing in my bedroom doorway. "Your Holi—"
"Ah, don't start with that again," he laughed, waving me off as I moved towards him. "I'm here unofficially, John. I just wanted to see you before you left. You did say you had a couple of beers? Perhaps you would be good enough to share one with me?"
"Of course, Father." I rushed to the kitchen and pulled out two American beers and brought them back to the bedroom, where the Pope was now seated on my neatly made bed.
"I believe the proper American expression is 'mud in your ear?'"
"Mud in your eye, actually." I said as he took a sip.
"Interesting," he said, inspecting the bottle and seeing that it was different from the brand he'd had on his previous visit to my apartment. "I don't believe I've ever seen this kind of beer before."
"A friend from the states," I told him as I looked at my own bottle of Fenstermacher's Finest Ole Creole Pale Pilsner. "He keeps sending me cases of different kinds of American beer. More than I can drink really."
"That would be Jean-Pierre de la Chevaux?"
"Yes, Father, it would." His ability to know things never ceased to astound me.
"The same man whose airplane sits at the airfield waiting to fly you to Nevada?"
"Yes, Father, the same man." I almost felt the need to defend Horsey to the Pope. "He's a good, Catholic man."
"So the Archbishop of New Orleans informs me," he smiled. "A good, Catholic man. A little out of the ordinary, perhaps, but a good man."
The Pope took another pull on his bottle, then pinned me with a look.
"Enough of this beating around the bush, John. I'm here because some very disturbing rumors have reached my ears that you are to perform the honors at some sort of pagan marriage rite in a gambling den. Is there any truth to this?"
"No, sir," I said righteously. "I am going to be performing a wedding. It will be a realization of a promise I made to the bridegroom in Korea."
"She is a Catholic then?"
"The bride is Eastern Orthodox Catholic," I told him. "She's of Russian extraction. I do have the necessary permission from the Russian Orthodox Primate."
"How is Vasily these days?" The pope asked. "I haven't seen in him quite some time."
"He asked, when I had lunch with him earlier today, should I have the honor of seeing you, that I pass on his best regards."
"Is he still drinking that awful vodka straight?"
"I'm afraid so, Father," I chuckled.
"Let's get back to this wedding…She's Orthodox. What is the bridgegroom?"
"As a matter of fact, he told me that he has been a practicing Buddhist for some years."
The Pope gave me a stern look, "There is such a thing as taking this ecumenical business too far, John. You know how I feel about that."
While I personally had no qualms about interfaith marriages, or the Buddhist religion, I knew that the Catholic church frowned on such things. To have an archbishop perform such a ceremony was a scandal, no doubt. I knew I needed to placate His Holiness if he was going to allow me to perform the ceremony. "I feel that his backsliding is temporary, Father, and that after he has been influenced by this good woman, he will come into our fold."
"If she is a good woman, then why is she marrying this self-professed heathen?"
I had to keep my tongue in check at the insult towards Radar, and all Buddhists. "For many reasons, I'm sure. Among them, a desire to see him return to the church."
I had no real reason to believe that, no evidence to support it, but I hoped the Pope believed in it enough not to question it further. He seemed to mull the thought in his head for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay. It's your ball game, John. I mean, if I can't trust the good judgment of an archbishop, who should I trust?"
I felt a stab of guilt. "Thank you, Father. I will try to justify your confidences in me."
"Now, on a more personal note…I have it on good authority you have been seeing a heart doctor. Is there anything wrong?"
I told the Pope about the concerns of my high blood pressure and fast, irregular heartbeat, but that as of yet no treatment plans had been made. I could see the worry lines etching his face and he laid his hand on my shoulder.
"Are you sure you should be traveling in such a condition?"
"I think, under the circumstances," I said. "That this will be a welcome distraction, Father. I have not seen many of the wedding guests in over 20 years…if my condition becomes more serious, I'm afraid I won't have the opportunity to see them again."
"God watch over you, John." He said gently.
Once Pancho had arrived and everything was loaded in the car, I felt good again. I was happy to be getting away—yet again—from Church business and doctors and tests and terrorist threats against the nation. I wanted to be with friends and with Hawkeye, even if it was going to be a brief visit. It was a happy occasion; I needed this.
Our car was waved onto the tarmac near the waiting Boeing 747 with the words Chevaux Petroleum Number Seven painted on the side. Several of the crew were standing at attention as Pancho and I got out of the car and saluted us on order.
"Hiya, fellas." I beamed, amused by the show of respect that I was sure was Horsey's doing. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting."
"Fall out!" A man called to crew and six members raced over to Pancho's Fiat, three men on each bumper. On the order, they lifted the small car and effortlessly carried it up the loading ramp of the plane. The man who had given the order approached me, and I could see by his attire that he was the commander of this little outfit. He reached out and shook my hand. "How are you, Padre?"
