Chapter Text
'Dear Sis, as I'm sure you've heard by now, the war has been declared over. I'm sorry I haven't had the chance to write you yet. As it stands, I haven't had much time for anything these past days. I've reached the States, but I'm afraid that's the only good news I have for you, for now at least. I am currently writing to you from a hospital in California for injured veterans. The last thing I'd want is to worry you, but I figured if you hadn't heard anything... Well, hopefully I'll be all better soon, can't wait to see you in Philly, may God guide me there soon, your brother, Francis.
P.S. Since I now do have the time, I've also written to some friends, and left your address for them to forward their replies, as I'm hoping I won't be here long enough to receive them. I'll call you when I'm recovered, and on my way.'
Francis Mulcahy sat on his bed, in the cubicle, curtained off from the rest of the ward he had been placed in. He tapped his pencil on the clipboard holding his letter, then shook his head. He folded the paper and set it on the small bedside table. There was a small stack of envelopes, filled and addressed with similar letters to the friends he'd made during his service, and one to his parish, telling them he would unfortunately not be returning to lead them. He'd saved Katherine's letter for last, but found he was out of envelopes. He would ask a nurse for another and to send it with the rest later.
Sister Theresa had noticed almost instantly that something was wrong, and begged him to seek help for the ringing in his ears. It still hadn't stopped. From the moment he woke up after being hit, it hadn't stopped. A horrible droning that muted every sound around him, he wanted to hate it and the stubble dusting his chin. He wanted to be angry with Sister Theresa for sending him away when there was still so much to do. He wanted to weep for the Korean soldiers he'd nearly lost his life saving, who were senselessly killed soon after. He couldn't even find it in himself to be happy that the war had ended, he couldn't feel anything. It was as if his emotions were also being drowned out by the horrible sound in his ears. He wanted terribly to feel anything.
At dinner time, he was given a meal only slightly better then those he'd gotten used to in the mess tent, bought to him in bed on a melamine tray. As the nurse handed it to him, she picked up a chalkboard from his table. 'How are you feeling tonight, Father?'
He looked up at her and forced a smile. "Oh, not very fatherly I'm afraid, but I suppose I'm fine for now. Ah, is there any word on when they'll be treating me?" He watched her face, he'd began to pick up on some words here and there when trying to read lips. He couldn't stop his shoulders from falling when he noticed the word 'sorry' before she began to wipe the board clean and write on it again.
'Not sure, administration says you are not a high priority, sorry.' A small frowning face was drawn in the corner.
Mulcahy sighed. "Yes, of course. I understand. Uh, could you have someone deliver these for me please?" He reached for the stack of envelopes. "And maybe get me some more envelopes if that's no trouble." She nodded and took the papers from his hands, tucking them under her arm, she wrote out one last note for him.
'Sure thing, Father. Eat up and get some rest.' The frown on the little face had been smudged away and replaced with a smile. He thanked her as she returned to her cart, filled with meals for the other men in the ward. He stared at the chalkboard, the kind a child might use in school to practice handwriting. As he couldn't hear unless the speaker was very close and fairly loud, the staff at the hospital had instead chosen to communicate with him by writing out messages. He might be able to hate the little board. It reminded him something was wrong.
BJ Hunnicutt sat on the sofa with his daughter in his arms, reading a picture book to her. "Duck-ings!" She cooed over the pictures as he turned the pages.
"That's right, baby, Mr. and Mrs. Mallard are going to hatch their ducklings in Boston. You know, daddy has a friend in Boston?" He said, pointing at the illustrations of the city. When he was away from home, all he could think of was his family, now he found thoughts of his friends he'd made.
"See the duck-ings?" She asked, clutching at his shirt with excitement.
He nuzzled against her little head, and she giggled as his mustache tickled her. "Oh, of course, Erin, if we go see daddy's friend we'll all go birdwatching." This pleased the little girl, and she allowed him to continue with the story. Together they read through a stack of books Peg had said were Erin's favorites. BJ had been excited to let her tell him about all the things she liked that hadn't made it into her mother's letters.
When Peg came home from work, he greeted her with a hug, and lead her to the couch (where Erin had decided to take her afternoon nap) so he could take her shoes off for her. "Aw Peg, we had such a great day together. When I got her outta bed, she gave me this cute little wave and said 'Goo morning daddy!', and then we played around with her little toys, and she showed me her books, we did Ducklings, Doolittle, Madeline and her rescue-" She smiled and pulled him into her lap.
