He should have answered the knocking that came on the rattling wooden door
of his tent with a shout of "Come in!" in such welcoming and eager tones as
to melt the heart of anyone who heard it. Three days ago, with near
invariability would this message be shouted out by the priest who'd then
scuffle about to make things pleasant for whomever his visitor might be.
But not tonight.
Instead of straightening the covers on his cot, neatly arranging the bible on his table, and making sure that everything was presentable, Father Mulcahy turned to face the door, crouching a bit into a defensive stance, and asked loudly, "Who's there?"
Irene's face poked in through a tiny, widening crack in the door. "Safe in here?" she asked jokingly.
Mulcahy nodded pensively and stepped back, "Yes."
"Oh, good," Irene breezed in, a breeze acompanying her as well, making one edge of her thick Korean dress flicker, and the tent turn cool. "I'm to tell you there's a truce on, anyhow, and so there won't be any more of that fiery sword of yours." With these words she'd drifted over to in front of him and bapped an index finger lightly on the tip of his nose.
"Colonel Potter's orders," she added, lifting a hand as a pledge of honesty when he looked at her a little distrustfully.
He nodded, "All... all right." He was trying to broach some subject with her, but wasn't exactly sure how to go about it.
She tilted her head, and frowned thoughtfully as she tried to read him. The tent was quiet as she awkwardly turned her lifted hand between them and quickly, nearly before he could see her do it, bit it, lifting it for him to drink from again. By all rights the first level of the bloodbond should have made him receptive to the second.
But instead the priest bristled back in disgust at the display, wincing away from the welling blood that flowed slowly from her wrist down into her palm. Not that he'd never seen blood before; far from it. But this, this was different... this was tempting. But he steeled himself, both against going forward and going back, and frowned at her in disapproval.
"Irene," he began softly and sternly, "I appreciate what you were trying to do last night. But I will not-- will NOT-- drink... that."
The wound closed up as if his words had willed it to. Irene, surprised, could only try to get her thoughts together a moment. "The bond didn't take," she finally concluded.
Mulcahy shook his head, "God has offered me a safeguard from your... bond." He was struggling for his own words, but finally ended up repeating hers. "But that doesn't mean," he added, reaching forward and putting a hand on her shoulder, "That I'm not grateful."
Irene lowered her eyes in contemplation, "Are there more of your kind in the world, Father?"
Mulcahy shook his head sadly, "I don't know."
"If there are--" she smiled, and looked up into Mulcahy's eyes, "What am I saying? Even if there aren't, God has given the Kindred a formidable enemy."
She lifted a hand to lift Mulcahy's chin as his self-deprecating nature tried to assert itself, "But just remember, Father," she added, "who your friends are."
Mulcahy nodded shakily, then with more confidence, and a faint smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Tr--"
"Irene."
Mulcahy smiled more easily, "Thanks, Irene."
Irene shook her head with a bright and cheerful manner that nearly made the priest uneasy. "Don't thank me just yet, Padre."
At his confused and somewhat wary look, she flitted over to his table and picked up the bible that was open there, tucking it under arm before he could utter a word of complaint. She tilted her head with a look of urgency on her face and beckoned him with the hand that held the bible as she stood by the door. "Come on!" she urged.
"Wh-- what--?" Mulcahy stammered, then his tongue froze in place altogether as the door opened on a cluster of people standing quietly, solemnly in the compound, hats in hands, where applicable, who all turned to look at him as he was being herded out of his tent. There wasn't a smile in the crowd, and the silence was unnerving, especially as his eyes rested on Hawkeye, who graced him with an especially devastating look.
The dour-looking Captain stepped forward, and took the Father's hand in a firm shake. Smiling irascibly, he turned to look where there stood a half- splintered wooden cross in the dirt of the compound, drawing the chaplain's attention to it, as well.
"You're on, Padre," was all he said.
~
Instead of straightening the covers on his cot, neatly arranging the bible on his table, and making sure that everything was presentable, Father Mulcahy turned to face the door, crouching a bit into a defensive stance, and asked loudly, "Who's there?"
Irene's face poked in through a tiny, widening crack in the door. "Safe in here?" she asked jokingly.
Mulcahy nodded pensively and stepped back, "Yes."
"Oh, good," Irene breezed in, a breeze acompanying her as well, making one edge of her thick Korean dress flicker, and the tent turn cool. "I'm to tell you there's a truce on, anyhow, and so there won't be any more of that fiery sword of yours." With these words she'd drifted over to in front of him and bapped an index finger lightly on the tip of his nose.
"Colonel Potter's orders," she added, lifting a hand as a pledge of honesty when he looked at her a little distrustfully.
He nodded, "All... all right." He was trying to broach some subject with her, but wasn't exactly sure how to go about it.
She tilted her head, and frowned thoughtfully as she tried to read him. The tent was quiet as she awkwardly turned her lifted hand between them and quickly, nearly before he could see her do it, bit it, lifting it for him to drink from again. By all rights the first level of the bloodbond should have made him receptive to the second.
But instead the priest bristled back in disgust at the display, wincing away from the welling blood that flowed slowly from her wrist down into her palm. Not that he'd never seen blood before; far from it. But this, this was different... this was tempting. But he steeled himself, both against going forward and going back, and frowned at her in disapproval.
"Irene," he began softly and sternly, "I appreciate what you were trying to do last night. But I will not-- will NOT-- drink... that."
The wound closed up as if his words had willed it to. Irene, surprised, could only try to get her thoughts together a moment. "The bond didn't take," she finally concluded.
Mulcahy shook his head, "God has offered me a safeguard from your... bond." He was struggling for his own words, but finally ended up repeating hers. "But that doesn't mean," he added, reaching forward and putting a hand on her shoulder, "That I'm not grateful."
Irene lowered her eyes in contemplation, "Are there more of your kind in the world, Father?"
Mulcahy shook his head sadly, "I don't know."
"If there are--" she smiled, and looked up into Mulcahy's eyes, "What am I saying? Even if there aren't, God has given the Kindred a formidable enemy."
She lifted a hand to lift Mulcahy's chin as his self-deprecating nature tried to assert itself, "But just remember, Father," she added, "who your friends are."
Mulcahy nodded shakily, then with more confidence, and a faint smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Tr--"
"Irene."
Mulcahy smiled more easily, "Thanks, Irene."
Irene shook her head with a bright and cheerful manner that nearly made the priest uneasy. "Don't thank me just yet, Padre."
At his confused and somewhat wary look, she flitted over to his table and picked up the bible that was open there, tucking it under arm before he could utter a word of complaint. She tilted her head with a look of urgency on her face and beckoned him with the hand that held the bible as she stood by the door. "Come on!" she urged.
"Wh-- what--?" Mulcahy stammered, then his tongue froze in place altogether as the door opened on a cluster of people standing quietly, solemnly in the compound, hats in hands, where applicable, who all turned to look at him as he was being herded out of his tent. There wasn't a smile in the crowd, and the silence was unnerving, especially as his eyes rested on Hawkeye, who graced him with an especially devastating look.
The dour-looking Captain stepped forward, and took the Father's hand in a firm shake. Smiling irascibly, he turned to look where there stood a half- splintered wooden cross in the dirt of the compound, drawing the chaplain's attention to it, as well.
"You're on, Padre," was all he said.
~