Title: Thin Red Line
Characters: Father John "Dago Red" Mulcahy and Captain Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Rating: M
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Summary: The Red Scare spreads to the 4077th when a no-nonsense colonel is sent to investigate one of their own.
Author's Note: Based on the characters portrayed by Rene Auberjonois and Donald Sutherland from MASH (1970), the original film production.
In response to persimmon's whump challenge. As always, please ignore any typos. I don't always catch them right away. Thanks for reading. –RW
Minutes began to tick by into hours until Dago had lost all concept of time. Though his tears had dried, and his prayers were now spoken with barely more than a whisper, the pain still lingered at the edge of his consciousness. As he hunched in the corner, Dago was neither awake nor asleep—slipping instead into a mild state of catatonia.
His mind was filled with dreadful thoughts—thoughts that he and Hawkeye would die in this place, or that something even worse awaited them beyond the barbed wire fences. He wondered what more he would endure; what cruelty West would show to him and the others. How many men had been arrested and put here? How many of them had died from exposure, or malnutrition, or injury? How would he and Hawkeye ever get out of here alive?
Dago felt hopeless. Even his faith—which had always been his rock—was little comfort to him now. God could no more save him from this Hell than Henry could. Yet still, the chaplain prayed. He prayed for peace and for guidance; he prayed for mercy; he prayed for anything he could think of, but for the first time in his life, prayer felt absolutely useless.
His prayers gradually died off and his mind quieted, leaving him in a black void. Somewhere in a very deep, dark part of himself, Dago knew that this was what nothingness felt like. This was life without hope—life without God—and he felt himself sinking into a pit of despair. He felt it closing over his head like water, dragging him down into the icy depths…
When the wood plank of a door was finally pulled back from the entrance to the hole, Dago shied away from the faint light that had filtered down from the stairwell as it stung his photosensitive eyes, but he otherwise made no move. Though he'd known he'd only be in the hole for a day, he'd somehow convinced himself that he would die in there, and he wanted to tell the guards to close it back up and leave him there until the job was done. Instead, he got a rough kick to the ribs.
"Get up." The guard grumbled.
Groaning, Dago slowly uncurled his arms from around himself, clawing at the dirt walls to pull himself upright. The muscles in his legs protested under the weight, tingling with pins and needles from the lack of movement over the last 24 hours, but he managed to stay on his feet. Though he was weary and weakened, he followed the guard out of the hole, leaning heavily against the dirt walls and taking the stairs carefully until they reached the top.
The sun was setting and many of the men were milling about the courtyard, stopping to stare as Dago emerged from the hole. He shaded his eyes as he stood at the top of the stairs. For a long moment, the chaplain simply stared at the sun as if he'd never seen it before. It burned his eyes, making them tear up, but he was certain he'd never seen anything quite so beautiful in all his life. As the tears cut wet paths down his dirty cheeks, he heard one of the guards scoff beside him.
"Pissed himself in the hole, now he's crying like a sissy."
"Leave him alone." A familiar voice growled. Dago slowly looked over to see Hawkeye reach up and take his arm, his angry eyes softening as they shifted from the guard to the priest. "Come on, babe; let's get you cleaned up."
Hawkeye slowly led Dago over to the shower stall, where one of the men from their tent brought a towel and Dago's fresh set of clothing. The doctor gently pulled Dago's shirt off of him, mindful of where the linen had become almost glued to the wounds on his back by the blood. Dago winced, crying out softly in pain as the shirt pulled free, and Hawkeye murmured his apologies as he tossed the shirt to the ground and helped Dago out of his boots, trousers, socks and undershorts.
Feeling as though he no longer had a modicum of dignity, Dago sulked his way into the stall and felt Hawkeye reach around him to tug the chain that would let the water fall. As the drops rained down over his head, Dago closed his eyes. The empty, hopeless feeling that had consumed him in the hole was still gnawing at his gut, making him tremble with despair, and—like glass under a hammer—the priest shattered.
Bursting into heart wrenching sobs, Dago sank down to his knees in the stall, covering his face with his hands as he wept in anguish. He turned his face up towards the heavens, water splashing onto his dirty, tear-stained face. "Why have you forsaken me?" Dago cried out to God.
