Chapter Text
Father Mulcahy could still feel the blood in his ears. Though crimson-blossomed cloths no longer laid around him and his bandages no longer soaked through, he still felt the liquid muffling the doctors’ voices. BJ had assured him that he’d cleaned it all from his ears right away, but deep down, Mulcahy prayed that there was some still sitting against his eardrum, causing the head-under-water distortion of his hearing. Except… it was only in one ear.
His other ear was an entirely different story. It wasn’t that he heard nothing, it was that there was a complete lack of sound there at all. A total disconnect. It wasn’t muffled or ringing, a sign that he still had some nerve function like his other ear; there was just nothing. The difference was nauseating. Mulcahy repeatedly tilted his head, as if that would fix the off-kilter feeling inside and rubbed his temples as if it would stop the pain.
For the first few days, he was in and out of medication-induced sleep to kill the pain and pressure between his ears. He remembered speaking periodically and wondering where his friends were, but the responses were never satisfactory. Although that was likely because he couldn’t hear them, it still didn’t stop him from wondering why neither Della nor Hawkeye had come by to see him. Where were they? What could be keeping them? He didn’t understand their absences until the morphine stopped clouding his mind.
In the few days following, he had to close his eyes whenever he sat up, his skewed equilibrium causing the room to spin. Margaret would steady him if he sat up too fast and keep a hand on his back, talking to him softly until he could open his eyes without gagging. He couldn’t hear her, but her soft touch was welcome in a period of such uncertainty, regardless of the fact that she didn’t know the true extent of his injury. Nurse Kellye sat with him during meals, and he would nod along as her lips moved, hoping that such an answer was acceptable to whatever she was saying. Colonel Potter would visit to check in on him, and Mulcahy found himself struggling to figure out the daily potter-ism without being too obvious. But it was Klinger’s incessant yammering that really shocked him into coming to terms with his predicament. Klinger was one of his closest friends at MASH, and he couldn’t support the young man or joke around with him if he didn’t know what he was saying.
During one visit, a tear slid down his face right in front of him, and Klinger flinched, thinking he’d said something wrong. Mulcahy had only shook his head and said he was in pain, but Klinger jumped up before Mulcahy could protest. Luckily, BJ was the doctor on the floor. He only had to take one look at him before dismissing Klinger and sitting on the edge of Mulcahy’s bed. It was the first hug he’d had in a while from someone who wasn’t Della, and he couldn’t say he wasn’t grateful for it. Hiding his hearing loss had been a lot harder than he’d originally expected, and the initial shock had given way to a deep seated turmoil and dread.
As soon as BJ had told him he could lose his hearing, he’d stuffed his fear inside his determination to care for the orphans. He’d told BJ that no one else could know and that he intended to stick around. But by day six, he could no longer hear BJ when he spoke on his good-side unless his lips were right beside his ear, and even then the sound was soft. It was harder and harder to hide his condition, and harder and harder to hide his distress.
BJ said nothing as he hugged him. It was the first time in days he didn’t strain his injured ears. It was also the first time since he’d been off the morphine that he’d felt any sort of relief. However, it was short-lived, as BJ spoke right against his ear. “You can’t hide this forever, Father. It’s only hurting you.”
Mulcahy nodded. “I know.”
BJ didn’t tell him that his voice had cracked. BJ also didn’t tell him that he could hear him crying as he fell asleep, knowing that he’d shut his emotions down completely if he thought he’d been found out. A hug was one thing, but admitting the amount of pain he was in to someone who wasn’t Della or Hawkeye was another.
Della. Hawkeye. Mulcahy stifled a sob with his hand as the two popped into his mind. Both of them were away from camp and both of them would be impossible to hide from. Hawkeye would be able to tell if he wasn’t laughing or going along with his jokes. But Mulcahy also didn’t know when or if he would see Hawkeye again. It was entirely possible he would be discharged. But Della… she was only off on R&R. And she would be an entirely different story altogether. She was his best friend–the person he spent the most time around at camp. She would know . She would see the poorly disguised distress etched into his features and immediately know something was wrong. But he also wouldn’t be able to hear her ask him, or hear her reassurances, and that was almost worse. Almost.
As Mulcahy closed his eyes, he pondered how to go about telling her. Or if he should. Della would be back the following day, and if she found out he was in the hospital, she’d sprint in there and smother him with her concern. And in that scenario… it was impossible for her not to find out, as well as everyone else. And even if she didn’t somehow, his expression would give him away. Della was impeccably perceptive to people’s emotions, especially his, and he would break knowing the one person that he’d actually want to comfort him was sitting right there, holding his hand. He wouldn’t be able to stop the tears or talk his way out of it like he had with Klinger. He was supposed to be the one supporting everyone at the 4077th, not the one causing the concern. And anyone seeing him in tears outside of his own tent… it couldn’t happen again.