"Sounds like you two were awful busy, BJ." He chuckled and maneuvered himself between his wife and the arm of the couch. He pressed his head to hers, and they turned to watch their daughter sleep. "Hospital call you back yet?"
"Nah, not yet, but they said it might take a couple weeks. I think I'm gonna go over to the VA in the morning though, I hear they could use some volunteers. I think doing some good would... y'know, do me some good." He held Peg's hand in his. He had been unable to shake the feeling since returning home that he wasn't doing enough to help anymore, he loved being able to reunite with his daughter, and spend his first days home with her, but it made him feel selfish, knowing there were many others unable to do the same.
"I think that sounds real neat, BJ, and when you get back, the three of us can go out for dinner, hm?" She ran her fingers through his hair, tucking a strand behind his ear. He grinned and nodded.
"Let's let Erin pick where we eat, I already know what you like, I wanna see what she likes. See her eat again." He laughed." What a little pig! She didn't eat like that before!"
Peg stretched out and leaned into BJ's chest. "She didn't have teeth before, darling." They sat and chatted together, content to share the space after so long separated, until Erin awoke from her nap demanding a snack.
Francis Mulcahy stood in the middle of a field, still in his hospital gown. Everything was unnaturally still, no breeze on the trees or grass. He began to walk, compelled in some way, forward, until the camp came into view. It was familiar, but off. There was still no movement to be seen, no jeeps or choppers, no people at all for that matter. Just empty tents.
He tried to call out, but found himself unable to speak. Before he could panic, he found relief in the faint sound of singing coming from the OR. He made his way towards the noise, picking up lyrics as he grew closer.
"If you want the old battalion,
I know where they are, I know where they are, I know where they are..."
He pushed the door open to find an empty room. The sound of the singing grew louder, drowning out even his steps as he turned to leave the building. A shape in the distance offered hope. He ran towards it, the frame of a person becoming clearer as he approached. It was a man, and Mulcahy fell to the ground as soon as he recognized him.
Henry Blake stood before him, a placid grin on his face. His burned face. His uniform was waterlogged and dripping, filled with holes that showed all his burned and shredded skin. He held a hand out as Mulcahy sat trembling on the ground. His mouth didn't open, but his grin spread, uncomfortably and unnaturally wide, yet the song came louder from him somehow. "If you want to find the chaplain, I know where he is, I know where he is-" His charred hand curled, pointing a grisly finger to his left.
Henry's voice got louder with the rest of the haunting music, and Mulcahy had to cover his ears, squeezing his eyes shut and scrambling to pull himself up and run from the distorted form before him.
The sound increased as he ran, he stopped, out of breath, and opened his eyes, to see himself, in his dress uniform, pinned to a wooden cross, giant bullets serving as the nails holding him in place. He cried silently as the singing overwhelmed him. Behind the cross he saw a crowd forming, warped and torn faces, that he recognized as belonging to those he'd given last rites to. The forms walked towards him, unmoving mouths repeating their terrible song. "If you want to find the chaplain, I know where he is-"
Mulcahy sat upright in his hospital bed, panting, his face wet with tears and his throat hoarse. A nurse stood by his bed with a hand on his shoulder, she tapped his chalkboard and handed it to him. He motioned towards the small lamp on his table, and she switched it on for him so he could read it. 'Please try to keep it down, the other patients need to sleep.'
"Oh. Oh I'm- I'm sorry, I didn't even realize I-" He was trembling, unable to shake the dream. "Do you mind if I keep my light on? I think I'd like to... to read from my Bible." She nodded, the curtains around his bed would block the light from the other beds enough that it would not be an issue.
The nurse left, and he picked up the book, running his fingers along the rosary beads he used to mark his pages. He reached for his glasses, and with them, his clipboard and pencil.
'P.P.S. I've just had a very frightening dream. You said in a letter once that your fiancé's name was Joseph, if he happens to have a particularly colorful coat, I think it would be a great help if I could speak with him about it.
Mulcahy found himself unable to sleep after his nightmare, he stayed up, switching between his Bible and adding more to his letter. He sat exhausted on his bed, waiting and hoping he would finally be treated today.