Another man approached Pancho and I carrying purple and yellow nylon flight jackets. I looked over the jacket that had been handed to me, seeing CAJUN AIR FORCE emblazoned on the back, above which OFFICIAL CHAPLAIN had been embroidered. On the front, over the right breast a set of silver wings was pinned under the embroidering of DAGO RED. Pancho held a similar jacket which named him as PANCHO VILLA, the OFFICAL CHAPLAIN'S ASSISTANT.
"Welcome to the Cajun Air Force," the commander said, saluting us. I handed my jacket to Pancho as I shrugged out of my black clerical suit jacket, then proudly donned the jacket of the Cajun Air Force. Pancho followed suit, holding on to our suit jackets as the commander led us to the jet. "Let me show you around."
He gave us a quick tour of the modified plane, showing Pancho were he could sit back and relax during the flight, before he turned to me. "How would you like to learn how to fly, Padre?"
I'd always wanted to learn how to fly a plane, but now hardly seemed like the time for a crash course. Still, I wasn't sure I'd ever have another chance… "If you get it off the ground, I'll steer."
"Whatever you say, Padre." He said as he clapped me on the shoulder and led me to the cockpit.
Once we were in the air, the commander relinquished all flight controls to me. Though I was curious to learn what all the switches, levers, gauges and buttons were for, he only showed me the ones that were necessary to keep the plane up and going to its destination. He taught me how to read the airspeed and altitude gauges, and showed me the thrust levers for each of the plane's engines—forward for more power, back for less.
"Once you're up," he told me, "All you have to worry about is your axis' of movement—pitch, roll and yaw. Yaw will move you left or right by the rudder. Pitch is going to be whether her nose is pointed up or down. And roll is—I'm sure you can imagine—how much you dip the wings. You know what a barrel roll is?"
"Please tell me we're not going to do that in this." I asked with trepidation.
He laughed but shook his head. "I don't think Horsey would care for me turning this baby on her back."
Once he'd shown me how to control all three axis', he told me to fly us to Vegas while he navigated to make sure that we stayed on course.
Landing was another unique experience, as the commander instructed me to help him "put her down." He told me to put deploy the landing gear, lower the flaps on the wings, and apply the air brake, telling me which switches to flip. He then guided me on setting the back wheels down first before bringing the nose down and throttling down before applying the brakes to bring the plane to a stop.
As he taxied us towards our final stop, I could feel my heart racing. "Did I really just land a jumbo jet?"
"That you did, Padre. And you did a mighty fine job."
He saluted me and Pancho and I disembarked. "It was a pleasure flying with you; thanks for the flight lesson."
"Pleasure was all mine, Padre. We'll pick you up in a few days and I'll teach you how to get her off the ground." We shook hands and the crew carried our bags off the plane, leaving the Fiat in the loading bay. Pancho and I changed back into our suit jackets and he tucked our flight jackets into one of the bags.
"John!" A woman's voice called out from some distance away and I turned to see a woman in purple bellbottoms and a gray blouse with a large collar waving at me. Despite the distance, I instantly recognized her and made my way towards her.
"Mary!" I exclaimed, finally reaching her and wrapping my arms tightly around her. "It's so good to see."
"Oh, John, I've missed you so. I was thrilled when Radar told me you'd agreed to do the wedding."
"Speaking of the bridegroom," I said, looking about. "Where is he?"
"With Hawkeye," Mary said, rolling her eyes dramatically. "I'll give you three guesses where that would be."
I couldn't help but laugh and she smiled brightly before leading us out to a waiting limousine. "Radar certainly isn't sparing any expenses."
"He really isn't," Mary said. "But he's so filthy rich this is probably all just chump change to him."
"Where'd he get his wealth from? Last I saw Radar he was a poor farm boy from Ottumwa, Iowa."
"He apparently became a short-order cook for a time to help pay some of the bills on the farm, and ended up opening a small restaurant called Mother O'Reilly's Irish Stew Parlour. He used his mother's original Irish stew recipe for the house special, and of course named the establishment after her. It was so successful that he now owns several of these establishments world-wide. He's always looking for new ingredients to use in his stews, so he's traveled all over the place. He doesn't run the restaurants himself now, instead he's in charge of the ROR Corporation."
"Impressive."
Mary sighed forlornly. "And here I am, married to a man who runs the Finestkind Clinic and Fishmarket. I envy Kristina…"
When we got to the hotel, Mary got our room key from the front desk—offering us a two-bedroom suite on the same floor that Hawkeye, Trapper and Radar were staying. The women, she informed us, would be a few floors up. She also told us that most of the guests wouldn't be arriving until tomorrow and that the wedding was scheduled for the following afternoon.
