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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
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. Thanks for reading.

As Hawkeye told me about the death of his mother, so much became clear about this man. I felt like I understood what drove him at the very core of his being—he'd never gotten over the death of his mother. It is only natural for humans to shift blame externally, and when the circumstances are so far beyond our control, that blame is placed on the highest authority there is: God. Everyone has done it, myself included…
His story wasn't unlike others I had heard before—men and women so overcome with grief that they question their faith, fall away from God, blame Him for the wrongs done to them. They take it as personal insult, wondering why a God who could heal the sick and raise the dead couldn't answer their simple prayers. I, as a representative of God, was left to try and give them answers where the Bible clearly lacked sufficient explanation.
As I quoted Scripture to Hawkeye, I could see that familiar resistance set deep into his features. Even his eyes were closed in a symbolic gesture to pretend that neither I, nor God existed in that moment, but I knew he could still hear me. Slowly, he opened his eyes and eventually—whether he wanted to or not—he was listening to me with undivided attention. Though angry, I could see him trying to give meaning to the words I was speaking.
I knew I was taking a risk, but it was so painfully obvious… "I don't think you're really a non-believer, Hawkeye…I think you're just angry with God, so to retaliate, you deny Him."
I hadn't expected such a violent, physical reaction as he pushed me off the bunk, but I wasn't surprised either. What was surprising, was the emotional breakdown that followed. I expected to him to yell and scream and tell me I didn't know what I was talking about, but I wasn't prepared for this…
Up until this evening, I couldn't recall ever seeing Hawkeye cry. Upset, angry, brooding, belligerent, obnoxious, cocky…those emotions I knew how to deal with, but I felt completely at a loss now as I sat on the floor, watching him lose control. When he began to strike himself, I was afraid he might actually hurt himself. I pushed off the floor and tried to still his hands, getting clocked on the chin for my efforts, but ignoring my pain to try and ease his in whatever way I could.
"Easy, Hawkeye!" I told him as I managed to grab onto his wrists. His face was twisted in such agony that I could feel my own heart breaking in empathy, my eyes watering at the devastating out pour of pent-up emotion. He crushed me in his embrace, clinging to me as if I was the only thing he had left in this world. I held him as tightly as I could from my position.
"It's okay…it's okay…" I repeated over and over to him. I figured I'd done enough damage with my words, I didn't need to add to it. He needed to experience this, to process it, to let himself properly grieve the loss of his mother, and to hopefully get over his grudge match with God.
I don't know how long Hawkeye cried, but the tears cycled through anger, hatred, resentment, sadness, guilt, and finally acceptance. I recognized them by sound alone because I had been there not so long ago… Finally, after a time, he had cried himself out and was just simply holding onto me. I still didn't speak and didn't make any attempt to extract myself from his arms. I just stayed there, listening to the sound of his breath, and waiting.
"Why didn't he save her?"
How many times had similar questions been asked of me? How many times had I wondered similar thoughts in relation to aspects of my own life?
"He did, Hawkeye…" I said quietly. "Maybe not in the way you wanted, but he ended her suffering in this life."
He took a shuddering breath. "I miss her so much…"
"I know you do…but the ones we love are never truly gone. They live on in our hearts and in our thoughts. You have to have faith that when you die you will be reunited in Heaven. You have to believe that she has been made whole again; that she has been given a new life among God and His angels. A life with no more suffering, no pain…"
"It's just…so…hard." He told me through clenched teeth. "I just…hate God so much. I feel like he turned his back on me and just let her die."
"God never turns His back on us, Hawkeye. He is always with us, even when we turn our back on Him. But He loves us so unconditionally, that when we're ready to accept Him, He takes us back into His arms…no questions asked."
I pulled back so I could look at him as I spoke. "Listen, Hawkeye…I hate saying that there's a reason for everything we experience, but there truly is. If you hadn't experienced the illness and death of your mother, you would not have become a doctor. We are shaped by our experiences—good and bad. You took a tragedy and turned it into something good, despite the anger you feel over her death. I'm not saying she died so that you would be a doctor, but maybe that was a byproduct of God's plan for both your lives."
He closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands against his face as he sighed heavily. "I'm not sure I'm ready to forgive God just yet."
"It's okay…you don't have to be." I told him honestly. "The fact that you say that means you're at least no longer denying Him."
He dropped his hands away from his eyes and looked at me strangely for a long moment before he pulled me back down into a fierce hug. "Damn you, John Mulcahy."
I smiled, despite the seriousness of the situation, but managed to sincerely ask, "Are you okay?"
"No…not really." He admitted quietly.
"What can I do?"
"Tell me I'm not nuts. I've never lost it like this before…"
I pulled back a little, looking down at him and kissed him gently. "You aren't crazy, Hawkeye. You've just never let yourself truly grieve her loss. You were too busy blaming God and being angry with Him."
He blew out a breath as he considered what I said. "You make me feel so transparent."
I shook my head, "I just know what that kind of anger looks like. I've seen it in others, and I've been there myself. Eventually it has to manifest itself…or it really will drive you crazy. All it takes is someone saying the right—or the wrong—thing."
He sighed wearily and closed his eyes. "Can we stop talking about this now?"
"Of course." I knew he'd had enough for one night.
"I feel like I'm with a goddamn head shrink."
I didn't take insult, knowing it wasn't meant as one, and I laid back down against his shoulder, running my hand back and forth over his chest. He was quiet and still. After a few moments, I wondered if he might have fallen asleep, but simply closed my own eyes and reflected on the past hour we'd been in my tent.
If I had to describe Hawkeye in one word, it would be 'intense.' He had such intense emotions that half the time I felt shaken by his raw passion. His love, his anger, his sadness…he never did anything half-heartedly, which seemed so strange for someone I considered to be so blasé about life in general. It made me pause in wonder at the sheer depth of his personality, and I remembered even having this conversation with him not so long ago when I'd told him he was such an enigma to me. Boy, did that ever ring true…
"You really think that God would forgive me for everything I've ever done and said about him?"
His question surprised me. "I know He would, Hawkeye…He already has."
He turned on his side, facing me and pressed his forehead against mine, his eyes still closed. "Tell me about your family, Dago."
