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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
- 5
- 6
- 7
Title: Infatuation
Characters: Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce/ Father John Patrick "Dago Red" Mulcahy
Rating: M for Sexual Content
Summary: There's a difference between seeing someone and noticing them.
Author's Note: Based on the characters from the movie. This is Mulcahy's POV. Please ignore any typos. I don't always catch them all. This chapter is a little shorter than the others, but probably my favorite so far. Thanks for reading.

I woke up to the sound of laughter and something heavy across legs. I peeked my eyes open and saw Duke leaning back against me holding a beer. I briefly scanned the room to see Trapper, Ugly John, Bandini, Painless and Spearchucker sitting around, each with his own drink. I quickly surmised that they were drunk and were quickly losing the ability to maintain volume control—if they'd ever even been trying.
I shifted my leg as Duke's elbow dug into my shin painfully and he turned his head to level his drunken gaze at me.
"Hey! Dago Red-o!" He exclaimed. "How's it going?"
"You're hurting my leg."
"Oh, sorry Red." He sat up as Trapper came over, a cigarette between his lips with a line of ash dangling precariously off the end.
"Feeling okay?"
I felt quite uncomfortable around them all of a sudden and really wished I'd opted to just stay in my own tent earlier. "Where's Hawkeye?"
"He's on duty," Duke answered. "Whatcha need, Dago? We're all doctors too, ya know."
"Oh…well, I just thought maybe I should go back to my tent, is all. That way you fellas won't have to worry with me."
"You don't need Hawkeye for that, we can drive you home," Trapper said, flicking ash onto the floor. The two of them helped me off the cot and Trapper offered me his arm to steady myself. "Allow me to be your escort this evening, Padre."
"See you at the services tomorrow, Red?" Duke asked.
"I suppose there's really no choice in the matter," I replied, not entirely keen to witness their mockery of my savior. I can appreciate good, clean humor, and the occasional satirical religious gag, but Trapper, Duke and Hawkeye tended to walk the line of offense and all out sacrilegious insult more often than not. While I respected each of their beliefs, it was ever-increasingly obvious that they had no respect for mine, or anyone else's.
Trapper walked me across the camp to my tent, letting me support myself on his arm, but only just. "Another day or two and you'll be back on your own two feet, Red."
I offered a weak laugh, glad that my side didn't seize up in pain. We made it to my tent and Trapper pulled his arm away, nodding to my bunk.
"Try and get down without any help this time."
I sighed softly, but nodded, moving to my bunk and carefully sitting on the edge. Consciously trying to lie down on your back without putting too much stress on your middle is definitely not an easy task, but I finally managed and opted to just leave my blankets where they were. Trapper nodded, impressed that I'd been able to muscle through the pain.
"Good…now get up on your own."
I looked at him with a horrified expression. Surely he was kidding. The look on his face suggested he wasn't. "Trapper, I really don't think I can move again for at least several hours."
"Alright, then in a couple of hours I'll come back and make you get up again." He dangled my rosary beads over my face. "Better pray for strength in the meantime."
I took the beads, muttering my thanks and he left the tent. His bedside manner certainly lacked the care and compassion of Hawkeye, but I was pretty sure that Trapper was just eager to get back to drinking. That, and the fact that my relationship with Hawkeye was certainly more than doctor/patient or even doctor/chaplain at this point, and so a certain level of tenderness was expected...if not required.
Relationship.
Boy, did that word sit strangely with me. There was no point in trying to call this anything else, but I wondered how Hawkeye would feel about such a label on our actions. He'd probably be horrified and tell me that this was all just 'a little fun.' Still, it made me feel somewhat giddy to consider that I was essentially dating Hawkeye, but not far behind those blithe feelings was the deep sense of guilt. I didn't think his wife or children would be quite so tickled to know he'd been messing around with another man…a priest.
I had to resolve to do what Hawkeye had told me and just not think about it all together. I was guilty of my actions and I would answer to them in Heaven, but—God help me—I planned to be with Hawkeye while I could.
Now that I was settled back in my quiet tent with nothing to do and no one there, I regretted asking to leave the swamp. I knew that I should spend the time in prayer or reading my Bible or breviary. My Bible was on my desk and far too heavy to try and hold up to read in bed, and my breviary…where was that? Hawkeye had brought it to me in the Swamp, I must have dropped it in my sleep. I sighed and ran the beads between my fingers, simply going off memory as I quoted the Beautitudes from Matthew 5:3-12.
