Title: The Fool Hath Said

Author: sss979

Rating: PG

Warnings: Brief language

Summary: Been thinking a lot about the Catholic schoolboy turned Special Forces soldier.

"There is no God."

Face glanced up, watching with a detached sort of amusement as Cruiser – drunk, angry, and belligerent – continued to give the DaNang Army Chaplain hell. He'd been working on him for the past twenty minutes. Or maybe it was the other way around, and the chaplain was actually working on Cruiser. It was hard to tell who was winning this one. Cruiser had a more convincing argument by far, but what the mild-mannered, soft-spoken, forty-something sergeant lacked in hard evidence, he made up for in calm presentation – something Cruiser had no ability to pull off whatsoever. All Sgt. Wantan had to do was sit back and let Cruiser talk himself in angry circles until he forgot what it was he was saying.

Presently, Cruiser was just getting started on lap ten of this stretch. "You been off this base at all, man? You seen the shit that's goin' on out there? If you were thinkin' you were gonna come over here to Vietnam, gather us all around a campfire, and sing fuckin' Kumbaya, you got another thing coming."

Sergeant Wantan smiled softly. "If I did, I think you might be surprised how many of your own men would join in."

"Lay off, Cruiser," Face pleaded with a deep sigh. His teammate was edgy and itching for a fight. But a chaplain wasn't the best person to pick out of an entire bar full of soldiers, American and ARVN alike.

"No, no, I wanna see this." Cruiser stood up, turned to face the crowd, and called loudly, "Hey, everybody!"

Face straightened noticeably, gripping his glass tighter as he cast a quick glance at the very startled Wantan, then looked back at the man who was calling for all eyes on them. "Cruiser!" he hissed through his teeth. "Will you sit your ass DOWN?"

Too late. All conversation had stopped in all corners of the bar, and all eyes were locked squarely on Cruiser. Face set his jaw and leaned forward on the table, hiding his eyes behind his hand. Leave it to Cruiser to make an ass of himself, and call an audience together to watch it. Sometimes Face hated going out with him in public.

"Our friendly neighborhood chaplain here wants to lead us in a song about world peace and love and good will toward men. And all that shit."

Cruiser's drunkenness, as well as his disdain for both the chaplain and his message were just as audible as the words he spoke. Face glared at him as he sat back down and shot a wicked smirk at the older man, who was turning a deep shade of purple. Clearly, this was not the type of man to stand on a street corner and preach to every passer-by. He was too shy for that. He was definitely too shy to stand up in a bar and sing a cappella to a hostile audience.

"Go ahead, Sarge," Cruiser gestured for him to rise, then reclined comfortably in his own chair.

Face watched silently as the older man stood, put his shoulders back, and turned to face the crowd. It was several long moments of eerie silence before he opened his mouth. The sound that came out was choked – unsure and off key.

"Jesus loves me, this I know…"

A few eyes rolled. Men went back to their drinks. A few of the Vietnamese soldiers gave him an odd look before shaking their heads and turning away. But nobody shut him down.

Nobody joined in, either. Cruiser snickered, sneering at the man's effort with obvious disgust. Face glared at him, hard. He suddenly had the urge to be the one Cruiser tangled with tonight.

"For the Bible tells me so…"

Eyes locked firmly on Cruiser, Face joined the Chaplain's singing with a voice that was significantly more self-assured. "Little ones to Him belong…"

Cruiser's surprise was evident, and he glared back at face. But by the next line, another five or six voices had joined them. "They are weak, but He is strong." Cruiser took another drink, thinking better of any comments that might have been forming in his mind.

Even a few of the Vietnamese knew the tune and words to the chorus, whether or not their meaning had ever been fully explained to them. Aside from those who had quickly gone back to their drinks, most of the bar was in song by the third "Jesus loves me". Face smiled in satisfaction as Cruiser stood and headed away from the table, back to the bar for another drink. He stayed there, perching on one of the stools beside another man who was not joining in.

"The Bible tells me so…"

The silence lingered for a few seconds. Then the men gradually returned to their conversations. The chaplain turned and sat back down, regaining his composure. Face smiled as he watched him. "You know, for a preacher, you don't seem to like the public eye too much."

"I'm not a preacher," the man corrected. He paused, and glanced up, catching Face's stare. "I'm a paramedic. Except the wounds I help treat are a little harder to see."

Face chuckled and took another drink. "You sure talk like a preacher, with lines like that."

"You have a lot of experience listening."

Face's smile turned more knowing as he lowered his head, studying his glass. "You're asking if I'm saved."

"Well, since you put it so bluntly," Wantan chuckled, "actually, that is precisely what I'm asking."

Face hesitated, staring for a long moment at the warm beer in his glass. "I'm what you call a non-practicing Catholic."

He knew by what he'd heard from Wantan so far that he was neither Catholic nor non-practicing. That being the case, he wasn't sure he even understood the concept. Given the "revival and renewal" of the past decades, the only thing most of the chaplains he'd met knew about Catholicism was what their evangelists told them: that they disagreed with nearly every damn thing, from saints to sacraments to baptism and back again. It was a lot of petty arguing to Face, and he never indulged their efforts to set his theology straight. He wouldn't indulge Wantan either, if that was where this was headed.

"A non-practicing Catholic," Wantan repeated.

"Take that for what you will." Face smiled politely and took another long drink.

"Does non-practicing also mean non-believing?"

Face studied him curiously. The question sounded strange to him – perhaps because it had been so long since he'd considered it. He lowered his eyes as he formed his words carefully. "It's hard to know what you believe out here," he admitted quietly. But as he looked back up, a smile crossed his face and he looked pointedly at the man sitting across from him. "But I'm not a fool, if that's what you're asking."

Wantan stared at him for a moment before the reference clicked. Then he chuckled, raising his own glass and offering it for a toast. "Well said, Lieutenant," he commended as the glasses clinked together. "Well said, indeed."

(Psalms 14:1)