"So you're at it, too, huh?" sneered Burns, lugging the cross around with
him under his arm, this time, as he went from bed to bed checking on the
patients. "Bucking for a psycho? Talking to your stupid /bear/." He
snorted and chuckled to himself, waiting for a reply from the prone
corporal.
Radar shivered and was nearly tongue-tied from the cold, stagnant atmosphere shoved on him by Burns' presence. But he tucked Qotenmatch up under his chin and nuzzled down on him affectionately.
"No sir," he calmly replied. "But according to the army statute 7A dash 2 oh eight, ah, under the new revision, it was dash 2 oh seven in the last, any personel the personal belongings of said personel as long as they are of the male sort of gender and of materials made in nations not of a communist nature nor affiliated with any of such nature might put in for repairs or medical attentions as the cases may be as long as the medical malady is similarly affecting said personel say take your typical regulation voo-doo doll as a good example of that, sir."
Frank opened his mouth, thoroughly confused, and then shut it again and moved on. This was about the result Radar had been desiring. Frank's presence in the ward unnerved him somewhat, and direct conversation with him was taxing. "Even more taxing than normal, even," he whined to Qot and Ban.
"Guys? When'll I feel better? I'm really tired, and my arm hurts, and I think I'm losing my sense of smell."
"Hush, now, ward, fear not, salvation comes," cried Bantelhopp from his perch on Radar's head.
"Incarnate in your good friend, Hawkeye Pierce."
Just the thought of seeing Hawkeye's face made Radar smile a bit. "Ohh... when?" he groaned.
"Wait for it," whispered the chimerae in unison.
Two... One... Hawkeye, as promised, burst into the post-op, splitting the oppressive silence with a bang of the double doors.
"Alright, Frank, I'm here," he sang out, settling his twinkling eyes on his favorite target of verbal abuse. "You can stop---" 'molesting these poor people, now,' ran the rest of the line in his head, but the light glared conspicuously off of the familiar coke-bottle lenses of the company clerk, and he halted himself, "You can go, now."
Radar blinked in confusion. The chimerae made little disappointed noises.
Frank seemed no less befuddled. "What, no cracks tonight, Mister... Cracker-Upper?" he snorted.
'Only the one in your head, Frank," Hawkeye thought. "Um, no, not tonight, Frank. Just get out of here, okay?"
Frank left in a smug little huff, and Hawkeye meandered over to Radar's bedside. "How're you doing?" he asked plainly.
"Um, not so well, now my right arm hurts, too..." Radar mumbled.
Hawkeye picked up Radar's right hand and started moving the fingers gently. "How's that?"
Radar frowned, feeling the warmth throbbing within Hawkeye's hand, a stream of caring and love waiting to be let out, but penned in by... by something... leaving only the cool glove of skin touching skin. He shivered, "Oh, it's horrible," he cried. "Hawkeye?"
"Yep?" he asked, keeping his eyes on Radar's hand, avoiding direct eye contact.
"Something wrong?" Radar whispered, ducking his head and twisting his neck to try to catch Hawkeye's attention.
Hawkeye grabbed a stethoscope from a passing nurse, "Nope." He slipped the earpieces into place and pressed the circular metal end to the crook of Radar's elbow.
Radar gritted his teeth and squirmed. "Ooowwww!" he whimpered, the creeping cold of the instrument running up his arm.
"Radar, that doesn't hurt, does it?"
"It wouldn't hurt so much if you..." Radar sputtered, "If you'd just--"
Hawkeye stopped listening at Radar's elbow, and sat up. He finally met Radar's querying gaze.
"Just talk to me," Radar whispered, "That's all."
"What? I can't, Radar." He stated tersely, and shifted backwards a bit.
Radar breathed heavily, feeling suffocated under the strength of the wall that the Captain had put up. He pursed his lips, shoved himself up into a half-sitting position, wincing at the use of his aching arms. He stared at Hawkeye and asked, "Why not?"