I thought about the upcoming ceremony hosted by Duke and Trapper that was sure to be pandemonium. Sometimes I really didn't understand how they could be so kind to me one minute, then turn around and play such cruel jokes on me the next. Maybe they overestimated the bounds of our friendship, figuring that if it was funny to them, it must be funny to everyone. Even Hawkeye had surprised me by laughing early when I'd mentioned the shenanigans with Shaking Sammy. I hadn't been kidding when I said that episode had not been funny. That had been a harrowing experience and I'd been fully convinced that they were about to burn Sammy alive on that cross. Sammy was nearly in hysterics and had wet himself in fear.
Henry had been absolutely furious and nearly had the three of them arrested, but I had asked him not to. I had hope that I could still exert a positive influence over them. I begged and pleaded and chastised them until I was blue in the fact, imploring them to simply apologize to Sammy. Sure, the guy seemed to always cause more problems whenever he was around, but Sammy simply wanted to help, and what they'd done to him was inexcusable. They had staunchly refused to apologize, saying something to the effect that he'd gotten what he deserved. I remember feeling so disillusioned and disenchanted with the three of them at that point. I couldn't wrap my mind around how they, as doctors, could have been so coldblooded.
As I lay there in quiet contemplation, I could feel the press of my bladder.
"Oh no…" I muttered quietly, mentally debating whether or not I should wait until Trapper or Hawkeye came to check on me. I surmised that if Trapper came back when he'd said he would, he would make me get up on my own anyways. If Hawkeye was on duty, there was no telling when he'd come check on me. Either way, I ran the risk or running into a potentially embarrassing situation in which I might not be able to get up in time to get to the toilet.
I made my decision and gathered all my strength as I tried to figure out the best way to get up that didn't involve using the muscles in my side.
Somehow managing to inch into my left side, I tucked my feet up a little and gently eased myself up with my left arm. I was trying to keep my entire right side as immobile as possible, despite Hawkeye's warning that I shouldn't do that, but I could still feel the twinge of pain around the wound anytime I moved a certain way. Slowly I brought my legs around and over the side of the bed. I gripped the edge of my cot with my left hand and shuffled my feet to the side so that when I stood up, I'd be facing my cot, holding onto it for support. I gave myself a minute to catch my breath, determined to stop holding it every time I moved, then finally I pushed myself up until I was left leaning over my bunk. I knew I had to rely on the strength of my legs to hold me up and I was going to have to use my core to straighten myself out, but I was glad I'd made it this far on my own.
"Okay…" I told myself, panting slightly as I prepared to straighten myself out. "On the count of three. One…Two…"
"Dago, what are you doing?"
Hawkeye's voice startled me and I jerked upright, yelping in pain and grabbing my side. Several swears found their way to the tip of my tongue, but I managed to keep them in. Hawkeye was holding my arm gently for support.
"Baby, what the hell are you doing?" He repeated, obviously worried.
"I…ugh…" I groaned in pain as my side twinged. "I have to use the bathroom and Trapper was going to make me get up by myself anyways. Plus, I didn't know when either of you would be coming to check on me."
"Well Trapper's not your doctor, so don't listen to him anymore." Hawkeye said as he gently checked my stitches, then led me towards the door. "What are you doing here anyways? You were still out when I went on duty, and I came back just now and saw Bandini lying in the bunk instead of you."
"I haven't been back here that long. They were all getting drunk and Duke was practically laying on me. I thought it best that I come over here so they could be rowdy without worrying about me."
"Sorry about that," he said softly. "You know how they are…if they're not working, they're boozing, smoking or fucking, and possibly all three at the same time."
I laughed softly despite the crudeness of his words, and he looked over at me pleased.
"Hey…you didn't tell me not to make you laugh that time. That's progress."
"Yeah, it mainly just hurts when I move too much now…or stand up too fast."
He smirked as we made it to the latrine, and I let go of his arm and went in to do my business. When I came out he was casually leaning against the side of the latrine with a lit cigarette between his fingers. He held out his arm to me, but I shook my head softly.
"Let me see how far I can get on my own."
He nodded and walked beside me as I made my way back to my tent. I could smell the tobacco and nicotine in his cigarette as he exhaled. Typically I found cigarette smoke to be completely vile and atrocious, but the smoke from his cigarettes seemed different. I wondered if it was a different brand or just something about Hawkeye that made it less disgusting to me, and conceded that it was probably both.