"As soon as Kristina and I can get Radar away from Hawkeye, I'm sure we'll be coming to find you to talk about the ceremony."
"That sounds fine. Pancho and I will take our things to the room and we might order up a bit of lunch, but we won't wander too far if we venture out."
Mary smiled sweetly. "I'll tell Hawkeye you're here, John."
It seemed like we'd only just gotten to the room and put our bags down that there was a knock at the door. Pancho moved to answer it before I could take a single step forward, but I could see Hawkeye leaning against the doorjamb with his hands in his pockets. His eyes swept across the room towards me and he gave me a sideways smirk.
"Is there anything you need, Your Eminence?" I knew Pancho was graciously excusing himself in order to give Hawkeye and me a moment alone.
"No, thank you, Pancho."
"Trapper and Radar are cleaning up at the craps tables," Hawkeye said, flipping what looked like a $50 chip at Pancho. "Go have a bit of fun."
"Thank you, Hawkeye." Pancho gave us both a half bow, then slipped out of the room as Hawkeye slipped inside.
"You'll never guess what I did on the way here," I told him as we crossed the room towards each other.
"Joined the mile high club?" He asked with a smirk.
"Flew the plane." I told him. His look of surprise was laughable. "Not alone, of course, but the pilot taught me the basics. I even landed it with his help."
"Christ, it's a wonder you all made it here in one piece," he teased, rolling his eyes playfully before he pulled me into his arms and kissed me passionately. "I think I miss you more and more every time I see you."
"Me too," I told him as his hands ran underneath my suit jacket and started pushing it off. My anxiety over telling him about my new health problems suddenly surged and I grabbed his hands. "Hawkeye…there's something I need to tell you."
He pulled back, looking at me curiously. I could feel the strange pitter-patter of my quickly beating heart as I looked back at him, trying to find the words. "What's the matter, babe? Are you okay?"
Another knock on the door made me sigh in relieved frustration and I left Hawkeye standing in the middle of the floor as I went to answer it. In the hallway stood a short, balding man with large glasses, a beautiful blonde woman, and Mary. I knew immediately this must be Radar and his bride-to-be.
"Radar," I smiled, holding out my hand to greet him. "It's great to see you again."
"Father, thank you for coming. This means so much to both of us. This is Kristina Korsky-Rimsakov, my fiancée."
"It's very nice to meet you, my dear. Won't you please come in? Hawkeye had just stopped by to say hello."
"We can come back if we're interrupting something, Father," Radar offered knowingly.
I felt myself turning red. "No, not at all, Radar. Please…have a seat."
I could see Hawkeye trying to stifle a laugh as he came over and clapped me on the shoulder. "Looks like you'll have your hands full for a while. I'll help Trap entertain Pancho while you're busy."
"Thanks…" I said softly, truly sad that our time was cut short, but also glad that I didn't have to drag him down in the dumps with my news just yet. Once he'd left, the four of us set about discussing the ceremony in great detail as the couple decided which parts of the ceremony they wanted to keep traditional, and which parts they wanted to change up. After two hours of consulting, both parties were finally happy with the plan we'd made.
As I showed the young couple out, Mary stayed seated in the sitting room, waiting until I rejoined her before she spoke. "Are you alright, John?"
"Of course," I laughed nervously. "Why do you ask?"
"You just seem…I dunno…Worried."
I felt a little unnerved, wondering how much of my public mask was slipping. Mary seemed to sense what I was feeling and she moved to sit next to me on the couch, taking my hand.
"I know you and I haven't spoken for some time, John, but I've always considered you a dear friend. We've all been worried about you since learning of the cancer earlier this year. If something is wrong…you can tell me. You have my complete confidence not to go to Hawkeye unless you want me to."
"It's not that I'm worried about you telling him," I sighed. "I'm just afraid of how he might react to the news."
"So something is wrong, then."
"At my check up a few weeks ago, the doctor told me he wanted me to see a cardiologist. Over the last couple of weeks, I've been going for tests nearly every day to find out exactly what's wrong and what the prognosis is. Apparently losing a lung is not agreeing with my body and it's putting a strain on…well, everything. My blood pressure is high which is making my heart try and pump faster, but it can't keep up, and fluid is now leaking into my lung, they think."
Mary closed her eyes and squeezed my hand.
"The problem is that if they put me on blood pressure medication, it may take a while for it to be effective. Meanwhile, my heart doesn't know what to do with all the extra blood collecting there and they're afraid that the blood may start to clot which could give me a stroke or a heart attack. They could also put me on a medication that would help regulate my heartbeat, but again…the extra blood is a concern. And, of course, there's still the factor of the fluid in my lungs."