Mulcahy sniffed and wiped his face, holding back the rest of the tears that so desperately wanted to escape. He supposed that he’d just have to believe BJ when he said he’d be released tomorrow, and pray that he could hold it together until after Della left his tent to sleep.
*
Della rolled her shoulders after hopping out of the jeep, her heels twisting in the dirt as she stretched. Snagging her duffle bag from the back seat, she waved to the driver, shouldered her bag, and headed across the compound. Her heels crunched as she walked towards her tent, looking forward to getting out of her stuffy dress uniform and into her worn-in fatigues instead. But as she approached the edge of the mess tent, she caught sight of a damaged barbed-wire area.
She furrowed her brows and trotted over to it, crouching low to the ground in the entrance of it. Her fingertips traced a line of dried blood over the uneven ground, eyeing the other splotches around it. Noticing the shell craters nearby, Della drew her hand to her chest, heart beating faster. However, before she could start overthinking the situation, Klinger came bounding toward her.
“Della!”
She jerked her head to the left, momentarily dazed before speaking. “Klinger? What happened here?”
“We’ve had some intermittent shelling, comes in threes. It’ll stop once we get that tank outta here.”
“Right. Kl–”
“How was your R&R? You’re back a bit earlier than expected.”
“Oh it was good, I just wanted to get back before peace talks finished. Plus, the fighting’s bound to get worse right before the end. Figured you could use all the help you could get.”
“You’re damn right about that.”
“Listen, Klinger…” Della looked back to the blood on the ground. “The POW’s. Were they hurt in the shelling?”
He paused, eyes widening ever so slightly. “Uh, well, no. Father Mulcahy–”
Della’s breath hitched, a cold pressure sitting heavy in her core.
Klinger held up his hands. “Relax, Della, he’s alive.”
She glanced back at the dried blood on the ground, her stomach rolling. “This is…”
“He saved those POWs.”
“He’s injured.” Della jumped to her feet and started making her way towards post-op. “How badly?”
Klinger headed her off at the pass. “Della.”
“If it’s bad, just tell me.”
“Della.”
“Let me through , Klinger.”
His hands landed on her shoulders. “ Della . He’s not in post-op.”
“What?”
“He got hit with the blast from a shell, it cut ‘im up and concussed ‘im, but it wasn’t too serious. BJ kept him in post-op for a week for observation or something.”
“He nearly got himself blown up…” She shook her head at the ground, forcing back the tears that welled in her eyes. “Idiot.”
Klinger dropped his hands. “He’s alright, Della. Don’t get too worked up, though, I’m sure he wouldn’t want to see you upset.”
“He’s lucky I don’t slug ‘im,” she replied, glaring up at him through her lashes. “Where is he?”
“Now, now, don’t go smacking the priest around.”
“I won’t. You know I’d never actually hurt him.”
“I know. I’m sure he’d like to see you, he kept asking for ya.”
Della’s lips parted, her face flushing. “He did?”
“Mhmm. I think the pain meds they gave him made him kinda loopy for the first day or so. Don’t think he understood me when I told him you were on R&R.”
“Oh. I really should go see him, then.”
“You don’t want to get cleaned up first? Weren’t you heading to the showers?”
“I was going to shower and change first and then go and see him. But I’ll do that later. This is more important.”
A knowing grin tugged at Klinger’s lips. “Alright. You do that. They let him go back to his tent just before you got back.”
“Thanks, Klinger.”
“No problem. I’ll take your bag back to your tent for ya.”
“Oh, thanks a bunch. See you later.”
Klinger nodded and scooped up her bag before giving her a joking salute. Della turned on her heel and looked toward Father Mulcahy’s tent, taking a deep breath. As she walked over, she kept shaking her head. How could he do something so reckless? Of course, she already knew the answer to that. He’d done it before and she was sure he’d do it again–it was just in his nature. He’d do anything to help others and she couldn’t stay mad at him for it, even if she wanted to both slap and hug him at the same time for being so stupid.