We made it back to my tent and I heard Hawkeye latch the door. I stood in the middle of the room with my back to him, anticipating his next move, yearning to be touched by him. I didn't have to wait long. He came up behind me and gently ran his hand along my uninjured side as his lips kissed the back of my neck and his body gently pressed into me. I closed my eyes and smiled softly, enjoying the tingle he created as his five o'clock shadow lightly scraped against my skin. When his lips found my ear, breath gently blowing into my ear canal, I shivered. He made a noise of intrigue and intentionally blew again, generating the same response.
"Stop that," I chuckled softly.
"Why?" he asked mischievously. "It's giving you goosebumps, and I like that."
I opened my mouth to respond, but his hand trailed down my stomach and under the waistband of my pajamas, his fingers curling around me. All I could do was moan his name and lean against him as my knees grew weak.
"I love feeling you get hard in my hand," he murmured against my ear. "It's such a rush to know how much you like being touched by me. It really turns me on; you really turn me on, Dago."
He pressed himself harder against me to emphasis his point as his hand moved up and down the length of my erection. I was speechless, though there was so much I wanted to say to him. It felt like it had been forever since I'd felt his hands on me like this and my brain completely shut down any higher functioning to focus solely on the pleasure I was experiencing with him. His free hand came around and turned my face towards him and he leaned in over my shoulder to kiss me deeply.
"God, I want you so bad, baby."
I knew I wasn't ready to try anything too physically demanding just yet, but I slowly turned in his arms, displacing his hand from around me momentarily as I reached for his belt and the fastenings on his trousers. I held his eyes with mine and could see his chest rising and falling heavily. There was a hungry look about him that made me ache exquisitely.
"You don't have to—"
I silenced him with my lips as my hand slipped down and lightly grasped him. He groaned into my mouth and slid his own hand back down the front of my pajamas. We stroked and touched and pleasured one another simultaneously until he slid his hand from my pants and pulled away from my lips, taking my wrist and gently extracting my hand from him as well.
I was about to ask him what was wrong when he lowered himself to his knees in front of me, dragging down my pajamas as he took me into his mouth. My head fell back with a quiet moan and I pulled his hat off his head, tossing it onto my cot as I plunged my fingers into his hair. I felt somewhat lightheaded as he sucked and stroked me with his lips and tongue, traveling from tip to base with more ease and fervor than the first time he'd done this.
Again I was reduced to little more than a simpering idiot, muttering his name along with several incoherencies about how good this felt. When his hand grasped my testicles, I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out as he pulled me closer and closer to the edge of release.
"Oh, Hawkeye….oh yes…don't stop, please…don't stop…"
I heard the words leave my lips before I even realized I was speaking, but I was too caught up in the sublime ecstasy to even blush. With one final swipe of his tongue on the underside of my penis, I was gone. I gripped his shoulders to keep myself upright as I came into his mouth with a strangled cry of elation. I could feel his throat working as he swallowed my ejaculate, gently moaning around me.
I shuddered as I finished, feeling lightheaded but completely contented, and Hawkeye released me, grinning up at me impishly.
"I definitely like it better when you don't muffle yourself."
This time I did blush, wondering just how loud I'd been. "You don't think anyone overheard, do you?"
"Not unless they were right outside the door…and maybe Radar," he grinned as he got back to his feet and brushed his lips against mine. "But even when you yell, you have a really soft voice, Dago, so I wouldn't worry."
"I guess in this situation that's a good thing."
"It's a good thing in general," he gave me a tender smile. "I like your voice."
My blush deepened. Was there anything about me he didn't like? I licked my lips nervously as I tried to think of how to say what I was thinking without turning into a tomato. "I…um…I don't think I can get on my knees, but I still want to…you know…for you."
I could feel my cheeks burning despite my effort. Hawkeye laughed softly, cupping my face as he drew me into a lingering kiss. "It's okay, baby. I don't expect you to finish me right now. Are you in pain at all? You've been on your feet for a while."
"A little," I admitted. "But it's not nearly as bad as it's been."
"Good, I told you it would get easier." He smiled, slipping his hands loosely around my waist.
"I didn't think it was good for someone to move around so soon after surgery?"
"It depends on the type of surgery and the severity of the wound. In this case, the wound was fairly uncomplicated, but the location of it meant that I wanted you up and moving faster than I might have had someone else. Everything you do depends on you using the muscles in through here," he lightly ran his fingers along my side and abdomen near the wound. "If we'd kept you immobile for several days, it would have been hell to get you back on your feet. It's better to work out the soreness and pain of the injury while you're still recovering from the soreness and pain of surgery."
He grinned at me and I just had to take his word on what he was saying, having no experience to argue otherwise.
"Do you want to lie back down?"