Mary sighed and pulled me into a hug. "It's unfair that all of this is happening to you, John. You're a wonderful, kind person…you deserve better. Do you want me to tell him?"
"No," I said with a long sigh. "I'll tell him."
I didn't see Hawkeye again until later that afternoon when he and Trapper escorted Pancho back to my room. Mary had stayed with me for quite some time, and we'd ordered lunch from room service and spent the time catching up on everything in our lives. She told me about all the children in greater detail than Hawkeye had, and talked about life in Crabapple Cove and how the four doctors of the Finestkind Clinic had turned tiny Spruce Harbor upside down.
Now, with Hawkeye and Trapper, the conversation in the room revolved around how my assistant had just won several hundred dollars at the craps table. Pancho had the decency to look abashed, though I could see the smug smile quietly pulling at the corners of his lips. Good for him, I thought to myself.
"You alright, Red?" Trapper asked, looking at me curiously. The mask was slipping again.
I sighed softly and shook my head. "Listen…there's something I need to talk to you boys about. Something…well, something quite serious, I'm afraid."
Hawkeye sat forward in the chair, looking at me with concern. "What's the matter, Dago?"
"Well, you see…there's a problem." I couldn't meet either of their eyes. "With my heart."
I could have heard a pin drop in the silence that ensued and I closed my eyes as I hurried on to tell them everything the doctors in Rome had told me. When I finally finished, Trapper was pacing the room, rubbing his forehead and Hawkeye had his head in his hands. I felt immensely terrible for dropping such a bomb on them during such a celebratory time, but was there ever a good time for this kind of news? I looked to Pancho, who was seated next to me and he laid his hand on my shoulder comfortingly.
"Those guys in Rome are idiots," Trapper finally said, slamming his fist into his palm indignantly and making Hawkeye raise his head hopefully.
"Think you got something, Trap?"
"It's simple. The root of the problem is oxygen." Trapper said, sitting back down across from me. "How long were you a smoker, Dago?"
"Pretty much right up until I found out I had cancer," I admitted.
"Smoking causes blood vessels to narrow and also reduces the blood's oxygen content to the heart, which makes it beat faster. You've probably been dealing with hypertension for a while. When you lost a lung, though, you cut even more of your oxygen supply. It usually takes some time for the body to compensate and for the remaining lung to build up strength to carry out the job of both lungs. For some reason, your lung hasn't stepped up to the plate and started doing double duty, and I'm willing to bet it's because there isn't enough oxygen reaching it. What's that sound like to you, Hawk?"
I could see a strange look of understanding dawning on Hawkeye's face. "Bronchopleural fistula."
"Exactly."
"Broncho-what?" I asked.
"It's an air leak to your lung," Hawkeye told me. "It can happen after a pneumonectomy…. Fuck. I should have done more x-rays…I should have paid closer attention."
"Might not have developed until later, Hawk. It can happen, you know." Trapper said, gently.
"Is it fixable?"
"It won't be pleasant," Hawkeye told me. "But we can fix it if you can spare a few more days and come with us to the Clinic."
"What about my high blood pressure and the heart condition?"
"Those aren't going to be easy fixes," Trapper said. "But once we fix your fistula, then your body won't be so oxygen deprived and won't be working in overdrive, so they can treat both conditions at the same time."
Hawkeye stood up and pulled me up off the couch and into a fierce hug, looking absolutely devastated. "I'm sorry, Dago…I should have known…I should have caught it."
"You're not with me every day, Hawk," I said quietly, not having blamed him for even a second.
"Still…" He said brokenly. "I could have killed you. It's hard enough to recover from this thing…now this…"
"Hawkeye," I pushed him back by his shoulders so I could look in his eyes. "It isn't your fault. I just thank God I'm friends with two doctors who have some kind of solution."
"I can't lose you, Dago." Hawkeye said in barely more than a whisper, his eyes wet with unshed tears of sorrow and remorse. I flicked my gaze towards Trapper who was still standing there, trying to pretend he wasn't watching the two of us. I was well aware of his and Pancho's presence as I looked back at Hawkeye, cupping his face as I pulled him into a fierce kiss.
I didn't look at either of the men in the room with us as I pulled away, resting my forehead against Hawkeye's. "I love you."
Though Hawkeye tried to spend the rest of the time in Vegas as if nothing was wrong, his anxiety was palpable to me. He'd stayed with me that night, laying his head on my chest to listen to my heart beat. He offered to postpone our trip to Paris until all medical concerns were handled, but I begged him not to.
"As little as we get to see each other, Hawk…I don't care what condition I'm in, I don't want to postpone my time with you."