Hawkeye felt his eyes burn with tears of remorse. He had done this to Dago, though certainly not intentionally. A chill ran through him as he listened to the chaplain calling out to his god. There was something…broken…about the way the man sounded, and Hawkeye was at a loss on what to do.
Dago wept until he could weep no more, his breath coming in hiccupping gasps as he'd finally exhausted himself entirely. He was wet, but no cleaner than he'd been before he'd gotten into the stall. Hawkeye finally sank down on his haunches next to Dago and tentatively laid a hand on the man's shoulder, unsurprised when Dago flinched.
"It's okay, babe…it's just me." He murmured. "Let's get you cleaned up so you can get some rest."
Dago nodded and allowed Hawkeye to pull him to his feet, taking a few deep breaths to try and compose himself. "I'm sorry." He whispered, barely audible.
Hawkeye wet a piece of soap and lathered it between his hands. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Dago. I'm sorry I got you into this mess."
Dago winced as Hawkeye gently ran a soapy hand over his tender back. The priest craned his head over his shoulder as far as he could, trying to see his what it looked like, but could only catch a small glimpse of the angry red and purple streaks that lined his back at odd angles ."How bad is it?"
"Some of the cuts are deep…I guess in the places where he hit you more than once. The skin is very bruised, though, so you'll probably be sore for a while… As long as we keep the open cuts clean, they shouldn't get infected…which is what I was worried about." The doctor paused, then quietly asked. "How are your hands?"
Dago gave a soft, humorless laugh as he looked at his hands, blistered and abraded from heaving the pickaxe. The lingering soreness in his palms seemed but a mockery at this point. "I'm sure they won't be what kills me."
Hawkeye glanced up at the priest's sardonic tone. Such bitterness was so out of place for the pious man. It added another knot of guilt in his stomach, and he passed the soap to the chaplain. "Here, babe, wash yourself up; drink a little of the water, too. West made sure we'd all eaten before he released you, so I'm sure he won't do you any favors and you're already dehydrated enough."
Dago opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, letting the water catch and absorb before he tilted his head back and let it collect at the back of his throat before he swallowed. He lathered himself down with the soap, feeling the sting of his sunburn as he rubbed the lather through his hair. As he washed his face, he could feel the scrape of whiskers on his cheeks and chin. Having not shaved since they were taken from the 4077th, Dago knew that soon he'd be almost as unrecognizable as the other men in the camp. Even Hawkeye, who was rarely ever clean shaven, looked unkempt. He supposed, all things considered, facial hair was the least of his problems, and decided to let it go.
Hawkeye handed Dago the towel as soon as he was done rinsing off, and the chaplain gingerly patted himself dry before pulling on the clean set of clothing and his boots, then he docilely followed Hawkeye back to their tent. The doctor reached under his bunk and picked up his own clean shirt, placing it next to the priest as Dago sat on his cot.
"What's this?"
"A bit of food." Hawkeye told him. "I saved my bread from the meals, and some of the other guys pitched in too. If West finds out, he'll probably hang us for it, but…well…fuck him."
Dago unwrapped the small hunks of bread, looking up at Hawkeye and the others, who were hovering nearby. "Thank you…all of you."
Hawkeye rested his hand on the top of Dago's head, gently stroking his damp hair much in the way he would with one of his children, but it somehow felt appropriate in that moment. "Eat up, babe. I'm sorry it's not much."
Dago tore off a small piece of bread and placed it in his mouth, letting whatever saliva he had moisten it so that it became soft enough to swallow without scratching his throat. Hawkeye moved to his own bunk, kicking off his boots as he laid back, propping himself up on one arm. The priest could feel the doctor's curious, and pitying, gaze upon him, and could almost feel Hawkeye's desire to ask what it had been like in the hole.
Breaking the silence between them as he tore off another piece of bread, Dago spoke softly, catching Hawkeye off guard. "You don't want to know, Hawkeye."
Hawkeye carefully spoke, "I have to know, Dago… To see you like this…I can't bear it."