"If it's alright, I'd like to sit up for a little bit."
He nodded and hooked his foot around the leg of my chair, pulling it over towards the cot. As I sat in my chair, he laid down on his side on my cot, propping his head in his hand as he looked at me.
"Tseten sounds like he was interesting to be around."
I smiled fondly. "He certainly was. He really enjoyed the fact that I didn't speak much Tibetan when I got there, and he was kind of like you in the respect that he loved a good joke. He taught me a phrase to 'greet' people, and every time I said it I either got a strange look or laughed at. It was a week before he told me what I was actually saying."
"Which was what?"
"May the holy goat be with you."
Hawkeye burst into laughter.
"Obviously not what I had wanted to say."
"Dago, I bet if someone told you 'gullible' was written on the ceiling, you'd probably look up, wouldn't you?"
I chuckled, "Probably. It's just in my nature to trust people…until they give me reason not to."
"I think I've made it to the end of 1945 in your journal. You started writing less and less every year…why?"
"After the first year there, it really became routine and there wasn't much to write about. It was a two-year mission, but I asked to stay because the church had no permanent priest—the services depended on missionaries coming through, and we had gotten quite a few of the locals to start attending services. I didn't want their stunt their spiritual growth by leaving them without a spiritual leader, so I stayed on as head of the church. That meant that I had a lot less time to spend traveling around spreading the Good News or spending time with Tseten, but whenever I was sent new missionaries, I often went out to visit the locals with them, or would go with Tseten to the Monastery to visit with the monks."
"Did you and Tseten stay in touch when you left Tibet?"
I swallowed a lump that had suddenly formed in my throat and evaded the answer. "I didn't so much 'leave' Tibet as I was exiled from Tibet and China on the whole."
"Exiled?" He looked thoroughly surprised.
"Lhasa, where our church was, was kind of a 'forbidden city' in that foreign contact was extremely limited. Our church was the only exception because it had been granted amnesty by the 13th Dalai Lama, Thubten Gyatso. Even though he died in 1933, our church was allowed to remain there, and the Maryknolls were allowed to continue sending missionaries to staff it.
Civil war had been raging in China for years, and there was a war between the Tibetan and Chinese people that lasted several years back in the early '30s. Like everything, it was about politics and land, mostly. While Tibet was still part of China, the Tibetan people considered themselves independent, but they tried to claim land from the Chinese. Eventually a truce was made that drew a line between Tibet and China at the Jinsha River and so long as the Tibetans didn't cross it, China agreed to leave them be. Of course, we all know how well truces are upheld. There were still a lot of attacks by the Chinese on several of the monasteries, even during the years I was there.
"In the last few months that I was there, the Tibetan government enacted a policy to expel all Chinese who were connected with the Guomingdang Government. There were quite a few Chinese living in Tibet at the time, and especially in and around Lhasa, and they knew that this policy was going to cause rioting and protests, so they established a curfew for all Chinese. One of the days of curfew was a Sunday, and the curfew was going to prevent several of the church's members from attending services. I went to their homes and was escorting them to church when a Tibetan patrol came through. They thought that I was organizing a protest. I was arrested and nearly put on trial, but Tseten and several other monks along with the head of the Maryknoll organization all spoke for me. I spent two months in a Tibetan jail—which, trust me, was not pleasant—before they exiled me. Since Tibet was still technically part of China, the Chinese government upheld the judgment, so I'm never allowed to return to Tibet or China."
"Damn, Dago…" he looked amused. "I don't think I've known anyone who managed to get themselves exiled from an entire country."
"Yes…well…the penalty for aiding the 'enemy' is death, so I gladly accepted the alternative."
"You didn't answer my question about Tseten, though."
"Part of that exile means that I am prohibited from corresponding with anyone in China or Tibet. Should incoming or outgoing mail be confiscated, that person would be arrested for treason."
"Jesus…" Hawkeye's eyebrows shot up into his hairline as he considered the implications of that statement. "So, really, if you and Danny had stayed friends, you still wouldn't be able to correspond with him because of the…"
"Right."
He was quiet for several minutes, then he looked at me oddly. "Did Tseten know your nickname?"
"Dago Red?" I thought back carefully. "I might have told him the story once, but he never called me by it. He had his own nickname for me."
"What was it?"
"Dhrog-po-po. It was kind of a mash up of 'friend' which is dhrog-po, and 'father' which is po-po. So I was his 'Father Friend.'"
Hawkeye laughed softly.
"Why do you ask?"