"My family?" I thought about my own family for a long moment. "There isn't much to tell. My father was an alcoholic—"
"Was?" He interrupted, opening his eyes to look at me.
I shrugged slightly, "He died about 12 years ago."
"Oh…I'm sorry." He said softly.
"Don't be. We weren't close. I was a constant disappointment to him—I didn't play football or baseball, I didn't choose a traditional career, I was quiet and liked books. He doted on my older brother who did play sports, and became a mechanic, and was what my dad called 'a man's man.' My brother is married and has three children that I haven't seen since I was last in San Diego. He and I aren't very close either, but we get along. My mother is a school teacher. She remarried, and she and my step-father live in Fresno. I've never told her about what happened in Tibet. She thinks I went home by choice in order to join the army."
"Where did you go when you got home? Your journal said you went back to San Diego, but didn't return to your church."
"I stayed with my brother for a while, but I knew that I was putting a strain on them by my refusal to talk about what happened, and my waking up in the middle of the night screaming. I went back to the church after that, but—like I said—after about six months I started to come to terms with it and that's when I decided to join the army and go to chaplain school."
"Where was Danny during all of this?"
"North Carolina. I had written to him to tell him I was home so he wouldn't keep writing to me in Tibet. I didn't tell him why, either, and for several months I didn't respond to any of his letters because I was so absorbed in the aftermath of what happened to me, I just wasn't functioning on any level, really. The next thing he knew I was talking about chaplain school, and that first day was the first time I'd seen him since that night in New York. He knew something had happened to me. He knew right away, really. He told me I looked 'haunted.' He needled me again and again to tell him, and when I finally was able to start talking about it, he didn't want to hear it because it made him so angry. I think maybe he felt responsible. Like if he'd been there with me he could have protected me, or that maybe it might not have ever happened."
"Do you think that's why he became so aggressive with you? Because he was so angry about what happened?"
I considered the question carefully for several moments, turning on my back to look up at the ceiling. "I don't know. Possibly, but I think he was just unstable all together. He'd always been aggressive sexually, but it wasn't until then that he started threatening me. I guess really it started in New York and just progressed from there. I don't know, Hawkeye. I've never been able to understand him."
Hawkeye rested his chin on my shoulder as he looked at me. "I think he had an obsession with you."
I gave him an incredulous look, "Obviously."
"No, really," he countered in a serious tone. "I can kind of understand it; maybe not to that extreme, but there've been times over the last few weeks were I've felt completely infatuated with you. There's just something about you. Who knows…maybe it'll drive me crazy too."
"I sincerely hope not."
He laughed softly, clearly teasing about the last bit, but I turned my head to look at him curiously.
"You really felt infatuated with me?"
He nodded, smirking. "Still do."
I sighed and shook my head. "I really don't see why."
"Mmm…" he smiled and found my neck with his lips. "You don't have to see why, but just know… 'My story is much too sad to be told, but practically everything leaves me totally cold. The exception I know is the case when I'm out on a quiet spree, fighting vainly the old ennui, and I suddenly turn and see your fabulous face. I get no kick from champagne. Mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all. So tell me why should it be true that I get a kick out of you. Some, they may go for cocaine. I'm sure that if I took even one sniff it would bore me terrifically, too. Yet I get a kick out of you."
I smiled as he sang the words in his deep, sultry voice against my ear. I laughed softly at his slightly out-of-tune attempt to woo me and nudged him with my elbow, blushing as I told him to, "Knock it off…"
He wrapped his arms tighter around me, crooning more dramatically, "I get a kick every time I see you standing there before me. I get a kick though it's clear to see you obviously do not adore me."
"Hawkeye…" I chortled, pushing him off of me.
He laughed, "What's the matter? Don't you like my singing?"
"Well, I just wouldn't quit your day job, if I were you." I teased.
"Hey!" He laughed in mock offense. "Here I am, singing you a beautiful song from the bottom of my heart and all you can say is 'don't quit your day job?' That's real nice of you, Dago."
I couldn't help but laugh. "You're right, I'm sorry. It was unlike anything I've ever heard before."
"Your praise is overwhelming." He deadpanned, leaning in to kiss me, quieting my laugh as his tongued slipped in my mouth, sensually. I was breathless by the time he pulled back, looking at me with a solemn expression. "Thank you…for letting me lose my mind."
I pushed his mussed hair off his forehead, planting a gentle kiss along his brow. "I told you when you first got here that I'm here to help."
"It's more than that, baby," he said softly. "I haven't told that story to very many people."
I knew what he was saying, that talking about it was difficult because he'd always been afraid of losing control of his emotions, and tonight he finally had. "Wasn't it you who told me not so long ago that we all have a breaking point?"
"I guess I did," he said thoughtfully. "But I'm not the one who ends up in tears, usually."
"There isn't anything wrong with crying, Hawkeye."
"My dad would disagree."
"Mine would have too, but they aren't here and they haven't been through what we have."
He gave a sad laugh as he looked away from me. "At least not what you've been through. Nothing in my life comes close to that, Dago."
"Don't discredit your own suffering, Hawkeye. There's always someone out there who has it worse than we do, but that doesn't mean we have to trivialize what we've endured."
Hawkeye reached across me for my hand, pulling me along with him as he rolled onto his back. I shifted so that I was laying on top of him. I dropped my lips to his as his hands slid around my back, pulling up the tail of my jacket and untucking my shirt from my pants, fingers splaying out across my lower back. His hands were warm against my skin, soft and gentle as they moved down along my spine to the waistband of my trousers. He sucked on my tongue as his hand caressed my backside through my pants.
"Have I mentioned you have a nice ass?"
I blushed. "I don't recall so, no."
"Mmm…well, you do." He said before reclaiming my lips.
I was starting to get that dizzy feeling that I associated with arousal and I pulled back from his lips. "I have to get back to post-op, Hawkeye."
"No, you don't," he countered in a soft, slow drawl.
"Yes, I do." I echoed his tone, stealing a lasting kiss before I pushed off of him. He groaned at the loss of contact and gave me a long-suffering look. "I still want to be there when that boy wakes up."