Another nurse came by, it was rare he'd have the same one twice, and picked up his chalkboard to write a message. 'New volunteer doc today, said he wants to take your case.'
Mulcahy perked up. "Oh! Oh that's wonderful, thank you!" She nodded and waved to someone who stood beyond the curtain walls of his cubicle.
He could see she was talking with them, but couldn't make anything out. When he saw the tall, lab coat-clad man step into sight, his jaw dropped. "BJ! But how-"
BJ talked, gesturing wildly with his hands, he smiled at first, but his expression quickly changed to one of worry. He looked to the nurse, who simply passed him the chalkboard and walked away. He stood holding the board, staring at it and shaking his head. He set it down at the foot of Mulcahy's bed, and gave him a hug.
Mulcahy felt his stiff body melt into his friend's arms, he felt tears roll down his cheeks, and let out a sigh. It was as if the hug had released a switch, as all the emotions he hadn't been able to feel came to him at once. "I suppose I don't need to tell you I haven't been doing very well."
BJ rubbed and patted his back. He spoke carefully, not so loud the others in the ward would hear, but loud and clear enough that Mulcahy could hear him. "I'm so sorry, Father."
Mulcahy recoiled, pulling himself from BJ's arms. "Please, don't call me Father anymore. I hardly deserve the title, just- Just Francis is fine..."
BJ sat on his bed. "I'll call you whatever you like, Francis, but you can't say you don't deserve your priesthood."
Mulcahy turned his face away. "I'm leaving the priesthood. God has clearly cast me out, and I'm no longer fit to serve Him. I had thought-" He sighed. "When they told me I'd finally be seen by a doctor today, I thought it would be a specialist of some kind that could help me."
He put his hands on his head with a disapproving nod. "Wait a minute, are you telling me you haven't had anyone take a look at you yet? Francis, how long have you been here?"
Mulcahy stared down at his lap. "About four days I think. They sent me here from Kimpo after Sister Theresa figured me out."
"And they really didn't do anything yet?"
He pointed at the chalkboard. "They gave me that, so the nurses could communicate with me. When I first got here, they gave me an x-ray, then had a nurse look inside my ears. Apparently, I'm not a priority, so I've been... waiting. Writing to our friends, my sister." He gestured to the clipboard with the ever growing letter for Katherine.
BJ scowled, his eyebrows furrowed. "Give me a minute, Francis, I have some questions for your care team. I'll be right back."
Mulcahy again, sat alone. Waiting for his friend to return. He picked up the stick of chalk and contemplated snapping it, just to have something he could take his frustration out on. But he knew nobody at the understaffed hospital would have the time to sit with him and talk like BJ did.
Before long, BJ returned. He reached under Mulcahy's bed and pulled out his bags. He stood close and bent so he could be heard. "Get dressed, I'm discharging you, right now."
Mulcahy tilted his head. "But, they told me-"
BJ put his hands on Mulcahy's shoulders, and looked into his eyes. "They're not going to help you here. You're not a priority because there's nothing they can do. They'll have you sit here with that-" he pointed at the chalkboard. "Until they need your bed, and then tell you to leave. I'm not going to let you just... vegetate here, Francis! I'm taking you home, and I'm gonna call your sister, now get dressed. You can't walk out of here in that gown."
The ringing in Mulcahy's ears felt louder, the pressure in his head inescapable. He made a noise like he'd just been punched in the stomach and put a hand to his mouth. "There's... nothing they can do? But I- That's-"
BJ sighed and pulled him into another hug. "Best case scenario, they put a hole in your head, and nothing happens. Worst case, it ends up lobotomizing you. And even if they do try to relieve the cranial pressure, you're on a months long waiting list. Francis, I don't know how to tell you this, but this... this problem, the tinnitus, that 'muting' effect- it's not going to go away. I'm not a neurologist, but I'd say you've gone deaf. "
Mulcahy screwed his eyes shut and put his head in his hands. "I don't- my head hurts, I don't want to listen anymore." He'd already heard more then he wanted. But it was true, to to listen to BJ talk was like trying to see without his glasses, exhausting and an intense strain on him. He sat on the bed like a rag doll as BJ rummaged through his bag, pulling out his sweater and sweatpants.