As the next day wore on, Hawkeye was by my side every second of it. I almost felt like he was just waiting for me to drop dead at any given moment, and that was doing nothing to improve my level of stress. I'd already warned him twice about smothering me, but whether it was because he couldn't or because he wouldn't, Hawkeye never stayed gone more than a couple of minutes. I did finally have the distraction of mingling with other people as Colonel Henry Blake, Walt Waldowski, and Margaret O'Houlihan arrived at the hotel. Though everyone had aged since Korea, I was still painfully aware that I was the oldest of all of them, and probably the closest to death. I managed to escape Hawkeye's constant vigilance and wandered off to the bar with Henry and Margaret.
Margaret informed us that she'd been married—three times—and divorced twice. Her third husband, a reverend, had recently passed away leaving her as Reverend Mother of the God Is Love in All Forms Christian Church, whose "founding disciples" included an artist, two hairdressers, a writer, two ballet dancers, a male model, an interior decorator, an antique dealer and the quarterback and two defensive linemen of the San Francisco Gladiators football team. The only woman, she added, was the antique dealer.
Henry had stayed in the army after Korea and had made full bird colonel during Vietnam, where he'd been stationed at another MASH unit. After serving in two wars, Henry retired and became a football coach in his hometown. His most recent accomplishment was becoming a grandfather.
I filled them in on the accomplishments of my life—about being a pioneer in the mission to Nepal and becoming the Archbishop of Swengchan, China. While the highlights of my life were short and sweet, I neglected to tell them about the recent health challenges I'd faced. No need to bring everyone down…
Hawkeye found us a short time later to inform us that we were all invited to dinner at one of the finest restaurants in Las Vegas to celebrate the union of Radar and Kristina. The dinner was lovely—if but expensive—and it was nice to have the chance to catch up with everyone, but by the time we all made it back to the hotel and half of the party took to the casino while the other half took to the bar, I was ready to take to my bed.
"I'll come stay with you," Hawkeye offered.
"Come later," I told him. "Stay down here with Radar and the boys and have fun. Just don't do whatever it is you and Trapper planned to do."
"What's that?"
"I don't know, but I know the two of you well enough to know that you've got something up your sleeve by way of a bachelor party."
Hawkeye grinned at me before sobering. "You sure you don't want me to come up now?"
"I need some time alone. I have to write a final draft of the ceremony anyways. Come up later if you want."
He hadn't come up by the time I laid down to sleep at 11:45, but I felt the mattress shift beside me and a body warmly press against mine as lips found my neck. I cracked an eye open and saw that it was almost 4 in the morning.
"Please tell me you're not just getting to bed."
"You missed a hell of a night," he said hotly against my ear. "Radar will never be the same man again."
"What did you do to him?"
"Not as much as we planned," he said, kissing his way to my lips. His hand slid under the sheet and grasped me through my pajama pants.
"Hawkeye," I protested weakly, "it's 4am."
"That's never stopped anyone." He said, stroking me.
I sighed, more in pleasure than frustration, and kicked the covers off of me as I reached for him. We fumbled to get our clothes off before Hawkeye moved down between my legs and took me into his mouth. I groaned and sighed and panted as he pleasured me, nearly sobbing in protest as he brought me to the edge and stopped. He waited just long enough for my orgasm to recede before he sucked his fingers and thrust them into me. By the time he finally penetrated me, I was desperate to feel him inside of me, and our lovemaking was ripe with a passionate need.
The ceremony that afternoon went off as planned and I couldn't have been more proud to officiate a wedding. The love Radar and Kristina shared was so pure and so strong that I knew that God had blessed them and had meant for them to find one another. It made me wonder, as I watched them during the reception, why God had meant for Hawkeye and me to meet. I knew there must have been a purpose beyond our affections, beyond his skills and knowledge to save my life, beyond mere friendship…but what that purpose was escaped me.
Departing Vegas was bittersweet. Saying goodbye to old friends once again was painful and sad, as I knew deep down that I would never see any of them again. I counted myself lucky that I had been given this chance to see them all now. Pancho took Horsey's 747 back to Rome to inform the Pope that I would be undergoing a minor procedure in Maine, and I traveled to Crabapple Cove with Hawkeye, Mary, Trapper and Lucinda.
They wasted no time in getting me to the clinic and getting a fresh set of x-rays done so that they could verify the bronchopleural fistula. Hawkeye and Trapper both agreed that I should stay awake for the procedure, as putting me under might prove fatal, so I was given just a local anesthesia that would put me in a state of what Hawkeye called "Twilight Sedation," which made me feel like I was floating in space. I was awake, but tired as hell while they feed a tube down into wherever the fistula was and began to siphon in a chemical that Hawkeye told me would act like glue and seal off the leak. I didn't remember too much about the procedure, but apparently I had fallen asleep at some point, because I found myself waking up in a private room with Hawkeye at my side, and an oxygen mask over my face.