"Well, I was thinking…if you wanted…I could write to Tseten for you. Maybe tell him that his 'Dhrog-po-po' is doing well. It wouldn't technically be from you, so he wouldn't get in trouble, right?"
I was genuinely touched by the offer. It had never occurred to me to write to him through a third party.
"Does he know how to read English?" Hawkeye asked in lieu of my silence.
"Yes," my voice was hoarse and I realized I was on the verge of tears. "Hawkeye, it's very good of you to offer to write him for me, but…gosh…I have no idea what I'd say. It's been so long and there's so much I'd like to tell him, so many things I'd like to ask…"
"Well, think about it, Dago. Write up some things you want to say to him, or questions you want to ask, and I'll do the rest." He smiled softly at me.
"You're such an enigma, Hawkeye Pierce," I found myself saying as I swiped at my moist eyes.
"Why do you say that?"
"Every time I think I have you figured out, you do something so out of character that it leaves me with my head spinning."
He laughed quietly and grinned as he got off the cot and knelt on the floor between my legs. "Maybe I like to be an 'enigma,' I like to keep people guessing."
"Yes, but which Hawkeye is the true Hawkeye? The prankster? The lover? The ruffian? The friend?"
"Can't I be all of those things?" He asked quietly as he leaned up and kissed me.
I made a noncommittal noise against his lips, smiling softy.
"You're not easy to figure out either, you know."
"No?"
"No," he laughed softly. "You almost have a Jekyll and Hyde air about you. To the camp you present yourself as shy, naïve, and even a little aloof. But when I'm with you I get to see a whole different side. You're funny and not naïve at all. You've had experiences that most of us can't even imagine—being a missionary, being arrested, being exiled…being with Danny. You're cultured and brilliant and fascinating. You're really one of a kind, Dago."
I could feel myself blushing furiously. "I guess when you put it that way…"
He laughed and claimed my lips again before sobering his expression. "I'm serious about writing Tseten."
"I know you are," I smiled softly. "If I can think of something coherent I want to say, I'll let you know. I can't tell you how much the offer means to me, Ben."
"After reading about your adventures together, I feel like he's a friend of mine, too."
I opened my mouth to respond, but my stomach gurgled loudly. Hawkeye laughed.
"I'm guessing you haven't eaten since lunch?"
I shook my head sheepishly.
"Let's go over to the mess tent and see what we can get them to rustle up, I haven't eaten either."
This time I was able to walk the entire way to the mess tent without assistance, though I was still moving slower than my normal pace. We could hear the drunken tomfoolery of the Swamp as we passed and Hawkeye looked over, trying to peer through the netting to see what his friends were up to without him.
"So, do you know what exactly they're planning to do tomorrow?" I asked as he held the door to the mess tent open.
"Their service? They mentioned turning water to wine, but beyond that I didn't ask." He answered as we looked over the remains of dinner, neither of us asking exactly what was being offered up as food.
I shook my head softly. "Why do you boys always wreak havoc on the rest of us?"
"What do you mean?" He asked, trying to look innocent, though his smirk suggested he knew exactly what I meant.
"The gags you guys pull," I replied incredulously. "Sometimes you really go too far."
"It's just something to do, baby," he told me in a semi-serious tone as we found a place to sit.
"Well, you boys should consider what your jocularity does to the rest of us. More than once Major O'Houlihan has ended up in tears, and Henry is a nervous wreck half the time."
"And what about you?"
I looked over at him to see him eyeing me with a staid expression as he sipped his coffee. "Do you really want to know?"
"Of course I do."
"Sometimes I can look the other way, brush it off, recognize it as the way you boys blow off steam and deal with having to be here…but sometimes it feels really personal, and that's when it's harder to stomach."
"Like the gag with Shaking Sammy." It was a statement rather than a question, but I nodded anyways.
"Yes. Like with Shaking Sammy. And all the times you called me 'Losing Preacher.'"
Hawkeye laughed loudly, nearly falling off the bench, and I looked at him indignantly.
"Hawkeye!"
"You're not serious, are you, Dago?" He asked through a gale of laughter, trying to contain himself as he saw how cheesed off I was. "Haven't you ever heard of Hugh Mulcahy, baby?"
I shook my head, suddenly feeling quite stupid.
"He used to pitch for the Phillies, he was pretty damn good too but he lost more games than he won so they dubbed him 'Losing Pitcher.' I think his record was something like 45-89. Anyways, the point is, I wasn't calling you 'Losing Preacher' because of anything you did; I was poking fun at your name."
I dropped my head in my hand, feeling humiliated. "I wish I'd followed baseball more closely."