He sighed and propped his head up on his hand as he turned on his side to watch me tuck my shirt back in. "I guess I can't begrudge some wounded kid for stealing you away… However, I think you should sing me a song before you go."
I looked at him reticently, "Hawkeye, I'm not going to sing to you."
"Why not? It's only fair, Dago. I sang to you." He stood up and blocked the door, crossing his arms defiantly. "Besides, you're the choir boy. You've probably got a much better singing voice than I have."
"I was never a choir boy," I couldn't help but laugh softly.
"Well, I still bet you have a nice singing voice. And don't tell me you don't sing, Dago. It's a requirement as a priest. You have to sing all those hymns."
"That's not so much singing as it is learning to speak lyrically."
"I'm not letting you leave until you sing," he argued, then stepped forward wrapping one hand around my waist as he took hold of my right hand. "Come on, I'll even dance with you."
"Hawkeye!" I laughed in protest as he started humming a random tune, leading me into a slow dance. "Has anyone ever told you're impossible?"
"Once or twice," he smirked, still trying to get me to dance. "Come on, baby…what songs do you know?"
"If I say 'none' can I leave?"
"Nope. Fair is fair." He reiterated.
"You're a hopeless romantic, aren't you?" I asked with sincere amusement, then reconsidered. "Either that or a masochist."
His head fell back as he laughed and he stopped trying to move me around the floor, though he didn't let go of me. When he looked back at me, his eyes were shining with mirth and adoration. "I always feel so different when I'm with you, John. You make me forget we're in the middle of a war."
I wasn't sure what to say to that. I was glad I could make him as happy as he always made me. The words of Perry Como's 'Till the End of Time' filtered into my head, and though I was blushing furiously, I began to softly sing them to Hawkeye.
"Till the end of time, long as stars in the blue, long as there's a spring of birds to sing I'll go on loving you."
His lips curled into a soft, satisfied smile and he pulled me close again, moving his body against mine to the slow rhythm of the song as I sang.
"Till the end of time, long as roses bloom in May, my love for you will grow deeper with every passing day. Till the wells run dry and each mountain disappears, I'll be there for you to care for you through laughter and through tears. So take my heart in sweet surrender, and tenderly say I'm the one you love and live for, till the end of time."
As the last note died away, Hawkeye leaned in and kissed me gently, letting it linger on for several moments before he pulled back. "See? Was that so hard?"
I rolled my eyes and shook my head, making him laugh and he gave me another quick kiss before releasing me altogether. "Come on, baby, I'll walk you to post-op."
It was early morning by the time the boy had woken up. I had managed to doze off in the chair beside his bed, but woke up when I heard a voice ask me, "Did I make it?"
I blinked my eyes open to see him looking at me with that disconcerted look that most patients had after having been put under for surgery, not sure where they were or if they were alright. I sat forward in the chair and placed my hand on his shoulder. "If you didn't make it, then we both have a problem."
He gave me a weary smile as he relaxed back into his pillow.
"What's your name?" I asked, even though I'd already seen it on his chart. I still believed in proper introductions, giving them the chance to tell me about themselves.
"Private Mitchell, sir. Paul Mitchell."
"Nice to meet you, Paul. I'm Father John Mulcahy, I'm the chaplain here."
"Thanks for staying with me, Father. I've never been wounded…I thought I was gonna die."
"Well, you came to the right place to get fixed up, Paul. The doctor's here are the best in Korea."
"Sorry to interrupt, Dago, but it's time to check up on Private Mitchell here and give him some meds." One of the nurses said gently as she came over to Paul's bedside.
"I'll be back later to check in on you," I told the boy. "But if you need anything, just ask."
"Thanks, Father."
I nodded to him and the nurse, then got up, heading out of post-op. The sun was just rising over the hills, hidden behind a thin layer of clouds and shrouding the camp in muted grey tones. It would rain later…
I headed towards the mess tent for breakfast, and was surprised to see Hawkeye sitting outside of the Swamp in a pair of cut off shorts, a bathrobe and his hat, smoking a cigarette as he read my journal. He didn't appear to notice me until I was close enough to enter his peripheral vision.
"Don't tell me you stayed up all night reading that, Hawkeye."
He looked up at me, blowing a line of smoke out of the side of his mouth and smiled softly. "No, I've only been up for about half an hour. Duke has a habit of getting up to take a piss, and he likes to do it right here in front of the swamp, typically. Usually I can fall back asleep, but between him and Trapper's snoring, I couldn't…so I came out here to try and finish your journal. Did that kid finally wake up?"
"He did." I put my hands in my pockets nervously as we looked at one another, neither having much of anything to say, but still enjoying each others presence. "I was just headed over to the mess tent to see if there was anything edible. Would you care to join me?"
"Sure, let me stick this back in my foot locker real quick." He got up, touching my arm as he move passed me and into the swamp. I waited outside for him, turning when I heard the door creak open again, and surprised when he held out my breviary to me. "Here, I've been meaning to give this back to you. I found it a while ago, but with all the damn wounded, I kept forgetting I had it."
"Thanks," I told him kindly, pocketing the book.
"I had fun last night," he said as we walked. I glanced over to see him smirking softly. "I can't get that song out of my head."
"You asked for it," I teased, mirroring his smirk.
"I didn't say it was a bad thing," he countered. "You have a nice singing voice."
I scoffed and held the door to the mess tent open for him, my cheeks flushing in embarrassment at his compliment. We got our trays and coffee and sat down across from each other at one of the tables.
"Chaplain school sounds like it was incredibly boring," he said as he bit into a piece of toast.
"It was intriguing in its own right," I replied. "Mostly it was learning how to minister to those of other faiths, but I pretty much had already done that. I learned a few things, but not much. It was more learning how to counsel those who were shell shocked. There was a lot of psychology involved in our training—teaching us how to recognize who should qualify for a Section 8, and things like that, even though that's not our primary duty here."
"I guess you have more one-on-one contact with them than any of the rest of us," he said thoughtfully. "I mean, we don't deal with the spiritual and emotional crisis's like you do."