BJ had undressed patients before, and did his best to make this no different. He kept his gaze turned respectfully away as he undid the ties on the back of the gown, pulling it off and getting his civvies on. He couldn't help but smile at the extra degree of modesty Mulcahy had taken, wearing underpants under the gown. He swept the belongings on the table into the open bag. He put a hand on Mulcahy's shoulder. "Is there anything else you need?"
Mulcahy's lip quivered, he spoke quietly. "I need a sign from God. I need..." He sighed and slid his feet into his shoes. "Oh, BJ, I don't know what I need. I don't know what He expects of me now. I just... I know that I know nothing."
He walked silently behind BJ, who spoke with the nurses, and the receptionist at the desk. They signed a paper together officially discharging him from the hospital, and BJ lead him to his car. He sat in the back seat, pulling his hood up over his head, and laying down, his bags acting as a makeshift pillow. The drive was not long, and BJ's car was clean and comfortable. He clutched his crucifix, silently praying, begging for guidance, for a miracle, for anything.
BJ ushered him into the house, he could just make out him calling to his wife, who appeared from the living room, a small child stood behind her, clutching at her leg, and a hound dog stood in front, protectively. She began to speak before BJ motioned for her to stop and spoke with her. She put a hand to her mouth, gasping. She stepped closer, leaning towards his ear and spoke calmly, and gently, just loud enough for him to hear. "That was awfully rude of me, talking when you can't hear so well. You must be-" BJ spoke, out of range. "Mister Mulcahy. BJ's told me tons about you. You stay for supper, and however else long you need."
Mulcahy smiled. "Thank you, you're very kind. BJ has told me plenty about you too, oh, and little Erin of course." He nodded towards the girl, still hiding behind her mother. "I'm sorry we couldn't be meeting under better circumstances." He watched as Peg turned to talk to BJ. Slowly, Erin creeped out from behind Peg. She looked up at Mulcahy and spoke. "Oh... oh I'm dreadfully sorry-"
BJ held his hand up to stop him, then knelt to speak with his daughter. She listened intently then nodded. He picked her up in his arms and lifted her up, carefully holding her to his friend's face. The dog stepping forward to follow her. She whispered to her father, then turned back to the new man. "We go see duck-ings?" She reverently placed her little hand on his nose.
Mulcahy quirked his brow, and gave a puzzled look to BJ, who laughed. "It's her favorite book, I told her we could visit daddy's friend, and we'd all go see the ducks together. 'Course, I was talking about Charles, but, if you think you're up to it, why don't you come to the park with us tomorrow?"
Mulcahy took a deep breath. He didn't feel up to anything. The little girl in BJ's arms smiled at him, chewing on her fingers. "Oh... I must say, I'm not feeling particularly well, but- Aw, shucks, I can't say no to that face." He forced a smile. "Who knows, a picnic might just do me a world of good."
Erin clapped and laughed, her father grinning. "Well then, that's settled, tomorrow I'll fill you a prescription for 10cc's if egg salad on Wonderbread, stat." BJ placed a hand on Mulcahy's shoulder. "Let me show you to the guest room." He placed his daughter back down, and she quickly busied herself, petting the dog.
The room was neat, and tidy. The walls painted a cheerful yellow, and the bed was made with a blue paisley spread. BJ had carried his bags for him, and set them down by the nightstand. "I'm gonna go whip up a casserole with the girls, anything I can get you, Francis?"
Mulcahy sat on the bed and looked down. "You've been very kind to me, BJ. You, and your lovely family." He found himself smiling. "I can see why it was so hard on you to be away from them, they're every bit as wonderful as you said." He removed his glasses and ran a hand down his face. "I'd hate to impose but do you... may I borrow a shirt and some pants? These clothes..." He pulled at his sweater. "These are Father Mulcahy's. I can't-"
BJ nodded and went to the dresser, pulling out a bright blue corduroy shirt and pale pink cotton pants. He handed them to his friend and sat on the bed next to him. "Floyd, er, Peg's dad I mean, always keeps a couple things here so he can travel light, I don't think he'd miss these, besides, I think these'll fit you a he-" he paused. "A heck of a lot better then anything I'd pull out of my own closet." He offered a warm smile, and a hug.
Mulcahy hesitated a moment, then let himself sink into his friend's arms again. "Thank you." He said quietly.
When Mulcahy finally pulled back, BJ went to stand. "I'll let you get dressed, there's a bathroom down the hall if you want to shower or anything. Just uh, y'know. Holler if you need anything. I'll be right downstairs."