He chuckled and brushed his leg against mine, "Come on, babe, you really think I'm that mean?"
"Sometimes I wondered," I admitted shamefacedly.
"Jesus, John," he said with a quiet laugh. "It's a wonder how you could find it in yourself to like me as much as you do if you think I'm so terrible."
"Oh! No! No, I didn't mean it like that, Hawkeye…I just…oh, I'll just shut up now." I covered my face with my hands, wanting nothing more than to crawl under the table and just disappear.
"I can see how you might misinterpret the joke if you didn't understand the reference," he said kindly, amusement still giving his voice a soft lilt. "But I promise, nothing we do is ever intentionally mean. It's all just for a laugh. Except for maybe Hotlips…she's a real pain in the ass."
"Be that as it may," I said quietly as I uncovered my face, least the major overhear me, "she's still human and has feelings, Hawkeye. I know she's 'regular army' to you, but would it kill you to show her a little kindness?"
His expression suggested he was seriously considering whether or not it would kill him and I scoffed, making him chuckle. "No, I suppose it wouldn't… Alright, I'll make an effort to even out my score with her, so long as she gets off my back about regulations and maximum efficiency."
"All I ask is that you try," I said, feeling mildly triumphant.
"You're a bad influence on me, Dago," he said as he took a bite of food and chewed. "Before we…you know…I didn't have a conscience."
"Well, if I've given you a conscience, then my job here in Korea is done."
He laughed and lightly bumped my shoulder with his.
The next morning I was jolted out of a decent sleep by Trapper John as he barged into my tent banging on a metal food tray with a spoon shouting, "Reveille! Reveille! Reveille! Up and at 'em, Holy Man; God waits for no one today!"
I clutched at my side, having sat up too quickly and pulling my stitches. Hawkeye was on Trapper's heels and knocked him hard on the back of his head as he pushed in through the door.
"What's the matter with you?" He sat on the edge of my cot and pulled my shirt up, looking at the stitches.
"What?" Trapper asked innocently.
"You're lucky I can knit a mean stitch." Hawkeye told him, receiving an indifferent shrug. Hawkeye waved him away. "Go play your washboard somewhere else, Spike."
Trapper stuck his tongue out at Hawkeye but retreated from my tent, leaving us alone.
"Sorry 'bout that."
"It's alright. I just wasn't expecting to be heralded awake in such a fashion."
"Try living with him full time," Hawkeye smirked, then put his hand on my knee. "How would you like a shower…or something in the near proximity of?"
"I would love one," I said quite seriously. I hadn't showered since before the trip to the river, and hadn't been allowed to bathe after surgery due to the stitches.
"Good, then get your shower stuff, and come with me."
I eagerly complied and followed Hawkeye to the showers. He moved one of the benches under the row of shower heads then helped me undress before he nodded to the bench, telling me to have a seat. I noticed he was still fully dressed as he came over and turned on the shower over my head. Luke-warm water rained down over me. Hawkeye ran his fingers through my hair, making sure it was thoroughly wet before he tipped my head back a little. I closed my eyes as the water hit me in the face. He turned the water down a little so that it was still running, but barely, then he dug in my kit for my shaving cream and razor, squatting down in front of my as he lathered my face and began to shave me.
I was trying not to smile as I remembered that this was exactly how our strange relationship had begun.
"Déjà vu," he smirked, meeting my eyes and reminding my mind as he rinsed the blade.
"I was just thinking the same thing."
"Did I tell you how much I fantasized about being with you?" he asked softly.
I blushed. "You did?"
"Mm," he hummed in affirmation. "When I realized how I felt about you, all I could think about was kissing you. I even did a little self-abuse trying to picture what it would be like with you."
My cheeks were flaming hot.
"I have to say, you're much better than my fantasy, though you were good there too." He smirked up at me. "Did you ever fantasize about me?"
"Not so much fantasize as much as I drove myself out of my mind trying to figure you out. After I knew that I was attracted to you, I became overly-aware of you. I could always sense whenever you were around me, I could tell whenever you were looking at me, but I knew I couldn't exactly say anything. Especially if it turned out that you didn't feel that way about me…"
"Is that why you lost sleep that night?"
"Yeah," I answered meekly. "What about you?"
"Same reason. I was really disturbed by my attraction to you because I've never…you know… like liked a guy. I thought maybe I was cracking up or something. I couldn't exactly say anything to anyone either. I couldn't talk to Duke or Trap, and I figured you'd be horrified if I made a pass at you. When you actually initiated that first kiss, I was completely blown away. I was convinced you'd never make the first move on anyone, let alone on me."