Dago could hear the anguish in Hawkeye's voice. He knew that telling Hawkeye of the experience would only make the burden harder for the other man to bear. Truth be told, Dago just wanted to forget about the hole; about the nothingness that had consumed him…and continued to gnaw at him. He felt a coldness deep in his bones that no amount of heat would ever warm again. God had abandoned him in his time of need.
John Mulcahy had always been steadfast in his faith in God; he'd never questioned God's will or the reason things happened…he'd simply accepted them as part of life. All men had their own trials to endure, tests of faith, winding paths of hardship or suffering. However, he had also never doubted God's mercy and compassion; his promise to never make man bear a yoke that was too much a burden. God had broken that promise with Dago. Had He even heard Dago cry out? Had He heard his prayers? Dago didn't want to believe that God could be so cruel, but why, then, had He not comforted him? That was all Dago had asked for, surely it hadn't been too much.
For the first time in his life, a seedling thought had been planted in his brain, and the roots seemed to reach down into that cold void deep in his gut. There is no God.
Wrapping up the rest of bread, Dago placed the bundle at the end of Hawkeye's bunk, not meeting the other man's eyes as he felt that coldness seeping into his veins. "I'm tired, Hawkeye…I—I just want to sleep."
"Alright, babe…" Hawkeye said in a soothing voice that rolled over the priest like warm honey.
Dago wanted to cocoon himself in the comfort it brought him, and slid his boots off his feet as he gingerly laid on his side, facing away from everyone else in the room. He could feel Hawkeye's gentle gaze on him as he closed his eyes, and it made him feel safe, though he dreaded the dreams that might come to him in the night. Sinking into the exhaustion, Dago gave over to real sleep for the first time since their arrest.
Hawkeye watched Dago sleep for a long while. Now that he was cleaned up, he wasn't sure if the priest looked better or worse. The bridge of his nose where the bone had been broken was swollen and mottled with deep purple, the cut over his lip was scabbed under the stitches he'd put in. From the top of his head to the line of the collar around his neck, the skin was a deep red. Hawkeye, too, was sunburned, though not as badly as the fairer skinned chaplain.
"Hey, Pierce," Williams called, breaking his reverie. "Why don't you come over and play a hand with us?"
Hawkeye noticed for the first time that the other men in the tent had somehow gotten their hands on a deck of cards and Williams was dealing them out in a game of five card stud. Casting another look at Dago to make sure the priest hadn't stirred, Hawkeye moved over to sit next to Williams on one of the bunks.
"Where'd you get the deck?"
"Kep'em in mah boot," Sully said with a deep southern drawl that could have rivaled Duke's. "They never searched 'em, so I got to keep 'em."
"What's with you and the Padre, Pierce?"
"What do you mean?"
"You two just seem a little…close is all."
"We're not lovers, if that's what you're insinuating," Hawkeye said, matter-of-factly as he picked up his cards. "He's like a brother to me—younger, though he's the older one. He's simple and naïve—not stupid, mind you; just…innocent. It's my fault he's here and my fault West whipped him and stuck him in the hole. I'm just trying to protect him…but I've sure done a hell of a job so far."
"Word of advice," Ace offered. "Don't do him any favors. Any of the guards or West see you carrying his stuff around like you did yesterday, they'll make it all the worse for him."
"Don't ever go to West for favors," Zip added. "Here, the best thing you can do is be invisible."
"Yeah, show up for roll call and your work detail, but otherwise don't say nothin'." Mac agreed.
Hawkeye looked at Donovan, the only one in the group who hadn't spoken. "No friendly words of wisdom?"
Donovan held Hawkeye's gaze but said nothing. After a tense moment, Williams spoke up. "Donny doesn't say much these days. Not since West burned his tongue with a brand for asking for water."
"Why doesn't anyone do anything about this place?" Hawkeye asked, throwing down his cards in outrage. "This is like a goddamn concentration camp!"
"Give it up, Pierce; we're traitors…at least in their eyes. Why would anyone care what happens to us? As far as the American government is concerned, this is probably better treatment than we deserve."
