For God's sake, man. Why? Where was the Father for this question? Where was the chaplain that always had a quote of the Scriptures on the tip of his tongue and the right words to make the old and romantic thing make sense in the context of Napalm and bullets? This job wasn't his, Hawkeye reasoned, brows furrowing as he swallowed, feeling the weight of it catch up.
He directed his attention to the floor for a moment, and thought about sitting. He'd be nearer Kili's height, then, but would that be insulting? He caught sight of the large boots again, and remembered BJ's damn clown shoes and the hand that had been on his neck is let down to his side again. Hawkeye tallied that as his second mistake, the first being that he ever the gall to look down in plain uncertainty when the answer should stare him straight in the face the way Kili was. His job was to be a pillar, and so far he'd done a busted job.
Did dwarfs make good Christians?
And what did the agnostic care? He was sorry he ever fleetingly wished for Mulcahy to be in his shoes, and Hawkeye doesn't falter another moment. Death had come more often than not when the children had been put to sleep and after he had made an incision or two. Sometimes they'd be awake and rarely, but it happened, they'd be screaming and then the next instant, not. He doubted any one of them was ever prepared, doubted the families could ever really see it coming, despite knowing their boys were gone. Danger never really seemed like such a big deal until it arrived. Death was much the same. Hawkeye shrugged. "I was in a war before this," he said. He had already said he wasn't a soldier, didn't bother to say it again. "Things got ugly. I wasn't in the fighting but I didn't need to be to see things clearly. Death was something I saw a lot of. Out of every hundred-" boys, he wanted to say. Soldiers. Warriors. Brass. But it wasn't true. He saw babies charred and women torn, and after a breath he continued with his brand of certainty. "People I would work on," the MASH unit, he means, "two or three wouldn't make it. That would be two or three too many. It was a daily thing." He moved his hand again now, in this sort of circular motion like he was hurrying himself on. His voice grew a tad higher, and he really needed to get to the point here, huh? Sitting ducks, the both of them.
Nobody would ever be prepared to die. This wasn't a written novel with heroes and noble actions, with the knight in his armor who would give his life for-- no, no. Kili looked ridiculous in that outfit. There wouldn't be heroes here.
"And then there's this Game," he says. And he hoped death didn't catch the poor fella but it would, or else he had just damned all of his older friends and Hawkeye makes a shooing motion directed at the thought. "And I hope you have someone you trust by your side then. Friends are always nice." If selfish, but humanity carried on.
no subject
He directed his attention to the floor for a moment, and thought about sitting. He'd be nearer Kili's height, then, but would that be insulting? He caught sight of the large boots again, and remembered BJ's damn clown shoes and the hand that had been on his neck is let down to his side again. Hawkeye tallied that as his second mistake, the first being that he ever the gall to look down in plain uncertainty when the answer should stare him straight in the face the way Kili was. His job was to be a pillar, and so far he'd done a busted job.
Did dwarfs make good Christians?
And what did the agnostic care? He was sorry he ever fleetingly wished for Mulcahy to be in his shoes, and Hawkeye doesn't falter another moment. Death had come more often than not when the children had been put to sleep and after he had made an incision or two. Sometimes they'd be awake and rarely, but it happened, they'd be screaming and then the next instant, not. He doubted any one of them was ever prepared, doubted the families could ever really see it coming, despite knowing their boys were gone. Danger never really seemed like such a big deal until it arrived. Death was much the same. Hawkeye shrugged. "I was in a war before this," he said. He had already said he wasn't a soldier, didn't bother to say it again. "Things got ugly. I wasn't in the fighting but I didn't need to be to see things clearly. Death was something I saw a lot of. Out of every hundred-" boys, he wanted to say. Soldiers. Warriors. Brass. But it wasn't true. He saw babies charred and women torn, and after a breath he continued with his brand of certainty. "People I would work on," the MASH unit, he means, "two or three wouldn't make it. That would be two or three too many. It was a daily thing." He moved his hand again now, in this sort of circular motion like he was hurrying himself on. His voice grew a tad higher, and he really needed to get to the point here, huh? Sitting ducks, the both of them.
Nobody would ever be prepared to die. This wasn't a written novel with heroes and noble actions, with the knight in his armor who would give his life for-- no, no. Kili looked ridiculous in that outfit. There wouldn't be heroes here.
"And then there's this Game," he says. And he hoped death didn't catch the poor fella but it would, or else he had just damned all of his older friends and Hawkeye makes a shooing motion directed at the thought. "And I hope you have someone you trust by your side then. Friends are always nice." If selfish, but humanity carried on.