"I surprised myself with that too," I laughed softly as he finished shaving my face and turned the water back up to full blast.
"I'm glad you did," he smiled as he found my shampoo and started to lather up my hair.
We lapsed into companionable silence as he tipped my head back and rinsed my hair, then grabbed my washcloth and lathered it with my soap. He scrubbed me gently from head to toe, barely grazing the stitches, but murmuring that that area needed to be clean too, then stood me up and let me rinse the soap off before he retrieved my towel from a hook and draped it over my head, rubbing my hair vigorously.
"Hawkeye," I laughed.
He pulled the towel off my head and laughed softly, running his fingers through my mussed hair that must have been sticking up in every possible direction. He helped dry me off, then handed me my robe.
"How's that?" He grinned.
"Much better." I smiled. He leaned in, kissing me quickly and we walked back to my tent so that I could get dressed before we headed to the mess tent for breakfast, followed by Duke's service.
When Duke stepped up to the 'pulpit' it became clear that my wine hadn't been the only thing he'd felt the liberty of taking. He was dressed to the nines in my black cassock, roman collar, and long white Alpha and Omega stole that I reserved for special services such as Easter and Christmas. There was no use protesting it now, so I merely shook my head, remembering what Hawkeye had told me last night: this was all in good fun.
I noted that most of the camp had turned up for his service and tried not to be miffed by the fact that not even a 1/3 of those present now ever showed up to my services.
"Dearly Beloved," Duke intoned seriously, and I stifled my laugh as he used the open lines of a wedding service. "We have gathered here today to give thanks and praise to our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Many of you may be wonderin' why I'm up here instead of Dago Red, but this service is also to recognize him for the glorious work he does here at the Double Natural. Sorry, Red, but I gotta brag on you for a minute."
My face was already turning red.
"We all got our own part to play here in this hell hole, and few of us ever go above and beyond the bare minimum that's required of us. Sure we all pitch in when times are tough, but Dago Red has always gone above and beyond his calling to help see us through the day. Not but a week ago, Hawkeye and me were workin' on a kid who came thru blown to pieces. He went into cardiac arrest right there on the table. Dago literally lent us a hand and helped us with an extrathoracic stimulation of the kid's heart—he pumped the heart with his bare hand…no gloves."
There were murmurs from the crowd and Hawkeye, who was sitting beside me, put his hand on my shoulder.
"Anyways…I realized that this wasn't the first time Red's stepped up to the plate and helped bail us out. He's always there—whether it's puttin' in a fix or helpin' us with surgery—we all know we can count on him. I decided to do today's service because, as well all know, Dago stepped in again the other day and saved Nurse Becky's life when that Korean boy tried to stab her. He stabbed Dago instead. I didn't know Dago real well until recently when I started spendin' more time with him and talkin' to him, but he's a good ol' boy…for a bead jiggler, anyways."
"Finest kind." Hawkeye chimed in beside me.
"Amen!" Someone yelled from the back of the room.
"Well, I hadn't really meant to go on like this, but Dago Red-o, you're our own little miracle worker here, and we just want to say thanks. So, without further adieu, today I want to focus on the miracles of Jesus Christ by recreating one of them I know we'll all enjoy. If my assistant Trapper will join me…"
Trapper emerged from the center aisle, carrying my communion cup like some sort of sacred relic. He, too, had borrowed some of my clerical attire, wearing—appropriately enough—my Eucharistic Chasuble that I wore every Sunday during mass.
Hawkeye leaned over to me, "Before I get blamed, I had nothing to do with them stealing your clothes."
I laughed softly, surprisingly not insulted. I found myself even quite touched that they were going to such lengths for this. It might have been a game or a joke or whatever else they wanted to call it, but the sincerity in Duke's words convinced me that they meant no offense whatsoever. I was beginning to see the Swampmen in a new light.
Next to Duke was a table that had been draped with white linens. As Trapper stood next to Duke, holding the cup, Duke pulled back the sheet to reveal a clear glass of water. I crossed my arms, leaning forward slightly, intrigued to see how they planned to turn water into wine. Duke picked up the glass of water, holding it so that everyone could see that it was plain water. Trapper then held out the communion cup which was a solid white goblet with a golden cross emblazoned on the front. He flipped it over to let the crowd see that it was empty, before he set it on the table, then Duke looked sheepishly at me.
"I'm afraid I forgot that phrase you taught me, Red…would you mind to come up here and bless this glass of water?"