Mulcahy nodded, and rubbed his glasses on the corner of his sweater. "Oh- an aspirin maybe. Trying to listen this way it's... it's a bit of a strain." BJ nodded and ducked out the door, returning a moment later with a pill and a glass of water.
"You know-" He said, passing them to his friend. "I couldn't believe when I saw 'Mulcahy, comma, J' on that roster that it'd actually be you. If... if it had to be, that you got stuck somewhere, hurt like you are... I'm just relieved you found your way to one of us."
Mulcahy swallowed the pill. "As am I... BJ, I really can't thank you enough-"
BJ smiled. "Well, don't thank me until after you've had dinner. I'll bring you some up when it's ready, alright?" And with that, BJ disappeared down the hall.
Dinner was bought to him on a porcelain plate. He ate in the guest room, in his gifted clothes. The shirt was a little tight, and the pants a little loose, but they fit well enough. He was perplexed wearing that the clothes of a stranger did not bother him, but wearing his own clothes made him feel like a thief. He sat and ate the simple meal slowly, contemplating. A scoop of BJ's casserole, an angle of browned cheese implying a corner piece, with boiled carrots and a Parker House roll. It might have been the best meal he'd had in years.
When he'd finished, he made his way downstairs, intending to bring his plate to the kitchen and wash it off.
The Hunnicutts were sitting together on the couch, BJ with his arm around Peg, and Erin sat between them. Upon seeing Mulcahy, BJ moved to stand, but Mulcahy waved him down, balancing his cutlery on the plate. The dog bounded up, looking expectantly at him, hoping something might fall from the plate.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt, I just wanted to bring this down and clean up a bit. You can just point towards the kitchen. I insist on washing up, it's the least I can do for all the hospitality you've shown me." BJ looked to Peg, then shrugged with a smile, and pointed him in the right direction.
The kitchen was done in the same bright yellow as the guest room, turquoise appliances staged throughout it, and a sink that, he couldn't help but notice, was full of dirty dishes. He spotted an apron on the counter, and slipped it over his head, loosely tying it in the back.
He found comfort in having a task, and set about soaping up the sponge and scrubbing the plates and bowls. By the time he'd started on the cups, he found himself humming quietly, pleased that this at least sounded mostly the same to him as it did before his injury.
A hand on his shoulder made him jump, dropping a spoon into the sudsy water, sending a splash of bubbles across his face.
"Sorry! Sorry, I just wanted to tell you, you didn't have to go to all this trouble, I was gonna come in and take care of these after we finished watching Howdy Doody with Erin." BJ passed him a dry terrycloth to wipe his glasses, he sounded almost disappointed that the dishes had been finished.
Mulcahy blinked, using the small towel to clear the rest of the bubbles from his face. "Oh, it's fine BJ, I'm happy to do it, really." He brought a hand to his chin. "I-" He let out a puff of laughter. "I'm happy to help! This... this might be the best I've felt since Klinger's wedding."
BJ smiled and shook his head fondly. "Doing my dirty dishes really cheered you up that much?"
He reached through the collar of his shirt for his crucifix, running his thumb over it. "Just needed something to remind me I'm still useful, I guess."
"Hey, if you do windows, Peg might not let me send you home!" He warned, jokingly.
Mulcahy pulled the stopper out of the sink, and untied the apron, folding it as he placed it back on the counter. "Sounds like you're trying to threaten me with a good time, BJ."
"Nah, the good time's tomorrow. You go get some rest in a real bed, and in the morning you can help me set up that picnic we promised Erin."
Mulcahy nodded and made his way back to the guest room. He pulled off the corduroy shirt, folding it and setting it on the nightstand, not wanting to wrinkle it in bed. He knelt by the side of the bed, crossed himself, then clasped his hands together.
"Dear Lord, I thank you for this glimmer of light You have seen fit to show me. I-" He sighed. "I still don't know if You're listening to me. I have to hope that You are, and that You will help me through this test. It was foolish of me, of course, to think I'd be incapable of helping anyone at all without my hearing, but to lose it as I did- to have everything taken from me..." He reached under his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, hoping to stem the flow of tears he'd felt pooling. "Please dear Lord, help me through this, as I've seen You do for others. As I know only You can. If I'm not meant to be healed, so be it, but... Allow me to continue Your work, I can not continue as a priest, and I know this, but show me a path, guide me as You have before." He sighed again. "Forgive me for such a lengthy prayer, just... if anything, if I no longer am fit to receive Your care, watch over my friends, and may their homecomings be much nicer then my own, Amen." He crossed himself again, then set his glasses on the nightstand and climbed into bed, the real bed. The blankets were soft and warm, and for the first time in a long while, he had no trouble falling asleep.
