Hawkeye Pierce stood speechless a moment over both the Private's recovery
and his odd mood swings. When he looked up again, he found himself the
object of the intense, unsettling scrutiny of the Hunter-Priest.
It was strange. On the surface, it seemed as though of all the people in the camp affected by this rash of supernatural activity, Father Mulcahy had changed the least. He didn't require blood for daily sustenance; the sight of iron didn't cause him to faint with fear. But in that look he had there was a complete reversal of man. Those qualities which had heretofore been predominant: awkwardness, uncertainty, that constant searching for a place to be useful and needed; all these were pushed to the background. Emerging in the forefront were qualities Hawkeye had seen in the priest from time to time, but which had always disappeared before they warranted more than a passing quip and to be forgotten: a previously arcane sureness of spirit that Hawkeye could be appreciative of when he failed to remember its source. And its result.
Hawkeye turned his head, unable to stand it for long. He was halfway back across the ward when, "Hawkeye?" sounded behind him.
He paused, then continued, not looking back, taking long, slow steps back to the foot of the bed in which the Pooka seemed to have stabilized a bit. "What?"
The animosity wasn't lost on Father Mulcahy, but he steadily approached Hawkeye's side, anyway. "What really happened to him?" he asked, looking down over the creature with his forehead slightly furrowed in worry, knowing full well by now to recognize the shaggy monster as their sometime dependable, oftentimes endearing company clerk.
"Why don't you just leave him alone, Father, you've done enough already."
"Hawkeye... I'm only trying to help."
"Help him, huh? That's a laugh. You've made it only too clear you'd just as soon see Radar--" His voice clogged up around the name of his archnemesis: Death. But the sentiment was clear.
"Hawkeye, I would never--"
"You would never. You would never? You already did, remember? Meg, short cute kid who was through here a while ago? Remember her?"
"Short cute kid who was over half a century old? Hawkeye, there are reasons--"
"Colonel Potter's over half a century old; should you off him, too, while you're at it?"
"That's not what I meant, and you know it. Look, Radar's getting better..."
"You call THAT getting better?"
"Meg was completely unrepentant."
"Well so are half the people in this camp! Including yours truly."
"Radar saved you. After I asked him to."
Silence. Father Mulcahy had evidently hit upon a nerve. He continued.
"Had Meg been in Radar's place... had she stolen a part of you... a part of your soul away to feed on... Hawkeye, I'm certain I wouldn't have been able to talk her back out of it, to make her help you back to life, like Radar did. And yes, the answer is yes, if I had found Radar to be of similar spirit... I would have..." He trailed off, the thought of how easy it would have been lingering with him, but the words nearly too horrible to speak.
But he steeled himself. "I would have killed him." He lifted his chin firmly, his eyes sparking behind his glasses. "And if you disapprove of that, Hawkeye... well, if I only did my job to meet with your approval, I wouldn't be doing it for the right reasons."
Hawkeye Pierce cursed the priest, then, like he'd never cursed anything before. Not outwardly, not in words, but a genuine appeal to whatever powers might be out there that Father Mulcahy and all the goddamned sense he made be cursed forever.
Outwardly, he looked up, and tried to smile. "They're human, Father. Remember that. And humans are flawed. All humans... even those who have angels whispering in their ears."
The goat bleated and Father Mulcahy turned his head to one side a fraction of an inch as he felt the afterimage of a cool tongue in his ear. He straightened his head again, however, and the doctor and the priest stared each other full in the eyes. Mutual points taken. They turned to the task at hand.
"What really happened to him?" Mulcahy started over.
"I don't know. I found him outside the swamp... Frank was yelling at him and he was nearly passed out, obviously in pain... but I can't see anything... physically... wrong with him."
Mulcahy looked down, focusing his vision back onto the monsterous visage. On closer inspection, a long, ovine ear appeared to be slightly torn. The frothing at the monster's mouth seemed to be tinged pink, and a dribble of red ran down from one of its -- his, Father Mulcahy corrected himself -- nostrils. The bear-thing seemed to be busy with some sort of activity, while the dragon-bird, "Bantelhopp-- Qotenmatch--" Mulcahy muttered out loud, recalling the names he'd heard once, looked up to him and squawked a painful-sounding note.
"Gesundheit..." Hawkeye replied slowly, confused.
Mulcahy looked up and blinked heavily once, then lightly a few times. "Oh. No, the uh... little beasts there..." he pointed.
"He definately seems to be in pain, but... not any physical pain, a kind of pain to the creature that lies inside him."
Radar gritted his teeth together and groaned aloud, his arms flying up to cling to his teddy bear. Hawkeye immediately leapt into action, pushing Father Mulcahy back and positioning himself between the Hunter and the Changeling.
"What did you do to him?" He demanded angrily.
"I-- I don't know! Nothing!" He looked over Hawkeye's shoulder toward the ailing Radar with such a look of concern that Hawkeye couldn't accuse him any further. He sighed and patted Father Mulcahy's shoulder, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell." He bit his lower lip and looked across the ward to Private Tillman, who was peeking over furtively. "We should take Radar into the O.R... we probably don't want to be caught with our supernatural pants down." He nodded over in Tillman's direction.
"I'll go get a corpsman..." Mulcahy nodded, and he ran off.
Hawkeye headed towards the familiar doors to the O.R., where Sidney had taken up post during the conference with the Private, and had remained throughout the other confrontation.
