Date: 2024-09-27 07:34 am (UTC)
lovethyneighb_or: (anima christi)
Here, Mulcahy turns to really face him. He just looks... sad, and frustrated.

"I don't get you, Hawk. I don't understand what you want. Do you want to know or don't you? I didn't want to tell you. I kept this from you because I knew this would happen, but you asked. Should I have never answered?"

A sigh. Somehow it fits into the stillness.

"The past six years have been a long and constant nightmare. If you count the war, that makes it nine, and you... you've never known me outside of it. There was no respite. None. If you want to know anything about what it's been like... or anything about who I am now, it is always going to be 'dropping things like this.'"

It's so cruel. Why does Hawkeye get to pick and choose his knowledge? Why does he get to come straight here from the war, why does he get to know him only once, why does he get to hear about this instead of live it? For years? Why does he get to be angry? No, of course he gets to be angry. He has the right. Why doesn't Mulcahy get to? Why does he have to do this? Why does he have to play this game and do this dance, decide whether or not to hold his tongue, whether or not to burn his bridges, whether or not he's allowed to feel anything? It's the same as in the Village; no matter what he does, it's wrong. He's wrong. He can't say everything. He can't say nothing. The in-between is infinite; what's the right answer? What is it? What is it? Why can't he let go?

(Strangle it good. Bury it deep.)
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Reverend Francis John Patrick Mulcahy

April 2024

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