"We could revolt. When we're out doing work detail. There's only ever 2 guards at most, we could overpower them and—"
"And then what?" Williams interrupted. "Where would we go? Back to our units? Back to the States? We'd either be turned back over to West or sent to Leavenworth in no time. There's only one word in your permanent file that anyone's going to care about, and that word is Communist."
"I'm not giving up." Hawkeye said resolutely, picking up his cards and silently vowing to himself that he and Dago would somehow walk out of there free men.
Swing. Strike. Pull. Swing. Strike. Pull. Again Dago found himself wielding the heavy pickaxe. This time, however, he'd taken a page from the book of experience and had torn stripes of cloth off his sheet to tie around his hands and help provide some protection against the rough grain of the wood handle.
His back was aching and sore, but the pain kept him from focusing on any one dismal thought for too long. He had to admit that he felt much better after a good night's rest—if he had dreamt, he certainly couldn't recall about what—but there was still an overwhelming sense of despair and hopelessness sitting heavy on the chaplain's heart. He could still feel that empty, cold void deep in his core. More than once he had looked towards the heavens as he'd wiped the sweat from his brow.
Where are you, God? He thought yet again.
"Fall in." The guard called as it approached the lunch hour.
Dago shouldered his axe, feeling the tightness in his arms from his worn and torn muscles. He felt Hawkeye fall in behind him and could feel the other man's body heat radiating against his back as Hawkeye leaned in close.
"You okay, Dago? You've been quiet today."
"I just don't have much to say, I suppose." Dago shrugged, his voice flat.
He felt the other man pull back slowly, obviously taken aback by the priest's indifference, but he couldn't find it in himself to apologize or make excuses. What did they have to talk about, after all? The weather? What they would have for lunch today? What kind of foul mood West would be in? Conversation seemed pointless when there was nothing positive to speak of.
When they reached the camp, Dago put his axe in the shed, then went over to the shower stall were several other men were washing their hands and faces. He waited his turn, unwrapping the bandages from his hands, then washed up before going to their tent for a few minutes rest before roll call. As he wrapped clean strips of cloth around his hands, Hawkeye sat next to him on his cot.
"Are you upset with me?"
"No." Dago said simply.
Hawkeye shifted uneasily. "Then tell me what's going on, Dago. This…this isn't like you."
"How should I be, Hawkeye?" The chaplain shot back with a bristled tone. "Over the last few days I have been beaten, kicked in the face, thrashed, starved, sunburned, and stuck in what felt like a grave. I have been so terrified that I quite literally urinated on myself. I have cried out to God for mercy, and he has ignored my prayers, leaving me wondering at this point if He even truly exists; for if He does, how could he let these horrors happen? Not simply to me, but to all His children—whether it be in this camp or elsewhere. I understand that suffering is a part of life, but not this. This is more than just suffering. This is inhumane, and if this is by God's design then…then I hate Him."
The last part was muttered softly, but there was so much conviction in the words that Hawkeye felt goosebumps erupt on his arms. Hawkeye had always considered Dago to be so strong in his faith that nothing could shake it from him. He'd had his first glimpse of Dago's vulnerability, however, when they'd been in the cell at HQ. To hear the priest now questioning the very existence of his God made Hawkeye feel sick to his stomach.
He didn't know what to say. Never having had much use for God, Hawkeye often mocked those that took their faith too seriously, but for some reason he needed Dago to keep his faith. Hawkeye reached over and gently wrapped his fingers loosely around Dago's still-bruised wrist—the least injured part of his body.
"I'm no expert, babe; but I think it's okay to be angry with God. Maybe if you're angry he'll know you mean business."
"It's not just that," Dago said, sounding ashamed of his admission. "There's so much injustice in this world. I keep thinking about the crucifixion of Jesus, and how God did not intervene in that matter, despite His Son calling out for mercy. If God would let Him suffer…what hope do the rest of us have? If Jesus was sent to suffer and die on the cross, who's to say we weren't meant to suffer and die in this camp? And if that's the case, why should we even try and fight to survive?"
"Because we're not traitors. We don't deserve to be here; no one does." Hawkeye squeezed Dago's wrist. "I'm not going to let you give up—on anything, especially God."