"How do you feel?"
"Okay…" I said, my voice slightly more raspy than normal. I touched my throat involuntarily and saw Hawkeye smile softly and reach for my hand.
"Your vocal chords are just a bit irritated from the tube we had down your throat. You'll be fine."
"And the mask?"
"Just a little help on getting some extra oxygen into you. You should be feeling better in a couple of days now that we've fixed the fistula. Trapper and I also have a plan to treat the high blood pressure, arrhythmia, and fluid on your lung. I don't trust those quacks in Rome to take care of you."
"How?"
"A diuretic." He said. "It's like a water pill, it'll flush all the extra fluids out of your body, and help lower your blood pressure, which should help the tachycardia. I think you should also do a little oxygen therapy on a daily basis just until everything evens out."
"You and Trapper came up with this in the span of a few hours?"
"We've been putting our heads together since we figured out what the main problem was. We had a plan before we left Vegas, baby. It was a simple solution really."
"And this will cure me?"
"Dago, there's no cure for what you have." He said carefully. "You'll need treatment for the rest of your life; need to take medication every day."
I sighed softly. I supposed, in the grand scheme of things, taking a few pills every day and using an oxygen mask from time to time wasn't so bad. "Thank you, Hawkeye."
"You don't need to thank me, baby. I'm just glad we caught it."
"If it was so simple, why do you think the cardiologist didn't catch it?"
"Probably wasn't looking for it. Sometimes doctors can overlook the obvious. Either way though, I'd like you to consult with me from now on about anything they say or any treatment options they offer. I'm still your doctor, you know."
Hawkeye released me from the hospital the next morning and took me home to Crabapple Cove. It had grown ever-so-slightly since the last time I'd been here, but it was still a small rural community on the coast of Maine. His was still the only house on Pierce road, but as I looked across the water, the old fishing boat was no longer anchored in the channel.
"Who lives in your father's house now?" I asked as we rolled up the drive.
"My brother and his wife," Hawkeye said. "Dad left the property to all of us and they all fought over the house and the fishing boat. It was finally decided that the brother who could stay out of jail the longest would get the house. I suppose it was incentive for them all to try and clean up their lives, but it didn't last too long for most of them."
As we went inside, there was a blonde-haired teenager stretched out on the couch, with his foot dangling over the back. Hawkeye yanked on the boy's big toe. "Sit up, will'ya, we've got company."
The boy rolled up into a sitting position and looked over at me. He had the same facial features as his father, the same piercing blue eyes, the same shaggy hairstyle sported by Hawkeye. "Hi, you must be Dad's friend… Dago, right?"
I reached for the boy's hand, shaking it firmly. "You must be Johnny."
"Why don't you take his bag and put it in the guest room?" Hawkeye said, mussing Johnny's hair before he looked at me. "You sit down and rest."
"I've been resting since yesterday," I protested.
"Rest some more." He ordered, pointing to the couch.
We spent the day just sitting around, watching television and chit-chatting about nothing in particular. Mary arrived at the house later that afternoon, having been out shopping most of the day, and set about making dinner.
I loved watching Hawkeye interact with his teenage son. Charlie and Tommy had still been quiet young when I'd last been here, but I could tell that Hawkeye truly loved being a father to all his children. He'd been good with the younger ones and he was good with Johnny. It made me think about my brother, Michael and my nephews. I was sad to have missed out on so much of their lives, sad to have never been the good uncle I could have been if Michael hadn't disowned me. I wondered how he might feel if I tried to reconnect with him again, and endeavored to try and call him once I returned to Rome.
I only stayed for a few days to give my lung a chance to heal and the "glue" to seal the fistula, and though Hawkeye and I never truly got much time alone during my short stay in the Cove, I still enjoyed being near him, and I knew I'd see him again soon. We'd finally decided to visit Paris for a week in early October. I was glad that he let me talk him out of postponing the trip.
As he drove me to the airport, where Horsey had graciously arranged for my return flight home, Hawkeye seemed unusually quiet.
"Hawk?" I ventured. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah…" he said with a sigh. "I just wish you weren't leaving. I really wish I could talk you into moving here…if for nothing else so that I could keep an eye on you."
"I'll be fine," I tried to reassure him. "I've got the file you wrote up for my doctor in Rome, and I'll be sure to consult with you about everything...I wish I could stay longer, but I really can't."
"I know. Feels like we hardly even saw each other the whole time we were in Vegas, and I couldn't do much of anything with you at the house."
"It's okay, Hawk. Just spending time with you is nice. I know Las Vegas was a whirlwind, but we managed to get a little time alone."
He smiled softly at me. "You're rubbing off on me, Dago. Usually you're the one who is always so down about having to say goodbye."