I slowly stood up and went to the table standing somewhat behind Duke. I took his right hand in mine—much to his surprise—positioning his fingers, and whispered the words quickly in his ear before adding, "Say it with me."
"In nomine patris et filii et spiritus sancti," we said in unison as I moved his hand in the motion of the cross over the glass.
He grinned at me over his shoulder and I moved back towards my seat to the cheers of the audience. Hawkeye gently butted my shoulder with his as I sat back down. We focused our attention on Duke who picked up the glass of water and poured it into the communion cup. As Trapper swirled the cup in his hands, Duke spoke in an evangelical tone, raising his hands up to the sky.
"Jesus, we ask that you turn this water into wine and let us drink from the cup of your grace."
I heard Hawkeye snort indelicately beside me at the cheesy prayer.
When Trapper nodded to Duke, Duke took the cup and poured a now red liquid into the drinking glass. There were gasps and cheers from the audience and even my own jaw went slack.
"How on earth…" I was asking in disbelief.
"It's not really wine," Hawkeye murmured to me.
Logically I knew that, but it was still magic and it baffled me.
Duke held up his hands to silence the crowd and picked up a straw, showing the crowd that it was an ordinary straw.
"The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh…" he said as he inserted the straw into the 'wine' and gently blew his breath in, creating bubbles that turned the wine back into clear water. Again, I was befuddled, but impressed. I clapped along with everyone else as Duke and Trapper bowed gracefully.
"Now we'd like to invite you all to join us in the Officer's Club where we'll ask Father Mulcahy to bless the actual sacramental wine and say a prayer."
The crowd filed over the to the officer's club, where several dozen shot glasses had been filled with my sacramental wine. Duke and Trapper moved behind the bar and motioned me to join them.
"Dago, would you do us the honor?"
Though this wasn't exactly how the wine was meant to be used, I felt I could let it slide this time and indulge them.
"If you'll all bow your heads, please…" I spoke to the crowd, who all—including Hawkeye—bowed their heads. "Heavenly Father, in times such as these it is hard to remember that you walk with us each and every day. It is hard to see your work and know your glory. Today—though a little unorthodox—Duke and Trapper have reminded us that, even here in Korea, you still work miracles. Father, as we come together today in communion, let us celebrate you each in our own personal way and rejoice in the friendships we have forged here."
I raised my hand and again drew the cross over the wine on the bar, repeating for a second time, "In nomine patris et filii et spiritus santci. Amen."
"Amen," murmured the crowd. I let Duke and Trapper hand out the wine to the crowd. When the last one was passed out, each of them held their shot glass up to me and as one—as if this had been rehearsed—they said strongly, "To Dago Red." Then they drank.
My eyes stung with tears as I saluted them all in return with my own glass and drank.
"That concludes today's services; unless, Father, you have anything to add?" Trapper asked.
I could only shake my head, my throat too tight with emotion to speak.
"Thank you all for coming."
There were more cheers and hoorahs as some of the crowd dispersed while others went on mingling with each other and even Duke and Trapper continued to play their part by greeting people as they left. Hawkeye came to stand next to me, taking my empty shot glass.
"That wasn't nearly as bad as I expected," he commented.
"No," I sniffed, finally getting myself under control. "No, it really wasn't. I'm quite proud of them…even if they have stolen all of my vestments."
Hawkeye laughed. "They must have ransacked your tent when you were in the shower."
"Probably." I agreed. The two Swampmen joined us about that time.
"Well, what'd you think?" Duke asked with an anticipatory grin.
"I'm very impressed, boys. That was quite fun…but I have to know…how did you do it?"
Hawkeye, Trapper and Duke all laughed at my question.
"What, you mean you don't believe in miracles, Red?" Duke teased.
"It's easy," Trapper said. "We put a little sodium carbonate powder into the bottom of your little goblet, making sure to pack it down so that when I turned the cup over it wouldn't fall out. We added some phenolphthalein indicator solution to the water prior to anyone getting there. When you mix that with the sodium carbonate, it turns the water red like wine."
"And carbon dioxide turns it clear again." Hawkeye added.
"Incredible…how did you know it would do that?"
"It's basic chemistry, Red." Duke grinned.
"Well, well done, fellas. That was terrific…and…thanks. For everything you said, and for doing this today. It really means a lot to me."
"We meant every word," Trapper said.
"Yeah…now, do you mind if we got take this stuff off? I don't know how you stand to wear this, Dago. It's hot and heavy!"
I laughed, teasing them both as I waved them away, "That's the cross I bear."

TBC
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