"Primum Non Nocere" PG, MASH, Mulcahy/Hawkeye UST
Title: "Primum Non Nocere"
Rating: PG for drunkenness
Pairing: Mulcahy/Hawkeye UST
Warnings: Prequel to "First Do No Harm;" drunkenness; some bad attempts at humour; angst;
Summary: One drunken night, Mulcahy shares his feelings with his favourite doctor.
Notes: This was written for scap3goat's birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY! This is the prequel to the last one I wrote you.
Mulcahy sat at the piano at the officer's club and tried to find his way out of the song. He looked up at the empty glass sitting on top of the piano; he was more than a little drunk.
Radar and Nurse Kelley bumped into the bench on which the priest was sitting and waltzed off again. Mulcahy wasn't the only who was a little drunk.
Klinger, BJ, Potter, and Hawkeye were still playing poker in the corner. A few people sat around watching them play. Mulcahy decided to go join the watchers. . . if he could ever find the end of this song. Hawkeye laughed and it sent a little flutter through the priest's stomach.
He knew this was wrong. Men weren't supposed to feel this way about other men. And priests weren't supposed to feel this way about anyone.
But Hawkeye wasn't just anyone.
He had always made time for the priest, even though Hawkeye didn't understand his profession. He had made sure that Mulcahy felt like a part of the group. He had always asked the priest to play poker with them or if he wanted a drink; most assumed that because he was a priest Mulcahy wasn't into those things.
Hawkeye brought Mulcahy out of his daydreaming by plopping down onto the bench beside him. "Hello, Father. What are you doing?"
"Trying to find the end of this song. I thought you were playing poker?" It sounded like a statement, but Hawkeye answered it like the question it was.
"I went out." He stood up and grabbed Mulcahy's glass from the top of the piano. "You are far too sober, Father. Barkeep!" He crossed to the bar and handed the glass to Igor. "Another Scotch and soda and a dirty martini. Extra olives."
"For the Scotch or the martini?" Igor asked.
Hawkeye came back and sat down beside the priest. "You know, you can make up your own ending. I don't think anyone would notice." Mulcahy contemplated this for a moment and ended the piece.
Taking the Scotch, he asked, "What do you need, my son?"
"I just wanted to talk. Is that an option?"
“Of course. I'm always willing to talk to you, Hawkeye.” The couple got up from the piano bench and found a table near the jukebox. They watched in silence as Nurse Kelley tried to teach Radar a dance. It was quite possibly the jitterbug, but Mulcahy wasn't exactly a competent dancer. In his entire life, he'd only been asked to dance three times: once in junior high by Patrica MacLaine, at his senior prom by Mary Katherine Peterson, and once by a British Army nurse who wanted to dance with someone who wouldn't get the wrong idea.
Mulcahy sighed and turned to Hawkeye. “I'm sorry, my son, but I'm afraid I haven't been paying attention.” Hawkeye smiled.
“It's alright, Father; I've not said anything important.”
PNNPNNPNN
Some time later, Igor kicked the priest and doctor out of the Officer's Club. Everything was painted in a dull pink haze. Mulcahy leaned heavily on the giggling Hawkeye. He was telling a story about his time in med school, but the priest couldn't follow the twists and random tangents it took.
Still giggling, Hawkeye opened the door to the priest's tent and walked in as if he belonged. He draped himself over the priest's chair and Mulcahy sat on his bed.
“You know, Father, you're the best friend I have,” Hawkeye slurred. “I know I pretend it's BJ, but he's not been here the whole time. He's not been here as long as you and I have. He's...a half-timer! But not as much as Charles is.”
“Thank you, Hawkeye,” Mulcahy said, blissfully encased in the pink haze of drunkenness. “I think of you as a friend, too. I love spending time with you and hearing what you think.”
“I love you, too,” Hawkeye replied, giggling the entire time.
“Hawkeye, that's not what I said,” Mulcahy said. He was on the border of being angry and he wasn't sure why. It had to have been the drink that made him continue. “Even if it is true.”
“Father and me, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S--”
“Hawkeye!” the priest chastised. He had meant it. Mulcahy knew it was wrong; against everything he had every learned and preached. But he loved Hawkeye Pierce. “Stop making fun of me. I have feelings you know.” The doctor giggled harder.
“I love your sense of humour.” Hawkeye climbed to his feet, leaning a bit to the side as he did so. After finding his balance, he leaned over and pressed his forehead against the still sitting man's. “Promise me something, Francis.” It would've been comical in other situation, but Mulcahy didn't laugh. “Promise me that you won't forget me. No matter what! Even if we move far, far away and the war has been over for decades!”
“I promise,” the priest replied solemnly. Hawkeye's face lit up and he staggered out of the door with a little wave. As the door swung shut and the sound of footsteps receded, the man continued, “I won't forget the best thing I never had.”
