To See You Smile…

A Fic From Father Mulcahy's Point of View

(Set in the year 2001)

My arms were aching, yet still the rosaries came one after the other. Men from the front were dying left and right and I was doing all I could to give all of them their last rites of passage.

"What would we do without you?" Kellye sighed as I prayed over a hysterical soldier. He calmed right at Amen, one of the many plusses of putting all your trust into the Lord's care. Sometimes I felt like all I was achieving was taking up space, it was usually Major Burns that darkened my spirits, but I always got over it as another wounded soldier asked for a few comforting words…

Dear Loving Sister,

It's quiet again on the front, and the Lord has been kind in giving us sunshine. I wish I could be there at the monastery, but duty still calls. It's nice to know that you are depended upon for guidance but not at all responsible for how people use it.

I received the most interesting confession about a week past. It was from a young man, Sergeant Nelson, as it were. As the collar binds, so shall I, however, what troubles me is that I could not console him no matter what I said.

I suppose it was that he was a little homesick and extremely weary, but that couldn't have been all of it. I have been praying for some sort of direction, some small piece of advice that I could convey. If you have any guidance for me, I will gladly accept it.

Before the Grace of God,

Father Francis John Patrick Mulcahy…

"Hiya Father." Radar said. He joined me in the mess tent. I was fasting, however, I found it easier to do so when I was in the midst of all the 'Unique' fragrances that wafted through. He sat down beside me and silently consumed.

"How is everything going, my son?" I asked.

"Same old same old." He garbled through a mouthful of food.

"And how are you?" I asked as Sergeant Nelson sat beside Radar, simply picking at his food. "Not improved, I see." I pondered through watching Radar eat as though he had been famished prior to the mess call.

"Won't it make you sick, eating all that?" Sergeant Nelson asked curiously.

"Naw. I'll just burn it off like I usually do, running my ass off for all of you people."

"You people?" I asked, making sure there was an edge to my voice.

"Uh…" He stammered, embarrassed. "For all the officers and enlisted."

"Yes, well, may I suggest something?"

"Mhmmmm." He replied. I couldn't tell whether that was a no or a yes, so I just decided to leave subtlety at the door and try a more blunt approach with him.

"I don't think gluttony is going to make you feel any better or help you do your work any more efficiently, Corporal." I should have known that my help would be taken for criticism. It usually is, even though my role as a priest screams "no criticism here".

"Who asked you?" He exclaimed. He shoved his tray aside and for the first time ever, dared to look someone directly in the eye. I have to admit that I was quite unnerved.

"Hey, you shouldn't talk to a man of the cloth that way. He's just trying to help." Nelson said, putting a grip on Radar's right shoulder.

"Having a stare down, Father?" Hawkeye asked as he too joined me at the table.

"No. I was just holding a conversation that I shouldn't have held."

"I'm afraid I don't get it, Father."

"Radar is trying to intimidate me." I said. I had to have been wearing a rather weird expression because Hawkeye took one look at my face and began to roll with laughter.

"Why was I stationed with this never-ending group of schmucks?" He mumbled, jerking his shoulder out of Nelson's grip. He got up and left the table, taking his tray along. I must have blushed because Sergeant Nelson began to chuckle.

"I'm really sorry about that, Father." He apologized humbly. "He's just in a funk because Majors Burns and Houlihan got in his face for nil this morning."

"I'll take care of the Majors." Hawkeye offered as he discarded the breakfast he never planned on eating anyway. "Thanks Sergeant. Oh, and between you and me, first names are standard procedure around here. I'm Hawkeye Pierce."

"I'm Keith, but I go by my last name, Nelson." He smiled at Hawkeye. I was pleased to see his problem improving. I noticed the both of them gazing at a young woman as she walked by. She was quite gorgeous, and if it weren't for my sacred vow, I'd have been the first to approach. Her hair was spiral curled, blonde and streaked with bright Manic Panic© red. Major Margaret Houlihan was the most stunning, dramatic woman here (apart from the virgin Mary).

I watched Hawkeye vigilantly as he approached Margaret and beamed one of his thousand watt smiles at her. I was rather jealous. Okay. I was really jealous, and I have never been more ashamed of abandoning, even for a second, the deep spiritual meaning of my role. I got up from the table, deciding I'd go back to my tent. I was beginning to get rather queasy and had no desire to suffer dry-heaves in this awful heat.

There was an awkward silence in my tent; as usual nobody had come for confessions, thus, leaving me to my usual prayers-for-souls routine. I may sound unappreciative for the ones I am lucky to be entrusted with, but there are people dragging themselves around this compound acting like walking open wounds. People that have problems only spiritual guidance could make right.

Enough about me. :-(

I looked at my watch. It was eleven past one and there wouldn't be any wounded for the next three days. The fact that nobody wanted aforementioned spiritual guidance made my journey long and difficult, but I'm sure the creation was no bowl of cherries for God either.

"Father? Oh, I hope I'm not interrupting you."