Della raised a hand and rapped on the door to Mulcahy’s tent. After ten seconds with no answer, she knocked again. “Father Mulcahy?” Still, the man didn’t answer. No ‘come in,’ no answering the door, not even any movement from inside. Was Klinger wrong? Had they not released him? Or had he gone somewhere else? Della twisted her mouth and pushed the door open just slightly to check. Maybe he was asleep? She could always come back later…
However, when she peeked her head around the door, she saw that she was wrong. Father Mulcahy sat at his desk with his back to the door, his head down. It was likely, she realized, that he was writing a sermon or something similar and was so deep in thought that he hadn’t heard her. She slipped inside and dusted herself off before walking over to him and laying a hand on his shoulder. “John?”
Father Mulcahy made a noise somewhere between a yelp and a cry, trying to turn so quickly that he fell off his chair and crashed to the floor. Della drew her hand to her chest, brows raised and eyes wide as she stared down at her friend, sprawled on the ground at her feet.
She blinked a few times as he stared up at her, his face morphing from panic to recognition to dread, and then finally to plain startled. His voice wavered as he spoke to her, forcing a smile onto his face. “Della. It’s good to see you.”
Della surveyed his face as she crouched in front of him. “Are you alright? I didn’t mean to startle you.”
For a moment he just stared at her before giving her a jerky nod.
“You must’ve been deep in thought,” she continued, having turned to right the chair. “You’ve never been jumpy.” Della turned back to him and her eyes were immediately drawn to the wound on the side of his head. She leaned forward, her hand hovering beside the shrapnel scars, brows raised and parted lips downturned. “You are hurt…” She took his face in her hands, then tilted his head to get a better look. “John… what were you thinking?”
She let go of him and sat back on her heels, brows raised. His eyes widened, realizing she’d been speaking to him and was expecting a response. He mirrored her expression.
Della furrowed her brows. “What were you thinking?”
He shrugged.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Della leant forward and rested the back of her hand on his forehead. “You’re not acting like yourself.” No fever, so it probably wasn’t that his wound was infected… “Is it your head?” She checked both of his eyes for uneven pupils, and the icy blue glistened with unshed tears. “Are you in pain?” Della pulled back and held him at an arm’s length, once again waiting for an answer.
Mulcahy could only blink at her, brows cinched in fear.
“John? What is it? What’s the matter?” She studied his face as she spoke, finally noticing that he wasn’t looking her in the eyes but was instead staring at her lips. On top of that, when he didn’t answer her, she hadn’t spoken to him with her face in full view. She sat back again and stared at him for a moment, jaw slack. “You can’t hear me… Can you…?”
The tears clinging to Mulcahy’s lashes spilled over and fell down his cheeks. He shook his head and looked down, head hanging as his shoulders started jumping. Della’s chest tightened as if someone had knocked the wind out of her at the sight of his tears, and her heartbeat, which had been in her ears only a moment ago, seemed to have slowed nearly to a stop. In any other situation, she’d know exactly what to do–they had been through a lot together over the course of the war. A hug and soothing words were usually enough to console him in a typical instance, but how was she supposed to proceed with something like this? When it was fear, and pain, and his usual feelings of uselessness likely magnified tenfold… What was she supposed to do with something that could change the entire course of his life so drastically? How could she even attempt to console him when she couldn’t use her words…
When a particularly rough sob tore from Mulcahy’s throat, she snapped out of her thoughts. He clutched his elbows, posture crumpled in on himself, still sitting on the floor. Whatever she’d been wondering before didn’t matter–she’d do whatever she had to, even if she couldn’t use her words. By instinct, she settled on her knees and wrapped her arms around Mulcahy.
“I’m–sorry–”
Della wanted to ask him what exactly he was sorry for , but to do so would be pointless when he couldn’t see her face. She could always ask him later. For now, she shook her head against his and brought a hand up to the back of his head. Mulcahy only seemed to sob harder at that, curling further in on himself. Della wondered as her chest ached if this was the first time he’d really dealt with his feelings towards all of this. If maybe this was the first time he’d let himself really feel anything. If maybe he’d waited for her to return. But hell, if she’d known, she would’ve been home that same day. And it was likely, if Klinger didn’t tell her, that no one knew he’d lost his hearing. Especially with Hawkeye out of commission… she couldn’t imagine how lonely the past week had been. How terrifying. How utterly overwhelming.
Della adjusted so that she was sitting flat on the floor, pulling Mulcahy properly into her arms. He cried, loud, ugly sobs, into the front of her shoulder as she held his slouched form tight to her chest. Mulcahy wrapped his arms around her middle, clutching at the back of her jacket. “I’m sorry.”