Hawkeye didn't bat an eyelash. He didn't have time to. He sat up straight, his head cocked back in his trademark manner, and the words started flowing from his mouth. He was hardly thinking of them, they just... came. And left:
"Why not? Why, there's just no talking to you. Why not? Why not a knot? I've got a knot in my throat the size of the state of Texas, third largest producer in the world of lasso knots, first largest producer of Texans. Get me the producer on the line, I've got to ask him about the lighting for my interview scene with Mister Radar "Why Not?" O'Reilly."
Radar giggled and sat up, stronger now, leaning forward and looking into Hawkeye's face intently. The captain's face was covered in a wide grin; his eyes were slightly wider than normal, as well, as his tongue rattled on as if of its own volition.
"Mind if I ask you a few questions, sir? Is it vegetable, animal, or mineral? Have you ever met a model of a modern Major General? Think I could ever make Major General? You could be my minor General. I hope you've still got those picks under your cot. What else you've got under there I don't want to know, but you've got two weeks to get back all my Nudesweek magazines. One week if you don't want any overdue charges. You might think my prices are sky-high, but I've got North Koreans waiting to shell out big bucks for those magazines. Of course, my Korean might be a little rusty, they might have said they wanted to buck out big shells on the magazines next door. I guess the world will never know. Or, if they do know, they should come find me and tell me. Unless I'm asleep. Then they should just arrange a wake-up call for the end of the war, or Armageddon, whichever comes first. Father Mulcahy and I really need to synchronize our watches. I'd hate to sleep through his big day. I'd hate to sleep through your big day, too, Radar, no offence, but I'm really---"
Hawkeye halted. The words stopped flowing. Radar smiled broadly, his body warm and feeling quite well again. "No problem, Hawk," he jumped up in bed and patted Hawkeye on the shoulder. "Thanks for talking... I really liked listening to you. You could go to bed, now, I'll take care of the rest of these guys."
Hawkeye murmured, "Um. Uh-huh," and stumbled, trying to stand up.
Bantelhopp peeked down at Qotenmatch, who was lying on the bed. He chirped in concern, and the bear rumbled back deeply, frowning.
~
Radar shivered and was nearly tongue-tied from the cold, stagnant atmosphere shoved on him by Burns' presence. But he tucked Qotenmatch up under his chin and nuzzled down on him affectionately.
"No sir," he calmly replied. "But according to the army statute 7A dash 2 oh eight, ah, under the new revision, it was dash 2 oh seven in the last, any personel the personal belongings of said personel as long as they are of the male sort of gender and of materials made in nations not of a communist nature nor affiliated with any of such nature might put in for repairs or medical attentions as the cases may be as long as the medical malady is similarly affecting said personel say take your typical regulation voo-doo doll as a good example of that, sir."
Frank opened his mouth, thoroughly confused, and then shut it again and moved on. This was about the result Radar had been desiring. Frank's presence in the ward unnerved him somewhat, and direct conversation with him was taxing. "Even more taxing than normal, even," he whined to Qot and Ban.
"Guys? When'll I feel better? I'm really tired, and my arm hurts, and I think I'm losing my sense of smell."
"Hush, now, ward, fear not, salvation comes," cried Bantelhopp from his perch on Radar's head.
"Incarnate in your good friend, Hawkeye Pierce."
Just the thought of seeing Hawkeye's face made Radar smile a bit. "Ohh... when?" he groaned.
"Wait for it," whispered the chimerae in unison.
Two... One... Hawkeye, as promised, burst into the post-op, splitting the oppressive silence with a bang of the double doors.
"Alright, Frank, I'm here," he sang out, settling his twinkling eyes on his favorite target of verbal abuse. "You can stop---" 'molesting these poor people, now,' ran the rest of the line in his head, but the light glared conspicuously off of the familiar coke-bottle lenses of the company clerk, and he halted himself, "You can go, now."
Radar blinked in confusion. The chimerae made little disappointed noises.