Rating: PG for drunkenness
Pairing: Mulcahy/Hawkeye UST
Warnings: Prequel to "First Do No Harm;" drunkenness; some bad attempts at humour; angst;
Summary: One drunken night, Mulcahy shares his feelings with his favourite doctor.
Notes: This was written for scap3goat's birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY! This is the prequel to the last one I wrote you.
Mulcahy sat at the piano at the officer's club and tried to find his way out of the song. He looked up at the empty glass sitting on top of the piano; he was more than a little drunk.
Radar and Nurse Kelley bumped into the bench on which the priest was sitting and waltzed off again. Mulcahy wasn't the only who was a little drunk.
Klinger, BJ, Potter, and Hawkeye were still playing poker in the corner. A few people sat around watching them play. Mulcahy decided to go join the watchers. . . if he could ever find the end of this song. Hawkeye laughed and it sent a little flutter through the priest's stomach.
He knew this was wrong. Men weren't supposed to feel this way about other men. And priests weren't supposed to feel this way about anyone.
But Hawkeye wasn't just anyone.
He had always made time for the priest, even though Hawkeye didn't understand his profession. He had made sure that Mulcahy felt like a part of the group. He had always asked the priest to play poker with them or if he wanted a drink; most assumed that because he was a priest Mulcahy wasn't into those things.
Hawkeye brought Mulcahy out of his daydreaming by plopping down onto the bench beside him. "Hello, Father. What are you doing?"
"Trying to find the end of this song. I thought you were playing poker?" It sounded like a statement, but Hawkeye answered it like the question it was.
"I went out." He stood up and grabbed Mulcahy's glass from the top of the piano. "You are far too sober, Father. Barkeep!" He crossed to the bar and handed the glass to Igor. "Another Scotch and soda and a dirty martini. Extra olives."
"For the Scotch or the martini?" Igor asked.
Hawkeye came back and sat down beside the priest. "You know, you can make up your own ending. I don't think anyone would notice." Mulcahy contemplated this for a moment and ended the piece.
Taking the Scotch, he asked, "What do you need, my son?"
"I just wanted to talk. Is that an option?"
“Of course. I'm always willing to talk to you, Hawkeye.” The couple got up from the piano bench and found a table near the jukebox. They watched in silence as Nurse Kelley tried to teach Radar a dance. It was quite possibly the jitterbug, but Mulcahy wasn't exactly a competent dancer. In his entire life, he'd only been asked to dance three times: once in junior high by Patrica MacLaine, at his senior prom by Mary Katherine Peterson, and once by a British Army nurse who wanted to dance with someone who wouldn't get the wrong idea.
Mulcahy sighed and turned to Hawkeye. “I'm sorry, my son, but I'm afraid I haven't been paying attention.” Hawkeye smiled.
“It's alright, Father; I've not said anything important.”
PNNPNNPNN
Some time later, Igor kicked the priest and doctor out of the Officer's Club. Everything was painted in a dull pink haze. Mulcahy leaned heavily on the giggling Hawkeye. He was telling a story about his time in med school, but the priest couldn't follow the twists and random tangents it took.
Still giggling, Hawkeye opened the door to the priest's tent and walked in as if he belonged. He draped himself over the priest's chair and Mulcahy sat on his bed.
“You know, Father, you're the best friend I have,” Hawkeye slurred. “I know I pretend it's BJ, but he's not been here the whole time. He's not been here as long as you and I have. He's...a half-timer! But not as much as Charles is.”
“Thank you, Hawkeye,” Mulcahy said, blissfully encased in the pink haze of drunkenness. “I think of you as a friend, too. I love spending time with you and hearing what you think.”
“I love you, too,” Hawkeye replied, giggling the entire time.
“Hawkeye, that's not what I said,” Mulcahy said. He was on the border of being angry and he wasn't sure why. It had to have been the drink that made him continue. “Even if it is true.”
“Father and me, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S--”
“Hawkeye!” the priest chastised. He had meant it. Mulcahy knew it was wrong; against everything he had every learned and preached. But he loved Hawkeye Pierce. “Stop making fun of me. I have feelings you know.” The doctor giggled harder.
“I love your sense of humour.” Hawkeye climbed to his feet, leaning a bit to the side as he did so. After finding his balance, he leaned over and pressed his forehead against the still sitting man's. “Promise me something, Francis.” It would've been comical in other situation, but Mulcahy didn't laugh. “Promise me that you won't forget me. No matter what! Even if we move far, far away and the war has been over for decades!”
“I promise,” the priest replied solemnly. Hawkeye's face lit up and he staggered out of the door with a little wave. As the door swung shut and the sound of footsteps receded, the man continued, “I won't forget the best thing I never had.”