Peg Hunnicutt knocked on the door of the guest room, then shook her head, remembering her husband's friend would not be able to hear the sound. She opened the door a crack and peaked in, seeing that he was still asleep, she cautiously made her way into the room. BJ had asked her to wake him for breakfast as he cooked, and made preparations for their picnic.
The paisley blanket was pulled up to his chin, his face was calm and peaceful. She reached out a hand, and placed it on his blanketed shoulder, gently shaking him.
His eyes snapped open with a gasp. "How many-" He shook his head, blinking. "Oh- sorry, did- did you need something?" He sat up and reached for his glasses. He gasped again, shaking his head, looking down at himself, then at the woman standing beside him. He put his hands on his arms, covering himself. "Ah- I'm- I'm afraid you've caught me down to my crucifix-"
She gave him an apologetic smile and put her hands up, then placed one over her eyes and leaned close to him. "BJ sent me to bring you down for breakfast. How do you like your eggs?"
Mulcahy sat on a checkered blanket, his hat in his lap as he enjoyed the warmth of the sun on his face. He watched the Hunnicutts play with their daughter, she stood between them as they rolled a rubber ball back and forth. Erin clapped and laughed, toddling after it in her pink overalls. They had set up the thick, quilted blanket near the pond, hoping they might catch a glimpse of the resident ducks, and possibly an early hatchling or two.
The child tumbled into her father's arms, clutching at his shirt. BJ spoke to her, and she smiled and nodded. He spoke again and gestured to the chalkboard. Peg picked it up and began to write. 'Hungry?'
"Oh, I could certainly eat, if everyone else is ready, of course." He moved his hat from his lap, setting it instead on the corner of the blanket.
Peg smiled and opened the picnic basket, pulling out paper-wrapped sandwiches, sliced oranges, grapes, carrot sticks, and a thermos of lemonade. BJ unwrapped one of the sandwiches and pointed at the selections of sides, waiting for Mulcahy to nod at each before piling it into the wrapper, and passing it to his friend. Peg took plastic cups and one bottle, for Erin, out of the basket and filled each with the lemonade.
Mulcahy set his 'plate' in his lap, and mumbled through a quick Grace. As he raised his head after crossing himself, he noticed BJ hold up the chalkboard. 'Amen'. He beamed and began pulling apart his orange. As he ate, he watched Erin pick apart a sandwich, her father eating the bits of discarded crust she'd pulled from it. He sighed fondly, letting his eyes wander.
There were other families in the park that day, and Mulcahy couldn't help but be amazed at seeing so many people out in the open, and knowing not one of them needed to fear bombs or snipers putting a hurried end to the day. The grass beneath him was lush, without scorch marks and lacking any sign of hastily dug foxholes.
A feeling of safety settled into his body. He had spent so long hoping and praying for peace, he had begun to think he'd never truly see it again. He took a bite of his sandwich, not expecting to find so much joy in fresh bread and real eggs.
As he looked around, he spotted a duck peaking from behind a bush. He put down his sandwich and pointed, then spoke quietly, not wanting to frighten the bird back into hiding. "BJ, look."
Slowly, the duck took cautious steps from the bush, and 3 small ducklings following it. BJ turned to see, then got Erin's attention and pointed. Mulcahy saw her jump up and clap, and guessed she let out a cheer, as the mother duck looked startled, and ushered her ducklings back into the bush. Erin tried to run after them, but BJ grabbed her by the straps of her overalls and held her back. He picked her up and spoke to her, then put a finger to his lips, gently quieting the excited child.
Mulcahy tilted his head, he had an idea. "BJ, what scraps do we have that won't be missed?" The Hunnicutts talked with each other, then BJ pulled a brown paper bag out of the picnic basket. It held leftover Cheerios from Erin's breakfast, which were likely stale by now, these would suit his needs perfectly. "If it's alright with you, you can put Erin on my back, that way I can hear her." Erin clapped her little hands, and BJ nodded, then placed her on Mulcahy's back, and handed him the bag of cereal.