Frank seemed no less befuddled. "What, no cracks tonight, Mister... Cracker-Upper?" he snorted.
'Only the one in your head, Frank," Hawkeye thought. "Um, no, not tonight, Frank. Just get out of here, okay?"
Frank left in a smug little huff, and Hawkeye meandered over to Radar's bedside. "How're you doing?" he asked plainly.
"Um, not so well, now my right arm hurts, too..." Radar mumbled.
Hawkeye picked up Radar's right hand and started moving the fingers gently. "How's that?"
Radar frowned, feeling the warmth throbbing within Hawkeye's hand, a stream of caring and love waiting to be let out, but penned in by... by something... leaving only the cool glove of skin touching skin. He shivered, "Oh, it's horrible," he cried. "Hawkeye?"
"Yep?" he asked, keeping his eyes on Radar's hand, avoiding direct eye contact.
"Something wrong?" Radar whispered, ducking his head and twisting his neck to try to catch Hawkeye's attention.
Hawkeye grabbed a stethoscope from a passing nurse, "Nope." He slipped the earpieces into place and pressed the circular metal end to the crook of Radar's elbow.
Radar gritted his teeth and squirmed. "Ooowwww!" he whimpered, the creeping cold of the instrument running up his arm.
"Radar, that doesn't hurt, does it?"
"It wouldn't hurt so much if you..." Radar sputtered, "If you'd just--"
Hawkeye stopped listening at Radar's elbow, and sat up. He finally met Radar's querying gaze.
"Just talk to me," Radar whispered, "That's all."
"What? I can't, Radar." He stated tersely, and shifted backwards a bit.
Radar breathed heavily, feeling suffocated under the strength of the wall that the Captain had put up. He pursed his lips, shoved himself up into a half-sitting position, wincing at the use of his aching arms. He stared at Hawkeye and asked, "Why not?"
Hawkeye didn't bat an eyelash. He didn't have time to. He sat up straight, his head cocked back in his trademark manner, and the words started flowing from his mouth. He was hardly thinking of them, they just... came. And left:
"Why not? Why, there's just no talking to you. Why not? Why not a knot? I've got a knot in my throat the size of the state of Texas, third largest producer in the world of lasso knots, first largest producer of Texans. Get me the producer on the line, I've got to ask him about the lighting for my interview scene with Mister Radar "Why Not?" O'Reilly."
Radar giggled and sat up, stronger now, leaning forward and looking into Hawkeye's face intently. The captain's face was covered in a wide grin; his eyes were slightly wider than normal, as well, as his tongue rattled on as if of its own volition.
"Mind if I ask you a few questions, sir? Is it vegetable, animal, or mineral? Have you ever met a model of a modern Major General? Think I could ever make Major General? You could be my minor General. I hope you've still got those picks under your cot. What else you've got under there I don't want to know, but you've got two weeks to get back all my Nudesweek magazines. One week if you don't want any overdue charges. You might think my prices are sky-high, but I've got North Koreans waiting to shell out big bucks for those magazines. Of course, my Korean might be a little rusty, they might have said they wanted to buck out big shells on the magazines next door. I guess the world will never know. Or, if they do know, they should come find me and tell me. Unless I'm asleep. Then they should just arrange a wake-up call for the end of the war, or Armageddon, whichever comes first. Father Mulcahy and I really need to synchronize our watches. I'd hate to sleep through his big day. I'd hate to sleep through your big day, too, Radar, no offence, but I'm really---"
Hawkeye halted. The words stopped flowing. Radar smiled broadly, his body warm and feeling quite well again. "No problem, Hawk," he jumped up in bed and patted Hawkeye on the shoulder. "Thanks for talking... I really liked listening to you. You could go to bed, now, I'll take care of the rest of these guys."
Hawkeye murmured, "Um. Uh-huh," and stumbled, trying to stand up.
Bantelhopp peeked down at Qotenmatch, who was lying on the bed. He chirped in concern, and the bear rumbled back deeply, frowning.
~