Dago looked at his companion with hollow eyes, but before he could reply, the bell tolled outside. He sighed and pulled his wrist free of Hawkeye's grasp. "Our master beckons."
Hawkeye helped to tie off Dago's bandages before the two of them headed out to the courtyard for roll call. Dago vaguely listened to the guard go down the list of names, muttering when his own was called before falling silent again. When the last name was checked off, however, they were not immediately dismissed. Instead, West stood at the front between two guards, looking over them with disdain.
"Mulcahy, Pierce…you two remain; the rest of you, go to lunch."
Dago's stomach knotted at the words and he felt a cold sweat break out on his skin. What would West do to them now? His mind reeled over the gruesome possibilities as the others scampered off towards the mess tent for lunch. West approached, his eyes narrowed as he looked both men over.
"Follow me."
The two men cast a weary glance at one another but followed the colonel as he headed for his office. As they passed through the door, the back of two heads came into view, sitting comfortably in front of the colonel's desk. The men turned in their seats as West, Hawkeye and Dago entered the room and Dago felt tears well up in his eyes at the sight of Henry and General Hammond. A spark of hope ignited in his chest.
Hawkeye would have kissed both Hammond and Henry had West not been standing there, continuing to lord over them. He could see the anger creasing Henry's face and the surprise in the general's at the sight of their bruised faces and sunburnt skin.
Henry stood first. "You boys alright?"
"In a manner speaking," Hawkeye said, still aware that West was in the room.
"Thank you, Colonel," Hammond said in a gruff voice. "We can take it from here."
West gave a disgruntled glare to each man before he left his office, and Dago could no longer contain his tears, covering his face with one hand as he broke down in front of the two senior officers. Henry came over and placed his hand on the chaplain's shoulder.
"Come sit down, Padre…you look like you could use a little rest."
"Thank you, Colonel." Dago sniffed, gently wiping his nose on his sleeve.
"Tell me you can get us out of here, Henry." Hawkeye asked, once Dago was settled in the chair.
"We're working on it," Hammond was the one to answer. "The CIA's got top level security clearance on this whole operation. I had to pull some strings just to get us some face time."
"I've been in touch with your family, Pierce. Your wife is concerned, of course, but says that so far there has been no contact on her end by the CIA. Padre, I've also contacted the military vicar's office and informed them of the situation. They're doing what they can to contact Rome and hopefully get a papal sanction that will clear you, but in the meantime, General Hammond and I are doing everything we can to bring you boys home."
"Thank you, Colonel." Hawkeye said thickly.
"There's a lot of red tape to cut," Hammond said. "But we're working on it. You boys hang in there."
"That's easier said than done," Dago sniffed sardonically. Hawkeye could see the surprise cross Henry's face.
"I think West feels that the fall of the Nazi's left an opening for a true martinet." Hawkeye told them. "They've just about beaten the faith out of Dago in less than a week."
The chaplain looked up at him without argument, a miserable gaze coming from his haunted eyes. Henry shifted uncomfortably.
"I will get you boys out of here," he said determinedly, "if it's the last thing I do."
The visit had been all too brief for Dago's liking, but when Henry and Hammond left, the hope remained with him. He and Hawkeye stood in the middle of the compound, watching the jeep roll out with their commanding officer. Dago glanced over at Hawkeye and could see the doctor's jaw working nervously.
"Do you think they'll actually be able to get us out?"
"I dunno," Hawkeye said. "I hope so, but if Hammond's right and the CIA's got this place wrapped up tighter than the asshole of a dolphin…I just dunno."
"We have to believe they can." Dago said. "We have to have…"
Hawkeye looked at the priest as he paused, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Faith?"
Dago shrugged meekly.
"So you're not still doubting the existence of God?"
"I don't think I ever really did," the chaplain said quietly. "I was just…bitter. But I still feel angry with Him. I shouldn't…but I do."
Hawkeye put his arm gently around the priest's shoulders. "Come on, baby. Let's go get some lunch."
"Hold it right there, you two." West's voice barked as he came storming towards them. "I don't know what game you're playing at by having those two officers come here, but I won't tolerate this. You are prisoners. You are traitors. And your asses are mine. Do you understand?"
