Knock, knock, knock.

Startled, Father Mulcahy turned toward the door.

"Come in." He quickly turned back to the letter laid out before him, and with a flourish, put on the finishing touches. A glance back at the tall frame entering the tent, careful to close the door before the harsh winter wind could invade the small space, and Father Mulcahy set down his pen. "BJ, what a pleasant surprise. Come in, sit down."

BJ hesitated. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, not at all. I was just finishing a letter to my sister."

"The Sister?"

"The very one." A hint of a smile crept unto the older man's face as he motioned BJ to take a seat. "What can I do for you?"

BJ squirmed, holding his gaze with the Father's eyes.

"I wasn't sure who I could -- I thought maybe Hawkeye, but he -- can I ask you for a favor, Father?"

Father Mulcahy blinked his eyes, nodding slowly.

"I thought maybe I should have Radar call up Sidney --"

"Freedman?"

BJ nodded. "I -- I think I may have a problem. It hasn't been going on long, but that's why I came here. I don't want it to go on long. I figured, you being a priest and all, you could help me." BJ paused, staring for a moment at the confused face of Father Mulcahy, edged with worry. Quickly, he stood up. "Maybe I shouldn't have -- I'm sorry for your time, I'll just--"

"BJ?" The young man turned around, hand on the door. "As a priest, anything you come to me with must remain confidential. I can offer advice, help to the best of my ability, but it is strictly against the code to reveal anything to another man."

BJ slowly made his way back to the chair.

Gently, as comforting as he could manage, Father Mulcahy broke the silence that started to set in. "What is it, BJ?"

BJ looked around the tent for a moment, before he closed his eyes. Leaning back in the chair, arms folded in front of him, he answered, eyes still closed. "A little over a month ago, just before Christmas, I was on duty in Post Op." His eyes fluttered open as he angled his face towards the man sitting calmly before him. "It was a night shift, and during the lull we had. Only a patient or two. I told Nurse Kelley she could leave, I'd be fine on my own.

"Earlier that day I got a letter from Peg. Telling me about all the new things Erin could do. Eat with a spoon, that sort of thing. How she learned to say 'Mommy', but couldn't -- couldn't say 'Daddy'." BJ swallowed, and after a moment started up again.

"I was alone in Post Op, and the patients were asleep. The rest of the camp was asleep or passed out after a night in the Officer's Club. I got to thinking about home, and Peg, and the war, and Erin -- everything I was missing."

Father Mulcahy, brow knitted in perplexity, nodded encouragingly for BJ to continue.

"I was rearranging a few of the surgical supplies, for something to do, and thinking at the same time, just feeling worse with each thought, and before I knew what was going on I -- it wasn't on purpose, but I --" A shuddering breath and BJ cut off, dropping his head into his hands.

Father Mulcahy, startled at the rare moment of vulnerability the young man was showing, reached a hand out in comfort. Startled, BJ jerked his head from his hands, face relaxing when he realized who it was.

Worried, Father Mulcahy carefully said, "Go on."

"I --" BJ shook his head, and, after a moment's consideration, added, "I think it's best if you see for yourself."

BJ brought himself to his feet, and began to take off the parka that was standard for many in the camp with weather so cold. Dropping the coat to the floor, he sat back down and began to roll up his sleeves. Father Mulcahy gasped.

"BJ, what --" Father Mulcahy gingerly ran a finger over the bandages covering the other man's arms. "What happened? I couldn't -- are you alright?"

As he rolled his sleeves back down, BJ just nodded, solemn. "The cuts are healing, just fine, and, in one case, the stitches are doing their job."

"This is all from --" Father Mulcahy ran a hand through his hair, his other arm motioning.

"No. It's happened a few more times." BJ dropped his gaze. "I worry it may be a problem. No, that's not right, it's already a problem. I just don't -- it could become habit, and I worry --" Helpless, he shut his mouth.

"Hawkeye and Major Burns, they haven't noticed?"

BJ shook his head. "Frank's too concerned with himself, and it's surprisingly easy to keep something like this a secret. I don't think Hawk's noticed anything, the shifts he's been working have just been taking too much out of him."

Father Mulcahy grimly nodded. "May I ask you --"

"Why? I'm not sure, actually, but it seems like it helps. That pain, the pain I get when I think of all the death around this place, or when I think of my family and how I should be home with them, it stops whenever I -- it goes away. I don't feel anything, and it gets to be so much nicer, feeling nothing instead of that pain." BJ bite a lip. "But it doesn't solve anything, and it could really do some damage. I'm not an idiot, I know what I'm doing to myself. I -- I had to tell someone and I figured you --"

"I think I understand, a bit." Father Mulcahy stood up, and leaned over to where BJ's parka lay on the floor. Handing it to the frightened man, he added, "When I was younger, a man I once knew told me of a child he met with a similar problem. He said the best thing a person could do was be there for the other man." He hesitated. "BJ, it's not -- it's not suicidal, is it?"

"No. I -- it's not. It may seem like it, but it's not."

"I'm glad to hear that." Father Mulcahy lowered himself back into his chair. "I must admit, I'm not sure what to do exactly, but I will help. I could have Colonel Potter call for Sidney, if you wish. Tell him it was for a man I talked to in confession, and leave it at that."

"I'd be grateful if you did."

"Next time, please, come and get me. Maybe with another person there, you won't have to -- well, maybe another person to talk to will help. Perhaps talking to Hawkeye or writing your wife about this may help."

BJ stood, pulling his parka back on as he looked down to where Father Mulcahy sat, wringing his hands. "Father? You -- thank you. For listening. And for your help. It means a lot to me."

"Of course, any time. Promise me, next time you'll come and get me? Come talk to me?"

"I promise." BJ smiled, and turned to leave the tent. "I think I may go find Hawkeye now. He'd want to know if -- maybe he can help. If you'll tell me when that call to Sidney gets through --"

"I will."

"Thank you, again, Father." That said, BJ pushed open the door, made his way through, and quickly closed it before the harsh wind could reach Father Mulcahy.

Biting his lip, the older man turned back to his letter, head swirling with thoughts, and muttered, "God speed."