"Not as much, no; but even I feel unprepared sometimes to help them. I'm not a psychiatrist, or even a psychologist. I'm just a spiritual leader and counselor. I can listen and give advice and comfort, but I can't help the ones who've gone off the deep end."
"I don't know about that…you helped me last night."
"I would hardly classify that as 'going off the deep end,' Hawkeye. It was overwhelming to see you in such a state, but I didn't feel out of my league in offering you solace."
"Uh oh," Hawkeye said, glancing at something over my shoulder. I turned to look and saw a jeep pulling into the compound with Brigadier General Hamilton Hartington Hammond in the passenger seat. Radar was already rushing up to greet the jeep, with Henry Blake not far behind, still buttoning his shirt. "Looks like they might not have forgotten about that medal of honor after all, Dago."
Sure enough, we watched as Radar led the General and Colonel Blake into the mess tent and over to our table.
"General, let me introduce our chaplain, Father John Mulcahy." Henry said, trying to sound important at the introductions, though the General and I had met on several occasions whenever he saw fit to visit the 4077th.
"Yes, I remember Father Mulcahy," he said as I half stood to shake his hand. "Nice to see you've recovered, Father."
"Yes, thank you, General. How are you?"
"Oh, fine, fine." Hammond seemed to notice Hawkeye for the first time, his face showing great disdain. "Pierce."
"Good morning, General." Pierce greeted with false cheerfulness, just to spite Hammond.
"We'd like to have a little ceremony, Father, in order to present you with a distinguished medal of honor for your act of—"
"That's not necessary, General." I interrupted curtly. I could see Radar, Henry and Hammond all gawk at me in surprise. Hawkeye snorted a quiet laugh into his coffee cup. "I appreciate the thought, but you shouldn't reward my small act when our post-op ward is flooded with soldiers who nearly lost their lives on the front lines."
"Of course we'd like to give them all medals, Father, but they're soldiers, you're a chaplain. They proudly march into battle, but men like you aren't trained to fight."
"I beg your pardon, General, but I received combat training just like those soldiers we operate on. I may be just a chaplain, but we are all part of the same Army. Whether I'm here at a MASH unit, or serving with a platoon, my 'acts of bravery' are no more worthy of recognition than theirs. So you can just keep your damn medal."
I hadn't intended on being so cantankerous, but I was incensed by the fact that a general would try to make a distinction between my duty and the duties of the soldiers who actually fought every day of their lives. When I finished speaking, Hawkeye—and several others who had been watching the exchange—applauded me. The General was red-faced and irate as he turned on his heel and stalked out, with Henry trotting along behind him, trying to profusely apologize. Radar was still standing there.
"Gee, Father, no one's ever stood up to a General like that." He said softly.
I could only shrug, feeling my face turning red in embarrassment. When he wandered off, I met Hawkeye's amused gaze.
"My only regret," he said, smirking. "Is that you got to tell him off before I did."
"I warned Henry," I said, trying to justify my rant.
He chuckled, "Yeah, but I don't think he thought you were serious."
It wasn't long before the General left the camp in a huff and I was called into Henry's office to reap the consequences of my actions. Henry was pacing behind his desk as I stood there, listening to him stutter angrily.
"Damn it, D-Dago; Hammond c-c-came all the way out h-here to g-give you that medal, and y-you go and insult the whole d-damn army."
"I didn't insult the army, Henry" I countered calmly. "I was merely pointing out the fact that my job may be different from that of a soldier, but I shouldn't get recognition for getting wounded in combat. Not that I call what happened combat."
"Why didn't you just t-take the damn medal?"
"Because it wasn't right. Come on, Henry. You and I have been at this MASH unit since it was established. Do you really feel that what I did deserves a medal over all the wounded we've seen come through here?"
"I don't decide who gets a m-medal, Dago; that's up to big wigs."
"Well, maybe my refusal to accept the award will help open their eyes to how unjust their award system is."
"D-Don't hold your breath." Henry sighed. "L-Look, Dago, the award is one thing, but they've promoted you to Captain, and that's not something you can refuse."
He dug around his desk and found a set of captain's bars, tossing them to me. I caught them—much to my own surprise—and looked at the silver double bar insignia in my hand. If the promotion had been for any other reason, I might have been happy to get it, but I still felt indignant and ungrateful for it.
When I left Henry's office, Hawkeye, Duke, Trapper, Spearchucker and several others had started a small football game in the middle of the compound. It was Spearchucker who spotted me as I headed for my tent.
"Hey, Dago Red! We need one more player to even out the teams."
"Thanks, but you guys really don't want me to play, unless you like to lose."
"Ah, come on, Red," Duke said as he, Trapper and Hawkeye all fell in a semi-circle around me. "We're all out of practice, too."
"That's putting it mildly," Painless huffed as he came up and leaned on Hawkeye, breathlessly.
"What's that?" Hawkeye indicated to the captain's bars currently clenched in my fist.
"Oh…" I unfurled my hand and held them out for the boys to see. "They promoted me to Captain."
"You don't sound too happy about that," Spearchucker noted.
"No, not really. They should have given to someone who deserves to be promoted."
"Well, none of us have done much of anything to deserve to be Captain's either," Duke said. "And none of us can even say we've been stabbed to get it."
"Well," Hawkeye spoke up, stepping forward and taking my Captain's bars from my hand. "If any of us degenerates deserve to be called a Captain, I think it's you, Dago."
"Hear! Hear!" Trapper bellowed.
Hawkeye removed one of my chaplain's crosses from my lapel and placed the captain's bars there instead, straightening the collar back out before he stepped back in line with the others and, in his best imitation of a true army commander, called out "Ten-hut!"
Hawkeye, Trapper, Duke, Spearchucker, Painless and the others snapped to attention in front of me. I felt my face redden as others in the compound stopped to see what was going on.
"Company, salute!" Hawkeye called out. In unison, they all saluted me.
I was touched as I noted that they were all quite serious in their recognition and respect. I raised my own hand to salute them in return, meeting Hawkeye's eyes and noting the soft smile on his lips.
"Now that that's settled, you're on my team, Red," Duke said. "You can be our left wing."