"You're not worried, are you Colonel?" Hawkeye said, dropping his arm from around Dago. "Worried you might have some innocent men in this camp? If you're not, you should be."
"One more word out of you, Pierce, and you'll be sorry."
"Come on, Hawkeye…let it go."
"Stay out of this, Dago." Hawkeye advanced on West. "I've had enough of you bullying everyone. When word gets out how you treat your prisoners, you and Grayson are history."
"Is that so?" West and Hawkeye were now standing toe to toe, a murderous look on each of their faces. Dago instinctively took a step back.
"You're damn right."
West laughed coldly, standing there in front of Hawkeye, then sucker punched the doctor in the groin. Hawkeye doubled over breathless, his hands shielding his privates as he dropped to one knee. Dago winced sympathetically.
"Apparently you are a slow learner, Dr. Pierce." He bent low and grabbed a handful of Hawkeye's hair, wrenching his head back until their eyes met. "Do not toy with me, you twit. The things I have done thus far are nothing compared to the things I could do. There are a thousand ways to break a man's spirit. One way or another I will crush you. And until I do, your friend will continue to suffer with you."
Hawkeye glared up at West who finally released his hair and straightened himself.
"The two of you will spend the rest of the afternoon out here in the courtyard. You will each hold a bucket of water in your hands and hold your arms outstretched. The first man to spill even one drop will spend the next three days in the hole." West smiled wickedly. "It's a little thing I call 'T' Time."
West called for the guards to bring pails of water and Dago helped Hawkeye to his feet.
"I'll drop my buckets first," Hawkeye was saying. "I'm not letting you spend another second in the hole."
"It's okay," Dago murmured. "You're more claustrophobic than I am. I've already been in there. I know what it's like."
"Yeah and I saw you when you came out, Dago…I can't do that to you again."
"Silence!" West called, shoving a bucket into each of their hands. The full buckets weighed at least ten pounds, and Dago knew this was going to be the most physically demanding thing he had ever done in his life. "Even if you drop your buckets, you will remain out here with your arms out until I dismiss you. Understood?"
"Yes, Colonel." Dago answered.
Hawkeye said nothing and West's angry gaze fell on him. Hawkeye glared. "Of course, Colonel."
"Arms up." West called.
Dago sucked in a breath and raised his arms out to the side until they were parallel with the ground and he was in a perfect 'T' formation. He could already feel his muscles shaking from the strain and he eyed the waterline in his buckets carefully, making sure no water spilled over the lip. He glanced to Hawkeye, seeing the Doctor also straining to maintain the position with the added weight.
West gave another wicked smile. "I'll be back to check on you in an hour."
When the two men were alone again, save for one guard who had been ordered to stand watch over them, Hawkeye growled low in his throat. "Dago, you're the leading authority on hell-worthy crimes, right?"
"I wouldn't say leading," Dago panted. "But…why?"
"If I kill West, would I go to Hell?"
Dago thought for a long moment, his arms burning and shaking. "No. I think in this case, it would be justified."
"Good," Hawkeye barked. "Because when Henry gets us out… I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch."
The sun beat down on Dago and Hawkeye as they stood in the courtyard, minutes slowing ticking by. Sweat poured down the chaplain's face and trickled down his back as he struggled to keep his arms up and out straight. The men had finished lunch and had gone back out on work detail, and any minute West would come along to check on them.
"Hawk… I don't know how much longer I can do this." Dago said dryly.
"Me either." Hawkeye said through gritted teeth. "Let me drop mine first, Dago."
"What do you suppose he'll do if we drop them together?"
"I dunno." Hawkeye panted. "I'm sure he'd think of something. Wanna chance it?"
"At this point…what have I got to lose?"
"Alright, when he comes out here, I'll count to three and we drop the buckets."
"Deal." Dago said, his arms feeling as though they were going to fall off.
They waited for West to emerge from his office, then Hawkeye began the countdown. One three, they released their hold on the buckets, which clattered nosily to the ground. West halted for a fraction of a second, surprised, then angered, by their insolence. He advanced on both of them with fire in his eyes.