"Oh, I am…I wish I could find a way to make it so that we never had to say goodbye, but October isn't too far away, right?"
"Right. It'll be here before you know it."
Hawkeye kissed me goodbye, hugging me tightly for a long minute as he made me promise to take care of myself. I found myself suddenly not wanting to let go and felt my eyes sting sharply with tears. "I love you, Hawk."
"I love you, too." He said fiercely. We kissed once more before finally releasing one another. I reached up and touched Hawkeye's face, smiling softly at him before I turned and headed up the stairs of the jet. I turned at the top and waved, then went inside. I didn't feel much like assisting the pilot this go round, so I simply sat near the window. Hawkeye was still standing out there, hands in his pockets as he watched the jet get ready for takeoff. I started to miss him before we were even in the air.
Pancho picked me up from the airport and took me home, filling me on what I'd missed the last couple of days and letting me know that the Pope had sent his wishes and prayers for a speedy recovery.
"Thank you for taking care of things, Pancho."
"Of course, Father. It is no trouble."
I saw my cardiologist a few days after my return, who had come up with a similar plan of treatment over the course of my absence. He said that once the medication started to normalize my system that he wanted to reevaluate the blood volume in my heart to determine if further action should be taken. He hoped that the help of medication and controlled blood pressure and heart rate would take care of things naturally, but if not he had a few options up his sleeve. I felt good knowing that I was—with any luck—finally on the road to recovery from my surgery earlier that year.
I jumped back into work with renewed hope. I felt like God was granting me so many extensions in my life for a reason and I desperately wanted to figure out what purpose He wanted me to fulfill. I theorized about the possibilities with Pancho as we sat around my apartment after work in the evenings. I wondered if there was work I had yet to do for the church, if I had unfinished business somewhere… It seemed as though it could be any number of things, but there were two things that felt like they topped the list, to me: Michael and Hawkeye.
I decided that there was no time like the present if I was going to try and reconnect with my brother, so I waited until I was alone one evening before I called up my mother in California to find out where I might reach him. I spent some time on the phone with her, asking how she was and listening to her tell me what she'd been up to. I also told her about everything that had recently happened to me…much to her shock and sadness. I promised her to call more often, then hung up and took a breath to calm my nerves.
It had been so long since I'd spoken to Michael…would he even talk to me now? I picked up the phone and dialed.
"Hello?" A woman's voice answered.
"May I speak with Michael please?"
"Who's calling?"
"John…his brother." I said belated.
"John?" The woman asked as if she had misheard me. There was a strange pause. "Of course…one moment."
It took nearly a full minute before I heard my brother's voice come on the line. "Hello?"
"Michael, it's John."
"Yeah?" He said gruffly. This didn't bode well.
"I know it's been a long time, but I…I thought maybe we could…talk?"
"I've got nothing to say to you, you little faggot."
"I don't care what you think of me, Michael, but I'm still your brother."
"I don't have a brother."
I heard the distinct sound of the phone being hung up, and closed my eyes against a swell of tears as I laid the receiver back in the cradle. Part of me felt stupid for even trying to reach out to him, having known he would thrash me with my own olive branch, but the other part of me wasn't finished yet. If he wouldn't talk to me on the phone, then at least maybe he'd listen to what I had to say in a letter.
My Dear Brother,
I know that I have disappointed you to the point of disownment, but please…hear me out. I feel as though I have such little time left to do all the things I must. Reconciling with you shouldn't have waited this long. You are my brother and I love you so much.
There are things in my life that I am not proud of; dark secrets that I have kept locked inside of me. Danny, the young boy who had written to me so many years ago, is the darkest secret of my life. I have only ever told the story of him to one other person, to a man I have loved for more than twenty years. I'd like to share that secret with you…to help you understand that part of my life.
I wrote the story of my life with Danny as it had been in seminary—including how he had molested me, but how I had never done anything to stop him. I knew Michael would probably be disgusted by such details, but I felt it important to say. I told him about our argument before I left for Tibet, and how eventually he started to write to me again. I told him about Tibet, about the prison and the torture, the nightmares and how I'd ended up going to chaplain school. I told him everything—Danny's violence, going to Korea, meeting Hawkeye, falling in love, Danny's death, my fight with Hawkeye, the mission to Nepal, moving to Rome and becoming an archbishop. I told him about learning I had lung cancer, and how several people had covertly worked to reunite Hawkeye and me in hopes that he could convince me to have the surgery. I told him everything up to his hanging up on me moments before I'd started writing this letter, and by the time I'd finished, the letter spanned the length of several pages.