"You okay, Hawk?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be fine."
~
It was strange. On the surface, it seemed as though of all the people in the camp affected by this rash of supernatural activity, Father Mulcahy had changed the least. He didn't require blood for daily sustenance; the sight of iron didn't cause him to faint with fear. But in that look he had there was a complete reversal of man. Those qualities which had heretofore been predominant: awkwardness, uncertainty, that constant searching for a place to be useful and needed; all these were pushed to the background. Emerging in the forefront were qualities Hawkeye had seen in the priest from time to time, but which had always disappeared before they warranted more than a passing quip and to be forgotten: a previously arcane sureness of spirit that Hawkeye could be appreciative of when he failed to remember its source. And its result.
Hawkeye turned his head, unable to stand it for long. He was halfway back across the ward when, "Hawkeye?" sounded behind him.
He paused, then continued, not looking back, taking long, slow steps back to the foot of the bed in which the Pooka seemed to have stabilized a bit. "What?"
The animosity wasn't lost on Father Mulcahy, but he steadily approached Hawkeye's side, anyway. "What really happened to him?" he asked, looking down over the creature with his forehead slightly furrowed in worry, knowing full well by now to recognize the shaggy monster as their sometime dependable, oftentimes endearing company clerk.
"Why don't you just leave him alone, Father, you've done enough already."
"Hawkeye... I'm only trying to help."
"Help him, huh? That's a laugh. You've made it only too clear you'd just as soon see Radar--" His voice clogged up around the name of his archnemesis: Death. But the sentiment was clear.
"Hawkeye, I would never--"
"You would never. You would never? You already did, remember? Meg, short cute kid who was through here a while ago? Remember her?"
"Short cute kid who was over half a century old? Hawkeye, there are reasons--"
"Colonel Potter's over half a century old; should you off him, too, while you're at it?"
"That's not what I meant, and you know it. Look, Radar's getting better..."
"You call THAT getting better?"
"Meg was completely unrepentant."
"Well so are half the people in this camp! Including yours truly."
"Radar saved you. After I asked him to."
Silence. Father Mulcahy had evidently hit upon a nerve. He continued.
"Had Meg been in Radar's place... had she stolen a part of you... a part of your soul away to feed on... Hawkeye, I'm certain I wouldn't have been able to talk her back out of it, to make her help you back to life, like Radar did. And yes, the answer is yes, if I had found Radar to be of similar spirit... I would have..." He trailed off, the thought of how easy it would have been lingering with him, but the words nearly too horrible to speak.
But he steeled himself. "I would have killed him." He lifted his chin firmly, his eyes sparking behind his glasses. "And if you disapprove of that, Hawkeye... well, if I only did my job to meet with your approval, I wouldn't be doing it for the right reasons."
Hawkeye Pierce cursed the priest, then, like he'd never cursed anything before. Not outwardly, not in words, but a genuine appeal to whatever powers might be out there that Father Mulcahy and all the goddamned sense he made be cursed forever.
Outwardly, he looked up, and tried to smile. "They're human, Father. Remember that. And humans are flawed. All humans... even those who have angels whispering in their ears."
The goat bleated and Father Mulcahy turned his head to one side a fraction of an inch as he felt the afterimage of a cool tongue in his ear. He straightened his head again, however, and the doctor and the priest stared each other full in the eyes. Mutual points taken. They turned to the task at hand.
"What really happened to him?" Mulcahy started over.
"I don't know. I found him outside the swamp... Frank was yelling at him and he was nearly passed out, obviously in pain... but I can't see anything... physically... wrong with him."
Mulcahy looked down, focusing his vision back onto the monsterous visage. On closer inspection, a long, ovine ear appeared to be slightly torn. The frothing at the monster's mouth seemed to be tinged pink, and a dribble of red ran down from one of its -- his, Father Mulcahy corrected himself -- nostrils. The bear-thing seemed to be busy with some sort of activity, while the dragon-bird, "Bantelhopp-- Qotenmatch--" Mulcahy muttered out loud, recalling the names he'd heard once, looked up to him and squawked a painful-sounding note.
"Gesundheit..." Hawkeye replied slowly, confused.
Mulcahy looked up and blinked heavily once, then lightly a few times. "Oh. No, the uh... little beasts there..." he pointed.
"He definately seems to be in pain, but... not any physical pain, a kind of pain to the creature that lies inside him."
Radar gritted his teeth together and groaned aloud, his arms flying up to cling to his teddy bear. Hawkeye immediately leapt into action, pushing Father Mulcahy back and positioning himself between the Hunter and the Changeling.
"What did you do to him?" He demanded angrily.
"I-- I don't know! Nothing!" He looked over Hawkeye's shoulder toward the ailing Radar with such a look of concern that Hawkeye couldn't accuse him any further. He sighed and patted Father Mulcahy's shoulder, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell." He bit his lower lip and looked across the ward to Private Tillman, who was peeking over furtively. "We should take Radar into the O.R... we probably don't want to be caught with our supernatural pants down." He nodded over in Tillman's direction.
"I'll go get a corpsman..." Mulcahy nodded, and he ran off.
Hawkeye headed towards the familiar doors to the O.R., where Sidney had taken up post during the conference with the Private, and had remained throughout the other confrontation.
"You okay, Hawk?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be fine."
~