BJ leaned close, putting his head next to his daughter's so both her and Mulcahy could hear him. "Okay now Erin, you be real gentle with daddy's friend, alright? And remember, he can't hear very well, so you've gotta talk a little loud, sweetie. Oh- but, we don't want to yell at Francis, okay?"
Mulcahy chuckled. "Yes, just a little louder then normal should be fine." He stood slowly, bracing her feet with one arm, and letting her cling on his shoulders. "Alright, here we go."
"We go duck-ings?" She spoke carefully, doing her best to be heard without raising her voice too much.
He nodded, and she giggled as his hair brushed against her face. "Mmhm. We need to let the mother duck know we aren't going to hurt her babies, we just want to say hello." He walked slowly towards the bush, and held up the bag. "Alright, you get some Cheerios, and toss them over that way." He gestured with the bag to a spot near the bush.
Erin reached in, grabbing a handful of the cereal, and flung it to the ground, laughing. "Snack time!"
He couldn't help but grin. "That's right little one, oh- look, here they come." The duck peaked its head out of the bush, then took a tentative step out, and began pecking at the cereal on the ground. Her ducklings followed suit, picking the Cheerios out of the grass.
Erin squealed with laughter and tossed more cereal to the ground. "Duck-ing say beep-beep-beep!" When the bag was empty, he crumpled it and put it in his pocket, then bought his hand back to help support Erin.
The ducks finished off the cereal, then waddled towards the pond. Erin gasped as they watched them enter the water, floating together. "Bye-bye duck-ings." She waved to them. They returned to the blanket, and BJ carefully lifted his daughter off Mulcahy's back. She wiggled in his arms and spoke to him, no doubt telling him about her encounter with the ducks.
Mulcahy sat back on the blanket and stretched, then put his hat on. Peg held up the chalkboard, there was a hastily drawn duck with 'thank you' written under it. Mulcahy put a hand on his chest and smiled. "Oh. Oh, it was no trouble at all, really! Your Erin... she's a wonderful child." BJ pointed at the thanks on the chalkboard again, beaming.
When they had finished eating, Erin was full of energy again, her and her father played little games, running around and laughing. Mulcahy watched for a bit, then laid down, running his hand across the grass beneath him. He titled his hat just enough for the brim to keep the sun from his eyes while still letting him look up at the clouds.
He lay there, watching and contemplating, until BJ kneeled beside him and tapped his shoulder. He pointed to the picnic basket then tilted his head towards where they'd parked the car. It was time to go home. Mulcahy helped him gather everything, as Peg held Erin, who had fallen asleep, just in time for her afternoon nap.
While Peg went to take Erin to her crib, BJ pulled Mulcahy into the living room, leaning close to him, so he could hear. "Alright, I think now's as good a time as any time to call your sister, know her number?"
"Oh, yes, she wrote it down for me in her last letter, to make it easier on the operator." He picked up the receiver and slipped his finger into the rotary dial, then spun it. He held the phone up to his ear, but heard nothing. His brow furrowed, he tried the other ear, but still could not hear the line. "Oh... BJ I think- I don't think I can do this without help, unless you've got a louder phone somewhere in this house." He passed the phone to BJ. "Her name is Katherine." He said quietly. "But the name she used as a nun was Maria Angelica, im not sure which she'd prefer for a stranger."
BJ nodded and took the phone from him. He heard ringing on the other line, then a click, and a woman's voice. "Hello?"
He had to hold in a chuckle, she sounded like her brother, with a slightly higher voice. "Hi, I'm uh, sorry if it's late, I'm not sure what time it is over there, but would this be a Katherine Mulcahy? I've been told you go by a couple other names, but it's that last one I'm interested in."
Mulcahy stood by, his hand over his mouth, waiting for BJ to relay for him. The voice on the other end of the line let out a gasp. "Oh, why yes, who's calling?"
"My name is BJ Hunnicutt, I'm a doctor."
"Hunnicutt? You're one of the men from Francis' unit, aren't you? There were a pair of Hunnicuts at that wonderful party for all us families..."
BJ smiled and nodded. "Yes, my wife and daughter."
"Do you- my goodness, a doctor calling me at home... is Francis alright? I haven't heard from him in quite some time."