I have so many regrets in my life, Michael, but I know that God forgives all of my transgressions. It has taken me a lifetime to fully comprehend that His love knows no bounds. I won't ask for your forgiveness, because I feel that I owe you no apologies outside of my delay in reaching out to you, but I do ask for your acceptance and the acknowledgement that I am still your brother. Maybe I am a disappointment to you, maybe you consider me a disgrace to the family and to my profession, but I am family and that bond can't be undone by anyone…not even God.
It is your choice, of course, but I pray that you consider my words with an open heart and an open mind.
God Bless you, Michael.
John
As I sealed the letter in an envelope, I quietly wondered whether or not I'd ever hear from my brother…or if he'd even read the letter. I knew that it was in God's hands from here, but I felt good for reaching out despite the continued rejection.
I was still left wondering about where Hawkeye fit into my purpose on Earth. Were we truly just destined to be lovers and friends? It felt like there was something more. He had been such an integral part of my life and had such a powerful influence on my thoughts and beliefs and views of the world…what was I meant to do for him?
The thought kept me awake at night, nagging at the back of my mind until I felt like the answer had finally come to me. Whether it had been a dream or a message from God, I sat up in bed one night and turned on the lamp, pulling out the drawer in the nightstand and finding the pen and journal I always kept there. I tore out several pages that I had written random things on and stuffed them back in the drawer, then began to write what I'd seen and felt in the dream and what I believed it to mean.
As the weeks ticked by through September, I tried to work ahead on any church business that might come up during my trip to Paris with Hawkeye. I was greatly looking forward to getting away with him again, and planned on sharing my vision—as I'd come to call it—with him. Hawkeye dutifully called me at least once a week to check up on me, and though my blood pressure was still high, it was gradually getting lower.
"I think you'll really love Paris," he told me as we spoke late one night. "Granted, when I was there with Trap we didn't go to the places I plan to take you, but it's really just a neat place to see."
"I can't wait," I smiled into the phone. "I've been speaking nothing but French to Pancho, much to his irritation."
Hawkeye laughed. "Does he even speak French?"
"He's learning to." I laughed along with him.
"Well, by this time next week you'll be up to your ears in all things French."
"I hope to be up to other things too," I said, hinting at my desire to be with him again.
"Baby, I can guarantee it." I could hear the arousal evident in his voice and it sent a shiver down my spine.
I licked my lips, my throat suddenly dry from the anticipation of it all, "I can't wait for that either."
"I'll see you soon, Dago," he said lovingly.
"I love you, Hawkeye."
"Love you, too, babe."
I hung up the phone and got ready for bed, fully content for once in my life. I missed Hawkeye, but we were making this work. It was enough to know that he loved and cared for me, that he thought about me often enough call internationally just to see how I was doing. It would sustain me to see him whenever I could. It wasn't perfect, but it was more than I should have ever hoped for to begin with.
I found my mind starting to wander over the next couple of days, but not to any particular thoughts. It was almost as if I kept blanking out, my brain just switching on and off. I had started to chalk it up to being far too eager to see my lover again, but other strange symptoms began to manifest. A dull headache had formed in my temple and refused to go away no matter what I did. It seemed to be constant, whether I was awake or asleep, and it was making me irritable. My neck felt stiff, my eyes hurt…this was not a good time to get a head cold.
As I was speaking on the phone to one of my bishops in China, my dull headache suddenly started to pound against my skull. It was a blinding pain, almost worse than a migraine. I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to find at least one pressure point that would take some of the edge off, but it didn't seem to help. I knew the bishop was speaking to me, but I was having trouble concentrating on what he was saying.
"Could you repeat that? I'm sorry…" I said with an embarrassed laugh.
"Sir? Are you alright?"
I certainly didn't feel alright. I needed to go home and go to bed; I needed some aspirin; I needed Hawkeye to work his magic and make me better. I'd have to settle for my assistant. "Pancho…"
The pain intensified even more, bringing with it a wave of dizziness. I felt like I was going to be sick.
"Pancho!" I was trying to stand up, but my body was simply not cooperating with me. My knees buckled and I dropped the phone.
"Father!" Pancho's voice cried out. The room was spinning around me and I didn't know which end was up or which was down, but I suddenly knew I was falling either way. Rather than hitting the hard floor though, I felt myself being caught and slowly lowered to the ground. Pancho was saying something but I couldn't understand the words.
"Hawkeye…" I found myself slurring. Where was Hawkeye? I needed him. I was terrified and confused. Pancho leaned over me, speaking into the phone. Was that Hawkeye he was talking to? I started to reach for the receiver in his hand, but I could barely lift my arm. Pancho laid his hand on my shoulder to keep me still. My vision was starting to blur at the edges. The last thing I saw was Pancho's panic-stricken face hovering over mine as he begged me to stay awake…and then there was nothing.

TBC
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Infatuation