Mulcahy grimaces at the sight of Neil's hands. Not because they're covered in blood--he's been in the operating room too many times for that--but because it is his. But if there is anyone who understands the pride of sacrifice, it's him.
Mulcahy looks to the sky. It's not unusual for him anymore, to see such serenity above his head while on the ground the world was ending. "Give... give me a moment. I've just remembered that I should tell the medical staff that I won't be there to help them for the rest of today or the beginning of tomorrow. This will be brief."
He fishes out his sending stone, a small pillar of black granite, veined with white quartz and gold. It's strung on something that looks like an incomplete rosary. Who does he call? He thinks of Radar, but--no. He remembers the sorrow staining him when he had to report Blake's death. Not even once, but twice. No, he won't do that to the boy a third time. Not Hawkeye. Anzu, perhaps? Or...
mash post-s3 spoilers
Mulcahy looks to the sky. It's not unusual for him anymore, to see such serenity above his head while on the ground the world was ending. "Give... give me a moment. I've just remembered that I should tell the medical staff that I won't be there to help them for the rest of today or the beginning of tomorrow. This will be brief."
He fishes out his sending stone, a small pillar of black granite, veined with white quartz and gold. It's strung on something that looks like an incomplete rosary. Who does he call? He thinks of Radar, but--no. He remembers the sorrow staining him when he had to report Blake's death. Not even once, but twice. No, he won't do that to the boy a third time. Not Hawkeye. Anzu, perhaps? Or...
"Zivia. Come in, Zivia. Are you there?"