I turned to see who it was, the voice not altogether familiar. I realized why when I saw that he had been fighting tears, and sanctuary was the only place he'd allow them.

"Hello, Sergeant Nelson." I was rather shocked that he hadn't gone with Hawkeye to greet Major Houlihan, and then again, I didn't really know his nature yet, and it was rather ill-mannered of me to suppose he was like any of the other G.I.'s here. "You aren't interrupting me, my son. How may I help you?"

"I got a letter today, from my father."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" I said, hoping the tears were out of joy, knowing I was wrong.

"No, Father. No." He sat down on the floor, pulling his knees up toward his chest and began rocking back and forth. "My mother... my mother was a saint.. you understand, don't you?"

"Please, continue. Don't be sidetracked by anything you believe will confuse me. The lord has ways of clearing things up for me." Needless to say, I know what he feels.

"She had been given word that I had been killed in combat. She knew I wasn't even in combat... the power of a few senselessly cruel words... she thought she had lost me, father." He began to sob, taking in breaths as he could with all the weight on his chest. I felt so terribly that there was nothing I could do to make it better.

"She couldn't handle it. They held a service for me, she couldn't wait just one more day until my letter came in the mail. She hung herself, father."

What could I have done but stand there? I stood like a totem pole, tall and with a really stupid look on my face. I was horrified, to be quite frank... Er... honest. He wants to hear words of comfort and all I can manage are squeaks and wheezes. I clutched (anxiously) at the crucifix around my neck and approached him.

"What am I supposed to do, father? I don't know what I'm gonna do!!"

"I'm sorry, my son. All you can do is be there for your father."

"I don't know how long he is going to hold on... He's not as strong as he used to be..."

I began to become frustrated with the entire state of affairs. There was nothing I could do for him, and yet I couldn't let him leave this tent without resolution for fear of him making the same reckless mistake. Damn this war. "You need to be as was the Lord in his times of hardship. Have faith in your father, support him and try to speak well of him and of the situation, and he will pull through for you. Just try and get some sleep, Nelson, and you will feel remarkably better in the morning. You have an entire life to live for."

"I guess so." He sniffed.

"Please, I'm begging. Don't let one hard blow knock you down for the count." I was satisfied in that this was the best I had ever done for this sort of situation. I placed a hand on his shoulder and prayed wordlessly for him, repeating the rosary, pleading to Mary for his absolution and guidance.

"God bless you, Father." He said, the tears making his eyes twinkle like Christmas lights. Oh, Lord. I have no idea what I have gotten myself into...

I made my way around camp, feeling sick over Keith's problem for the third day in a row. I should have been pleased that I dissuaded him from doing anything rash.

"What's eatin at you, father?" A soft voice called to me. I turned to find just the sight for sore eyes.

"Ah, Sonar. Just the person I've been needing to talk with." My smile must have been screwed on crooked because she knew right away that I wasn't my cheerful self.

"Well, looks to me like you need to let something out really bad or that face you're making will stick."

"Face?" I honestly didn't know. (Priests are supposed to be somewhat naïve, right?)

"You're making a classic 'I just sat on a long-thorned cactus' face." She smiled at me. I needed to see a genuine smile. I haven't seen one since I last gave an unbroken toy to a Korean girl at the orphanage. She looked like a tiny little pixie... I digress. I felt nearly human when we finally arrived at the mess hall to chat. I always find myself there at the most inopportune moments, but what are moments in a war for but to be inopportune? "Now, talk, Johnny."

She only called me Johnny when she wanted to pry a smile from me. It worked. "I can't be specific because this is a problem with one of my confessionals, but I can tell you that every time I think of it I get sick to my stomach."

"Have you talked to your boss about it?" She asked, glancing up toward the clouds.

"Over and over again, Sonar. I'm sure I'm just not listening hard enough. That has to be what it is. The Lord always speaks loud enough." There was one thing that I knew would make me feel a million times better. I know she wouldn't agree with it, beings as I would have to take my aggressions out on one of the other personnel. I needed a fisticuff. A knock-down, drag-out fight... but who would be a willing contender... well, maybe not willing, but a contender nonetheless...

"I refuse to fight a priest!" Frank whined. "I wouldn't want to hurt a man of the cloth." He mistakenly added. To his dismay, his addition was followed by loud strings of guttural laughter from Pierce and McIntyre. I would have loved to watch Major Burns turn seven different shades of red. "You'll pay for this Pierce!"

"How about we pay after Father Mulcahy beats the daylights out of you?" Trapper asked snottily.

"You think that fighting Irish can beat me, hmm?" He asked, a malicious tone rising in his agitated voice. In unison, Trapper and Hawkeye bobbed their heads yes. Had they bobbed any harder, I'm afraid their heads would have rolled off their shoulders and across the camp. Needless to say, folks, Frank Burns accepted my challenge and began to 'train'. "I'll show you. I'll show both of you yammering twerps!"

Let it be said that Frank Burns has deserved several beatings in his time here at the 4077th, but now he was actually preparing for one. I had great confidence in that he had no idea what he was preparing for.