They quickly explained the rules of their version of touch football, and what it was I was expected to do as a 'left wing,' defined the goals, then we all got into formation on our respective teams. Painless was the closest guy on my team, and I noted Hawkeye was on the opposite team with Spearchucker.
"Hawkeye and Spearchucker are probably going to be the ones carrying the ball," Painless said to me as Hawkeye's team strategized in a huddle. "And—no offense, Dago—but they'll probably try and run up through the two of us since they know you'll probably just get out of the way rather than try and take the ball."
"So what should I do?"
"Try and get the ball," he said plainly. "You don't have to tackle them or anything, but if you can get the ball, get it. And if you get it, pass it to me or Duke before they get it back."
It sounded simple enough. The other team lined up with Spearchucker and Hawkeye in the middle. The ball was given to Hawkeye, who fell back as his teammates rushed forward. Bandini was my direct opposite and I saw him coming towards me as Hawkeye looped around behind and started running up towards me and Painless, just as Painless predicted. With both men bearing down on me, I had no idea who to focus on, but Painless was shoulder to shoulder with someone else. Just as Bandini made a dive for me, I dodged to the right, narrowly avoiding being caught around the middle by him, and focused on Hawkeye, who was hugging the ball against him. I stood my ground, anticipating him as he ran at me, trying to figure out the best way to get the ball from him, but was knocked to the side by Bandini, who had obviously managed to turn around and come back at me. As the two of us toppled to the ground, Hawkeye jumped over us, running unhindered to score a point. My hip smarted where it had hit the hard ground, but I ignored it as Bandini and Painless both pulled me to my feet.
"Sorry, Red," Bandini apologized sheepishly.
"It's okay. I'm new at this."
"You had me worried there for a second," Hawkeye's voice sounded as he jogged up and lightly smacked the back of my head playfully. "I thought you might actually get the ball from me. Be sure and keep your eyes on him at all times. If he gets you down, that gives me a hole to get through."
"Don't be coachin' my teammates," Duke hollered down the line. "I don't need you fillin' his head with your nonsense. Don't listen to whatever he said, Dago…unless it was good advice, then listen to it."
Hawkeye laughed as he and Bandini jogged back to their side of the 'field' and the rest of us reset our formation. Though they'd managed to score again, they hadn't made the same play. By the time our team finally managed to get the ball, the rain I had predicted was starting to fall, but it didn't seem to be deterring anyone.
The ground was starting to turn to mud, making it more treacherous to run around without slipping. Bandini's lanky, uncoordinated body was hard to hold onto, and several times my feet came out from under me as I tried to keep him from going after whoever had the ball. I had long since shed my jacket, and had even taken off the button down army shirt, leaving me in my typical black t-shirt and trousers. Some of the other guys had stripped down to bare chests, while the rest were wearing army issued olive drab t-shirts. Not one of us was clean. We were all covered head to toe with mud and grim. As disgusting as I felt—and probably looked—I had to admit that I was having fun.
When Hawkeye's team tried to run a play between myself and Painless, we were ready this time. Painless took on his guy, crashing him into Bandini and all three of them went sprawling in the mud as Hawkeye ran up around them towards me. We locked eyes and I saw him smirk slightly as he leaned further over the ball, barreling towards me. I braced myself and Hawkeye's shoulder caught me in the chest, knocking me back, but I managed to grab onto him. He lost his traction on the slick ground, fumbling the ball as he tried to catch himself, but my weight counterbalanced him and we fell into a thick puddle of muddy water.
He was howling with laughter, obviously amused that I had managed to stop the play, and we helped each other to our feet. "I think it's time to call the game," he told the others.
"Why? Afraid Dago's getting too good?" Duke asked.
"Well, that too, but someone's going to break an ankle if we keep playing in this rain."
The game was called, Hawkeye's team was declared the winners, and everyone dispersed to get their shower things, myself included. I didn't typically take my showers with the other boys, so I was astonished by the amount of tomfoolery that went on—towel snapping being the least shocking.
I felt like I had scrubbed my entire body thoroughly at least three times, but I was still finding mud caked in weird places. Several of the guys had already managed to get sufficiently clean and had wandered off, but Painless, Trapper, Duke and Hawkeye still remained.
"Geeze, Dago," Duke said beside me. "Did you get that playing with us?"
He was pointing to my hip and I looked down to see a deep purple bruise beginning to form. "Oh…yeah. Bandini caught me off guard."
"Told you to watch him," Hawkeye grinned as he lathered his hair with shampoo.
"Believe me, I did after that."
"Why don't you come over to the Swamp for cocktail hour, Dago? We haven't had a good day to drink in a long time." Duke offered.
Less than half an hour later, I found myself sitting next to Hawkeye in his bunk in a tent full of inebriated men. I was trying to drink slowly, having no desire to get drunk on their gin martinis or beer, but each time Hawkeye saw my glass get about half full, he surreptitiously filled it back up until I'd lost count of how many full glasses I might have had. I felt my inhibitions starting to slip a little, and I was starting to lean heavier and heavier against Hawkeye. The only good thing about being amongst a bunch of drunks, was that no one noticed how close I was to Hawkeye, or that his arm was currently draped over my shoulder as I leaned against his chest, because most of them were leaning on others for support as well.
When Duke pulled out his marijuana and rolled a joint, the others hooted drunkenly, and I watched as it was passed around the room. When it came to me, I took it and pulled the smoke in before turning my head up to look at Hawkeye. He was watching me closely and smirked softly before he leaned down and pressed his lips to mine, letting me blow the smoke into his mouth just as he had done to me several weeks ago.
He pulled back, grinning. "Gentlemen, we've taught him well."
There was rueful laughter from the others in the room and the joint continued making its way around.
"I love when you get loose like this," Hawkeye murmured in a sultry voice next to my ear so no one else could hear, his fingers lightly brushing down my arm.
"Hey, Dago," Trapper's voice distracted me from my rising arousal and I looked over at him as he drained the rest of his martini and started pouring himself another. "Hawkeye tells me you went to jail."
I nodded and sat up. "More or less, yes. It was a prison in Tibet."
"No shit?" Duke asked. "What'd you do?"