“Shh…” The gentle soothing she was used to giving people slipped out before she could stop it. He couldn’t hear her, but it was so natural and she found herself wishing she knew a better way to do this. She wanted to say it again. Instead, she smoothed his hair and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.
Mulcahy seemed to calm slightly at the familiarity of her lips in his hair. He sniffed, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of her uniform.
Della took a breath and closed her eyes. She adjusted her hold on him, pulling him up from his slouch a bit so that his chin rested on her shoulder. Mulcahy turned his face into her neck and Della felt his shuddering breaths hot against her skin. Once again, she found herself speaking without thinking. “I’ve got you…”
Mulcahy flinched in her arms and Della froze. Had he heard her? Her mouth was right beside his ear… Della ran her fingers through his hair once more before pulling back to look at him. His gaze flitted back and forth between her eyes, his own red and teary. She studied his face. “Did you just hear me?”
A faint smile appeared on his lips. Mulcahy raised a hand and gently touched her cheek, nodding. “I…” He sniffed. “I still have a little bit of hearing left in this ear. If you speak close enough to it, I can hear you a little bit.”
“Muffled?” Mulcahy raised his brows at her. She spoke a bit slower, pointing to her own ear. “Is it muffled?”
“Yes. It’s very quiet.”
“And that one?” She pointed to his other ear.
“Nothing.”
“At all?”
He shook his head, looking down. Mulcahy kept his gaze lowered, a few more tears dripping from his chin.
Della pulled him back into a hug and pressed her lips right to his ear. “You didn’t tell anyone. Why?”
“BJ knows,” he said, voice muffled by her neck. “But I made him promise not to tell anyone.”
“That makes sense why Klinger didn’t tell me…” She said more to herself than to him. “Aside from the orphans, there was another reason, right?” When he nodded she continued. “You want to help.”
His breathing shuddered again, causing his voice to break when he spoke. “But what good am I like this?”
“Plenty. Those kids depend on you. You know that.”
“We’ll be going home soon.”
“And? You’ll be just as good back home.”
“What good is…” He paused, voice wavering. Della felt his hot tears on her skin. “What good is a deaf priest ?”
Della ran a hand over his hair again, racking her brain for something to say. But, in truth, what was she supposed to say to something like that? “You still have some hearing, John. Maybe they can–”
His chest hitched. “It’s getting worse. A few days ago, BJ didn’t have to speak so loudly or so close to me. But now I can barely hear you, even like this. I have to strain to make out what you say.”
“We’ll figure something out, John, I promise. It’s going to be okay.”
Mulcahy shook his head a little, prompting Della to pull back again, looking right into his eyes. He swallowed hard.
“I mean it,” she said. “We’ll figure something out.”
“We…?”
Della paused, unsure if he wasn’t sure what she said or if it was because he didn’t know what she meant. She nodded. “We. I’ll help you.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, ‘why?’”
“Why would you help me?”
She gave him an incredulous look, before taking his face in her hands and pressing her lips to his forehead. “Because I love you. You know that.”
Mulcahy’s lips trembled as she pulled back from his ear again. All he could do was nod for fear of his voice catching in his throat.
“You don’t happen to know any ASL do you?”
“Uh…”
“A.S.L.” Della repeated, fingerspelling the letters. “Sign language.”
Mulcahy shook his head. “I don’t. I know it exists but I’ve never…”
“Never needed it?” He looked away, chewing on his bottom lip. Della waved in his periphery to get him to look back at her. “It’s okay. You can learn.”
“How?”
He sounded so defeated that Della had to hold back tears before they showed in her eyes. “There’s books,” she said, signing the second word. “Someone could teach you.”
“Could you teach me?”
“Me?” Della blinked rapidly, though she supposed she shouldn’t have been taken aback. After all, she had literally just signed in front of him. She shook her head. “I’m not fluent. You should learn from someone who is deaf.”
Mulcahy nodded before closing his eyes, using his thumbs to rub his temples. That’s right…he was recovering from a concussion. She waited until he looked back up before miming writing, pointing to him and raising her eyebrows. He blinked at her to clear his vision before saying, “Do I have a pen and paper? Yes, hold on…” He produced a small notepad and pen from his jacket pocket. “Here you go.”
Della grinned as she took it from him. Hopefully this would be less strenuous than trying to hear her or read her lips, which must be near impossible. She scribbled on the page and handed it back to Mulcahy. A grin started to form on his face as he read her message.
“ Lip-reading is too hard. Let me write for you. After all, we have some brainstorming to do. ”
Mulcahy leaned forward again and wrapped his arms around her neck, this time speaking in her ear. “Thank you, Della.”