BJ watched as Mulcahy grasped his crucifix, fidgeting with it and running his thumb along the top. He imagined a woman in a habit with cat eye glasses doing the same. "BJ, have you got her? I could go and double check that number if not."
Katherine gasped again. "Oh, that's my brother's voice, I'd know it anywhere! Could you put him on?"
BJ ran his fingers along his mustache. "Well, that-" He sighed. "That might be a bit difficult Ms. Mulcahy."
Mulcahy took a deep breath and grabbed the phone from BJ. "Sis? Kathy? I hope you can hear me, I can't hear the phone so please, just, bear with me a moment. This is... rather important. I'm so sorry I didn't call you. Oh, and I did write a letter! I just... haven't sent it." His lip trembled, BJ laid a supportive hand on his shoulder. "I was... injured, while in Korea. I'm afraid it was quite serious, I'm- That is- Oh, Lord, give me strength- Katherine, I've gone deaf."
He solemnly handed the phone back to his friend, lifting his glasses to wipe at his eyes. BJ rubbed his shoulder, gently. "You get all that, ma'am?"
Katherine sniffled. "Yes." The line was silent for a moment. "Is the something I can..."
"Well, I'd like to get him home to you, if that's alright." He squeezed Mulcahy's shoulder reassuringly.
A laugh rang out on the other end. "Alright? I've been praying since he shipped off to have him back home with me! Or at the very least somewhere I'd know he'd be safe."
BJ smiled. "Amen to that, Sister."
"Please, Angelica is just fine."
BJ couldn't help but laugh at how similar she was. "Alright, Angelica. I'll call the airport and get it all sorted out, then I'll let you know when to expect him. And uh... I'm sure I don't have to tell you this, but, be gentle. Physically, he's recovered as much as he can, but this is a big change, and it's not an easy one."
"Of course. Don't worry doctor, I'm just so delighted that God saw fit to bring my baby brother back alive."
"We're all glad to have him, that brother of yours is something special. Look, I'll get back in touch with you after I get him set up with a plane to Pennsylvania, alright? Shouldn't be more then a couple days until he's home." Mulcahy looked up at him.
"Oh, thank you Dr Hunnicutt, and bless you. " BJ heard a click, then silence, and hung up the phone.
"So," Mulcahy sniffled, and wiped at his eyes again. "When do I ship out, Skipper?"
BJ chuckled. "Well, I've still gotta call the airline, but she can't wait to see you, buddy."
Mulcahy smiled. "Ah, that's Kathy for you. Always so kind and caring- well, after she stopped biting..." He shook his head fondly. "Thank you, BJ, for helping me call her."
"Hold that thanks, Francis, I have something from the hospital I need to give you." Mulcahy quirked a brow as BJ excused himself. He returned to the room a moment later, holding two small boxes.
"Oh. Oh, BJ, I couldn't-" He'd seen boxes like these before, and knew they contained medals. BJ raised a hand and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, then leaned to be heard.
"Francis. I've seen them hand these out to a lot of people who don't deserve them, myself included. And I know for a fact that you do." He opened the first box, it held a shining star that dangled from a red white and blue ribbon. "For heroic service under enemy fire, Captain Francis Mulcahy, I, Captain BJ Hunnicutt, hereby award you, the Bronze Star."
He took the medal from its box, and undid the clasp. He took the collar of the blue corduroy shirt, and pinned it there. Mulcahy closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. BJ ran his fingers through Mulcahy's hair and tucked a loose strand around the arm of his glasses.
"C'mon, open your eyes." He ran his thumb over Mulcahy's brows, and opened the second box. "And for being wounded during that heroic service, the Purple Heart."
Mulcahy whimpered as he pinned it in place, just above the Star. "I don't deserve this, BJ. I'm not-"
BJ pulled him into a hug, strong and protective. "You are." Mulcahy let off a choked off sob and burried his face in BJ's shirt. BJ rubbed his back and patted it. "Besides, you keep those on your shirt and the stewardess might just give you an extra bag of peanuts."
A muffled chuckle was heard from Mulcahy. He slowly lifted his head to look into BJ's eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing and shook his head. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, then straightened his glasses, stood straight as he could, with BJ's arms still firmly around him, and saluted.
BJ released him and took a step back, so he could return the salute. They stood there for a moment in silence, until they lowered their hands, and BJ leaned forward again. "Alright now, let's get you a flight."