I told them the abridged story about the civil conflict between Tibet and China and the curfew that led to the misunderstanding where the Tibetans had thought I was starting a protest. "I was only there for two months, but believe me…that was long enough."
"Seems like you get into a lot of shit unintentionally," Duke commented, taking a hit off his joint.
"I think trouble just seems to find me."
"What's the craziest thing you've ever done, Red?" Bandini asked.
"I'm not drunk enough to tell you all that," I confessed, raising every eyebrow in the room by my admission.
"Quick, someone refill his drink!" Trapper called out. "That boy needs more alcohol!"
"I'm hardly a boy," I chuckled. "I'm the oldest one in this room. I think I'm actually older than Henry."
"Christ, Red, how old are you?" Duke asked.
"Wait, wait," Hawkeye said, putting a hand on my shoulder to stay my reply. "Try and guess."
"I was going to say mid 30s, but hell…now I don't know." Duke said, scratching his head. The others murmured their agreement.
"41." Hawkeye answered for me.
"Ain't no way you're over 40, you don't have a gray hair on your head."
I laughed, "Yes I do, just not a lot."
They all fell into discussion of age and how their bodies had started to show signs of getting older and my attention fell back on Hawkeye, who was massaging the back of my neck with one hand. I sipped my martini and leaned against him again. He draped his arm back over my shoulder, leaning down close to my ear.
"So what is the craziest thing you've ever done?"
I smirked and looked up at him, "You."
Hawkeye gave a short, quiet laugh, gently butting his head against mine.
"I've got a question for you, Dago," Ugly John spoke for what seemed like the first time. We all looked at him curiously. "Catholics believe in demons and exorcisms and all that crazy stuff, right?"
I nodded, "The Church believes that man can be influenced by evil spirits in two ways: obsession and possession. Obsession is when the person's mind is filled with evil thoughts and temptations—such as murder and sexual deviance. Possession is when the body is physically taken over by demons. Exorcism is the practice of cleansing the body and mind of evil spirits."
"How would you know if someone is possessed?" Trapper asked with intrigue.
"Well, I'm not a leading authority, really. I've taken a demonology course or two, but it's a whole area of specialization that I'm not properly trained in. However, there are signs of demonic possession, such as false beliefs about God and the Devil, confusion, deception and lying, speaking in tongues…things like that."
"Shit, Dago, you better get your holy water, because you just described half this camp." Duke joked.
"Do you really believe in all that stuff?" Hawkeye asked seriously. "Ghosts and demons?"
"I've had several personal experiences with demons," I answered. "It would be a bit silly not to believe in them."
"What kind of experiences?" Bandini asked. They were all edging closer now, eager to hear my stories.
"You won't believe me," I warned.
"I got no reason not to believe you," Ugly John said. "Besides, you're a priest, if you lie, you go to Hell, right?"
I laughed, "I think it would depend on the lie, but I promise I'm not deceiving any of you."
I knew I had their rapt attention so I began to tell them one of my most surreal experiences with spirits.
"In seminary school, I befriended someone who reminds me very much of you all—Danny is his name. He was always looking for trouble and something to get into. One Halloween night, him and I and a few younger boys were talking about spirits and demons—much like we are now—and Danny decided we should go ghost hunting in a nearby graveyard. There was an old cemetery in the middle of town where a lot of civil war veterans were buried. I'd been by the cemetery plenty of times, even walked through it in the daylight to look at the old headstones and such, so I wasn't really afraid of going at night—I was more afraid of getting caught and being punished for being out past curfew."
"Goody two-shoe," Painless teased. The others laughed quietly and I smiled.
"Yes, well, if I had been, I wouldn't have gone along. Anyways, we snuck out of the dormitory and headed to the graveyard. There was nothing truly spectacular about this particular cemetery except that it was old. It had a stone wall that was only about 3 and a half feet high, and heavy wrought iron gates that they never closed. The front of the cemetery was thick with trees, but the back was an open field. There were wide dirt paths that cut through the grave plots. I remember it was really cold that night, but there wasn't any wind, no clouds…the moon was full and bright so it wasn't hard to see where we were going. Well, at the back of the cemetery—where there were no trees, remember—there was this statue of an angel with her arms open and her face turned down as if looking at the grave she stood over. I'd seen it a million times before, from a distance and up close, so I knew exactly what it looked like. As we walked towards the back of the cemetery I happened to glance back at that statue and noticed that it was shrouded in darkness. It struck me as odd because the rest of the field was bathed in moonlight, but the statue was just in this black…cloud, is the only way I can describe it. I didn't say anything but I kept looking at it trying to figure out what was casting the shadow on it and it dawned on me that there wasn't anything that was casting a shadow on it. I remember about the time that I came to that realization I stopped moving. I just sensed an evil presence. The others kept walking and I remember calling out for them to stop. They turned and looked at me and Danny started joking that I was turning chicken, but I insisted that we had to leave. I couldn't stop looking at the statue and the others turned to see what I was looking at…about that time, I saw some kind of black creature sitting on the angel's shoulder with red eyes, looking at the four of us. Danny finally saw it, too. I was already backing towards the front gates at this time, the younger boys were beside me at this point, also eager to leave. Danny, being Danny, wanted a closer look, but he took about two steps towards the statue and said he literally couldn't take another step. He said it was like he was walking into a wall. I told him we needed to leave, I could just feel like something bad was about to happen. The younger boys took off running towards the gates, but I was waiting for Danny, who was still standing there staring at the statue. He finally came back to me and there was this look of fear on his face that I'll never forget and he very quietly and very calmly said, 'Do not run, just walk out of here.' Apparently he felt that same omen I had. We both turned and started walking and this huge gust of wind came from behind us—it literally felt like we were being pushed out of the graveyard. I had the feeling of being perused and I grabbed Danny's arm and took off in a dead run. I remember looking back over my shoulder and seeing that black thing chasing us, but it was weaving its way between the headstones, trying not to be seen. The minute we passed through the gates, the wind died and that feeling of being pushed stopped. We all looked at each other and ran back to the dorm as fast as we could. I could feel that thing following us all the way back."
They were all staring at me, wide eyed, obviously waiting for more to the story.
"Well? What happened next?" Painless asked in suspense.
