When Hawkeye turned to confront his confronter, however, he found no
disapproving stare, no frown, not even a sad look. The priest had turned
away as Hawkeye stopped speaking, and was settling himself near the only
patient in the post-op who was awake at the moment.
"Good morning, Private Tillman. How are you feeling?" He removed his hat and leaned forward in an attentive posture.
"Oh, just fine, Doc. Err... sir. Father." He spotted the cross on Mulcahy's collar. "Hey, you know your insignia's broken?" He pointed at the equal-armed cross the Hunter had donned. This man wasn't just awake, as Hawkeye began to notice from across the way. He was positively radiating life and activity.
Mulcahy chuckled, "Yes, I know." He glanced at the ceiling with a knowing smile, "He knows what I mean. I'm glad to know you're doing well. You were pretty beat up, coming in here, you know? We were worried. But you look like you're pulling through it just fine."
Hawkeye stood up. Mulcahy wasn't kidding. Hawkeye had been so caught up in everything happening around here, he'd had little attention for the goings-on here in post-op, slow as things were, and as well as the nurses and, he shuddered to think, Frank Burns, had been taking care of the cases that were still here. But this-- this wasn't right. As the priest spoke, the memories re-assembled themselves. This kid had been a wreck. This kid shouldn't be /conscious/ yet, much less sitting up and 'feeling fine.'
"Yeah, I remember... Those snipers came right out of nowhere. I thought I was a goner! Evidently," he chuckled, "I wasn't the only one with that opinion. Oh, hey, Father?"
"Yes, my son?"
"Could I, you know," Mulcahy quirked a brow as he saw a faint blush come over the slight young man's face, and he began to mentally prepare to take confession before the clause was ended: "Talk to the doctor who fixed me up?" The priest halted himself mid-thought.
"Excuse me?"
"I'd just like to meet him-- thank him and all that, you know?"
"Oh. Yes, of-- of course." Mulcahy sputtered, looking out the window briefly and catching the glint of sunlight on a reddened, falling leaf. "I'm afraid he's asleep right now."
No, no, shouldn't be up, shouldn't be fine... certainly shouldn't be talking. Hawkeye rolled the case around in his mind as far as he could recall it. "Asleep right now..." Hawkeye mumbled to himself before a shock of inspiration caused his curiously stooped posture to straighten. "Henry," he concluded in a whisper. That kid he'd been working on when-- Hawkeye should have known, the moment he'd noticed the oddity, that it would have had something to do with him.
The Private frowned, and bit at his lower lip anxiously, making himself look younger than ever, the very essence of a child waiting with impatience for Christmas to come. "Can't you wake him up?"
"Uh-- no, I -- I don't think I should, you see, uh--" Mulcahy faltered for words, lying just not his style.
"He just got out of surgery." Hawkeye cut in, having moved over to the bed frame and lifted up the clipboard hanging there, proving to himself that this was, in fact, the same patient. He pointed with the tail end of the pen he held over to the bed in which Radar was sleeping, "See that guy over there? Made your wounds look like scratches. Henry's been up all night with him. Want me to get him a message from you, when he wakes up?"
Private Tillman shifted under his blankets, his face registering the first trace of discomfort Hawkeye or Mulcahy had seen on him, and, even that, not a look of physical pain so much as a look of mild irritation mingled with embarrassment. "No, nevermind," he spoke curtly, and then retreated under the covers, turning his face aside in a motion decidedly connotative of the fact that the conversation was at an end.
~
"Good morning, Private Tillman. How are you feeling?" He removed his hat and leaned forward in an attentive posture.
"Oh, just fine, Doc. Err... sir. Father." He spotted the cross on Mulcahy's collar. "Hey, you know your insignia's broken?" He pointed at the equal-armed cross the Hunter had donned. This man wasn't just awake, as Hawkeye began to notice from across the way. He was positively radiating life and activity.
Mulcahy chuckled, "Yes, I know." He glanced at the ceiling with a knowing smile, "He knows what I mean. I'm glad to know you're doing well. You were pretty beat up, coming in here, you know? We were worried. But you look like you're pulling through it just fine."
Hawkeye stood up. Mulcahy wasn't kidding. Hawkeye had been so caught up in everything happening around here, he'd had little attention for the goings-on here in post-op, slow as things were, and as well as the nurses and, he shuddered to think, Frank Burns, had been taking care of the cases that were still here. But this-- this wasn't right. As the priest spoke, the memories re-assembled themselves. This kid had been a wreck. This kid shouldn't be /conscious/ yet, much less sitting up and 'feeling fine.'
"Yeah, I remember... Those snipers came right out of nowhere. I thought I was a goner! Evidently," he chuckled, "I wasn't the only one with that opinion. Oh, hey, Father?"
"Yes, my son?"
"Could I, you know," Mulcahy quirked a brow as he saw a faint blush come over the slight young man's face, and he began to mentally prepare to take confession before the clause was ended: "Talk to the doctor who fixed me up?" The priest halted himself mid-thought.
"Excuse me?"
"I'd just like to meet him-- thank him and all that, you know?"
"Oh. Yes, of-- of course." Mulcahy sputtered, looking out the window briefly and catching the glint of sunlight on a reddened, falling leaf. "I'm afraid he's asleep right now."
No, no, shouldn't be up, shouldn't be fine... certainly shouldn't be talking. Hawkeye rolled the case around in his mind as far as he could recall it. "Asleep right now..." Hawkeye mumbled to himself before a shock of inspiration caused his curiously stooped posture to straighten. "Henry," he concluded in a whisper. That kid he'd been working on when-- Hawkeye should have known, the moment he'd noticed the oddity, that it would have had something to do with him.
The Private frowned, and bit at his lower lip anxiously, making himself look younger than ever, the very essence of a child waiting with impatience for Christmas to come. "Can't you wake him up?"
"Uh-- no, I -- I don't think I should, you see, uh--" Mulcahy faltered for words, lying just not his style.
"He just got out of surgery." Hawkeye cut in, having moved over to the bed frame and lifted up the clipboard hanging there, proving to himself that this was, in fact, the same patient. He pointed with the tail end of the pen he held over to the bed in which Radar was sleeping, "See that guy over there? Made your wounds look like scratches. Henry's been up all night with him. Want me to get him a message from you, when he wakes up?"
Private Tillman shifted under his blankets, his face registering the first trace of discomfort Hawkeye or Mulcahy had seen on him, and, even that, not a look of physical pain so much as a look of mild irritation mingled with embarrassment. "No, nevermind," he spoke curtly, and then retreated under the covers, turning his face aside in a motion decidedly connotative of the fact that the conversation was at an end.
~