"So, I see the two of you really are thick as thieves. Well, if you want to do everything together, so be it." West paused for effect. "Take them both to the hole."
Dago felt anxious about being in the hole again, especially with an added body, but if there was any good to this punishment, it was that he wouldn't be alone this time.
The guards took them down, shoving the priest in face first, then Hawkeye in behind him. When the door slid into place, it became obvious just how little room there was in the hole. Dago was pressed against the dirt wall so tightly that he couldn't turn around. Judging by how hard Hawkeye was pressed against his back, he could only assume the doctor was wedged between himself and the door. The darkness surrounded them, cutting off light and sound and everything beyond the hole.
Dago could feel Hawkeye's breath—hot and quick—on his neck and knew the doctor was about to hyperventilate, much the way the priest nearly had the first time he'd been in there. "It's okay, Hawkeye…just take a deep breath."
"I have to get out," Hawkeye said, shifting his body to try and turn around. The movement only further pushed Dago against the dirt wall.
"Hawkeye!" he cried as his cheek scrapped against the wall. "Stop it! Stand still!"
"Let me out!" Hawkeye yelled, his voice reverberating off the walls and piercing Dago's eardrums. He felt his ears ringing, but couldn't move his arms up to clamp his hands over his ears. "LET ME OUT!"
"Hawkeye!" Dago cried out again, feeling himself going deaf from the other man's screams. Hawkeye quieted, but was still panting behind him. "It's okay. Just...hold onto me…you'll be okay."
He didn't know what good it would do for the other man to hold onto him, but he had nothing else to offer the doctor. Still, Hawkeye's arms encircled him tightly, crushing his body even more firmly against his. He could feel Hawkeye wracking with sobs, the tears soaking his shirt where Hawkeye pressed his face against Dago's shoulder. Dago's back twinged in pain at the contact, but he ignored it.
"It'll be okay." Dago said gently. "At least we're together right?"
"Three days, Dago… I can't do this…" Hawkeye sniffled.
"You can; we can. Don't think about it, Hawkeye. Think about something else."
"Like what?"
"Anything... Tell me about your wife."
"Why do you want to know about her?" Hawkeye cried, still clinging to the priest's back.
"Tell me how you met her." Dago said, ignore the doctor's question.
Hawkeye took several ragged breaths, but then started to tell Dago about how he'd met his wife in high school, and how they hadn't started dating until their senior year. Gradually, Hawkeye's hold on him started to lessen, and though the doctor was still very tense, Dago could feel him start to come down from his panic attack.
The priest listened to Hawkeye, prompting him to go on whenever he paused longer than a few seconds. He knew that they would be down here a very long time, but so long as they were talking, it didn't seem like it would be too bad. He felt hungry, and knew he would grow even hungrier, but he couldn't think of that. It felt strange to think that in the past week, Dago could count the meals he'd had on one hand, but he tried not to think of that either.
Hawkeye eventually grew quiet, having come to a natural stop in his story, and he gently rested his head on the priest's shoulder again. "Fuck."
"What's the matter?" Dago asked with sincere concern.
"I gotta piss."
"Oh…" The priest said softly, then sighed. "You're going to have to go eventually, Hawkeye…might as well not hold it."
"I'd rather not have to piss on you, Dago."
"Yes, I would much prefer that, but we don't have much of a choice either."
"Maybe I can…" Hawkeye wedged his arm between them, worming it down between his legs and fumbling with his trousers until he managed to free himself. Dago tried to press himself even further into the wall to give Hawkeye a little more room, then heard the unmistakable sound of urine hitting the dirt floor. He realized Hawkeye must be managing to aim it straight down, and silently thanked him for that. He felt a small jiggle as Hawkeye shook himself off, then the rummaging about as the doctor refastened his trousers with one hand. "Sorry if I splashed you."
"It's alright."
Hawkeye sighed wearily, his breath once again on the priest's neck. "What do we do now?"
"I guess we just…wait."
Another hot breath blew against the priest's neck. "Alright…well…I suppose this is as good time as any."
"For what?"
"For you to tell me how you came to be in the goddamn army in the first place."
TBC