"We tried to figure out what had happened, and if we'd really just seen a demon. I think the younger boys thought we were trying to pull one over on them but they couldn't explain what they saw. Danny and I went back to the cemetery the next day, but there wasn't any sign that anything had happened. The statue looked the same as it always had, there wasn't an evil presence…nothing. But ever sense then, I've been more…aware of spirits, I guess you could say. Weird things started to happen around me. Danny thinks that whatever was there in the graveyard that night attached itself to me and it's been following me around ever sense."
"Don't you be bringin' any damn demons in here, Dago!" Duke said, looking fearful.
I laughed. "Nothing truly bad has ever happened. It's more like I'm just always being watched by something sinister. I think that's why I never wanted to specialize in demonology. I didn't want more of those things following me around. Weird things happen to priests who study demons and perform exorcisms."
"Like what?" Hawkeye asked.
"Well, I shouldn't really talk about it. It's a bit of a taboo subject in the church."
"Who are we going to tell?" Trapper asked. "The Pope?"
I laughed quietly. "Well, if he asks, you didn't hear this from me… I've heard that priests who study demons often become possessed and obsessed themselves. Rather than exorcising demons, they often invite them into the physical realm. Those who aren't taken over are tormented, sometimes driven insane. Some have died mysteriously, others contract strange diseases or ailments. You'll never find anyone who has studied or practiced exorcisms for more than 10 or 15 years. Anyone who has, is probably obsessed and will do more harm than good."
"You said weird things started happening around you," Painless noted. "Like what?"
"Just little things that stuck out as odd," I replied. "If I was walking down a street at night, the street lamps would go out around me. This happened enough times that I knew it wasn't coincidence. And it wasn't always the same lights, so I knew there wasn't a fault in the line or anything. Things of mine would go missing and I'd later find them in really strange places. When I served as a priest for my church in San Diego, I'd be alone in the rectory and I would hear voices, footsteps, doors open or close…"
"Aren't churches sacred ground though?" Duke wondered. "I didn't think demons could come into churches and such."
"Demons can go anywhere they please, especially churches. What better place to find someone to torment than in a church?"
"What's happened to you here in Korea?" Trapper asked.
"The wounded that come through are enough of a horror for me that I don't think the demon has really felt the need to make itself known here."
"Damn, Red, I really don't want to be alone with you in a dark alley." Ugly John said, getting to his feet. "Who wants to go shoot some pool at the OC?"
Several of the guys accepted the invitation, while others headed off with Painless to play poker, leaving me, Hawkeye and Trapper in the Swamp.
"You know, Dago," Trapper said as he pulled out a beer. "You're a really interesting guy. We all kind of thought Hawkeye had lost his mind when he said he wanted to be friends with you—no offense or anything—but I'm kind of glad we've got to know you more. You always kept to yourself; who knew you had such exciting stories to tell."
"Well, I'm sure if I went around opening conversations with 'Hi, I'm the chaplain and I've got a demon that's followed me around for the past 15 years or so, hope you don't mind.' I'd probably get myself a Section 8 in no time."
They both laughed, and Hawkeye said, "I dunno, that's pretty catchy."
Trapper excused himself to go to the latrine and Hawkeye and I found ourselves alone in his bunk.
"If you kept a journal in seminary, I want to read that next."
I laughed but shook my head. "I didn't bring that one here. Maybe when I make it back to the states I'll mail it to you."
He smiled and drew me into a long, deep kiss; his fingers sliding along my jaw giving me goosebumps as I tingled with arousal. I wanted him desperately. I was still slightly intoxicated and knew my judgment was impaired, but that didn't stop me from trailing my hand down his chest and stomach and in between his legs, squeezing him gently through his trousers and feeling him harden in response. He moaned softly into my mouth, letting his knees fall open a little more.
I rubbed him as we continued to kiss feverishly. I wanted to push him down on his bunk and climb on top of him, but I knew Trapper would be back at any minute. Hawkeye seemed to have the same thought.
"Let's go to your tent," he murmured against my mouth. We both drained our martinis and got up, but Hawkeye paused by Duke's bunk, opening his footlocker and pulling out a couple of pre-rolled joints. He grinned at me as he put them in his pocket. We saw Trapper coming back from the latrine and I looked over at Hawkeye.
"Should we split up so he doesn't get suspicious?"
He nodded. "I'll drag him over to the poker game for a minute or two, then I'll say I'm going to go check up on Travers in post-op, and I'll meet you at your tent."
He kissed me quickly and we both stepped out in the rain that was still falling down, heading in opposite directions. I made my way quickly to my tent, still managing to get mostly wet in the downpour and shivering as I made it inside. I toed off my muddy boots and peeled off my wet clothes, hanging them over the back of the chair so they would hopefully dry out—I felt sorry for whoever had to do laundry this week, I'd soiled two sets of clothes in one day—and then wrapped myself in my robe and a blanket to regain a little warmth. I added some wood to my stove and struck a match to light it, hoping to warm my tent a little. It never ceased to amaze me how the rain could bring on such cool weather no matter how warm it had been.
Ten minutes passed before Hawkeye stumbled into my tent, drenched from the rain. Water was dripping off the brim of his hat and he took it off, shaking his head sending water droplets flying from the ends of his hair. I laughed softly and got up from my desk to help him out of his wet clothes, finding a place near the stove to put them so they would dry out.
"I really hate the rain here," he said as I handed him my towel so he could dry off. He went to my alcohol cache, found the bottle of Jack Daniels I'd given him the previous night, then dug the joints and a lighter out of his wet jacket pocket before he took residence in my bunk, waving the provisions at me with a smirk.
I laughed softly, shaking my head even as I disrobed and climbed into the bunk with him, slipping under the covers to keep warm. He took a swig of the alcohol then handed it to me to hold as he set one of the joints on the shelf above my cot and lit up the other one. He took several drags off of it, then rolled his body on top of mine, kissing me deeply as he breathed the smoke down into my lungs. When he pulled back, he took another drag, then held it to my lips. I took it from his fingers and tried to smoke it properly, just as he'd shown me how to do.
While I puffed, Hawkeye began to rub himself against me. He was hard, which quickly aroused me. The marijuana and alcohol were amplifying the pleasant, dizzy feeling I had and I wrapped my legs around his waist, pressing myself up against him.
"Oh, Jesus," he swore softly, finding my lips and kissing me. I was still holding the bottle of whiskey and the lit joint, so I couldn't hold him as tightly as I wanted, but I still wrapped my arms around his neck. He pulled back with a groan, taking the bottle and drinking before he set it on the shelf as well, then taking the joint and putting it between his lips. "Turn over."
I shivered with anticipation, aching deliciously at the raw hunger in his voice, and did as he told me. I heard him spit in his hand and listened to the soft wet sound as he stroked himself to slicken his member. He ran one hand down from the base of my skull to the small of my back before gently taking my hip to hold me in place as he slowly entered me. Even though I knew how much I would enjoy him being inside me, there was always a moment of pain as my body adjusted to his girth and tried to protest the intrusion. Hawkeye always seemed to enjoy that particular moment—not because of the pain it caused me, but because the tightness gave him so much pleasure.
When he was fully inside of me, he took my shoulders and pulled me up against him, wrapping one arm around my chest while the other took the joint from between his lips and held it to mine. I took a long drag. There was something erotic about being drunk and getting high while having sex. I knew the hangover I would have later would be unpleasant, but everything felt so good right now…
Hawkeye was moving slowly inside of me, kissing my shoulder as he caressed me with one hand, still holding onto the joint like he would a cigarette so he wouldn't drop it or accidentally burn me. There was something different in the way he held me, the way he moved and touched me—though he'd always been gentle, this time I could feel how much he adored me. This wasn't sex, this was love-making at its finest.
He put the joint in his mouth and slid his hand down the length of my body, taking my erection into his hand as he began to lovingly stroke me. I rested my head back against his shoulder and took the joint from his lips, taking a drag as I closed my eyes, soaking up this moment and absorbing it like a sponge.
"Dago?" He asked softly, nuzzling my shoulder.
"Yeah?"
"Would you…if I asked…would you…fuck me?" The question was asked haltingly, as if he didn't know how to phrase it, or was embarrassed for having even thought about it. I had never been the one to penetrate, and had never really considered doing it, so it felt strange now to imagine myself inside of Hawkeye. Strange, but arousing nonetheless.
"I would if you wanted me to," I told him, my voice sounding bizarrely deep.
I felt him shiver slightly, kissing his way up to my ear before he whispered, "I want you to."
He took the joint from me and slowly pulled out of me, sitting back on his heels as he smoked and looked at me from behind his dark-lenses glasses. I turned around to face him, still kneeling and slid his glasses off, setting them next to the whiskey and joint on the shelf before I leaned in and gave him a deep, lingering kiss.
"You like me to go around blind, don't you?" He teased as I kissed along his jaw.
"I just like seeing your eyes. Why do you wear tinted lenses anyway?"
"To drive people like you nuts," he smirked. I snorted in laughter and playfully pushed against his chest, making him laugh softly before he mustered up the courage to ask, "How do you want me?"
"Anyway you want to be," I answered gently, pushing his messy, long, blondish hair off his forehead. He leaned in and kissed me before turning around and laying on his stomach, folding his arms over my pillow. I laughed silently, wondering if he was expecting a massage or sex, but moved down in between his legs. I licked my palm and rubbed it over myself, then sucked on my index and middle finger, leaning over him and gently pressing my fingers inside of him.
"AH!" he yelped. I pulled back abruptly.
"What's wrong?" I asked, worried I'd somehow hurt him already.
"Your damn dog tags are cold!" He said with a laugh. I looked down and realized that they must have brushed against his back when I'd leaned over.
I laughed with him and pulled them and my cross off over my head, leaning across him to set them on my desk before I settled back between his legs bending down to kiss his shoulder. "Better?"
"Much," he smiled and pinched out what was left of the joint, setting the burnt end on my desk as well.
"Ready?"
He nodded, albeit a little tightly and I rewet my fingers before easing them inside of him. He was tight, clenching involuntarily and I kissed the middle of his back, along his spine.
"Relax, Hawkeye," I murmured gently.
"I'm trying…it's not easy."
I chuckled softly. "I know…but I promise it will feel really good."
I could tell he was trying to relax, but he was thinking about it too much so I gently bit his shoulder to distract him.
"Harder…" he encouraged.
I bite down a little harder, hearing him hiss slightly before he grunted in pleasure, relaxing enough to let me slip my fingers a little deeper. He moaned as I flexed my fingers, pushing back against my hand, and I smiled. "See? Told you."
I kept my fingers inside of him for several minutes, gently thrusting them in and pulling them back, feeling him relax more and more as he gave over to the pleasure. He was grunting, moaning, and swearing as he drew himself up on his knees, angling his backside up at me. It was rather a strange spectacle, as I'd never quite been on this end of things and I briefly wondered if I looked this wanton whenever I displayed myself so eager to receive.
"I think you're ready," I told him as I withdrew my fingers, smirking at his protesting whimper.
He looked back at me as I positioned myself, and I held his eyes as I gently pushed myself inside of him.
Hawkeye groaned and tensed around me, and the sensation took my breath away. No wonder he seemed to like this so much!
"Oh….fuck…" I swore, hardly realizing what words were coming out of my mouth as I tried not to cum. I vaguely heard him laugh, though it sounded strained, and he took a deep breath forcing himself to relax again and pushing back to impale himself on my erection. I shuddered as he fully encased my member, my head swimming pleasantly. As good as it felt to be entered by him, this felt infinitely better. I waited a few moments, letting us both adjust to this newness, then began to gently thrust my hips, pushing in and pulling out in slow, steady strokes.
"Fuck…" This time the swear came from his lips and I looked down at him as he clutched my pillow, a look of absolute bliss written across his face.
"Do you like this?" I asked, feeling exhilarated.
"Oh, fuck yes…" He reached one hand back, grasping for whatever part of me he could reach, holding onto the back of my thigh tightly as if trying to pull me deeper into him. "Don't stop, Dago…"
"I don't intend to, Ben."

TBC
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Infatuation