Author: Elanor
Pairing: Hawkeye/Radar
Rating:Not sure what the rating is, more than PG, less than NC17 I'd say.
Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to anything and I am making no profit from this story.
Archive - yes please!

Author's note. A hyphen – before dialogue is how I have indicated Radar's ability to say things at the same time as someone else or to answer questions before the question is finished.

AFTER HENRY

CHAPTER THREE

Almost as if he had been expecting his failure, Trapper was waiting with a martini when Hawkeye returned to the mess tent. "Vintage year," he told him, "It's been brewing for almost twenty minutes. No luck?"

"Thanks. None whatsoever. Have I mentioned recently how much I adore this war?"

"Not for a few minutes."

Hawkeye offered a cynical smile. "I must be slipping up." All he wanted to do now was get as drunk as possible in the shortest time possible. He poured himself another martini, downing it in one gulp, feeling the fire spread down his throat to his gut. He was about to guzzle the next round direct from the jug when the mess tent door swung open and Radar shuffled hesitantly inside. Hawkeye froze mid-slurp then his face broke into an exultant smile. Radar moved through the welcoming throng, nodding and smiling as one person then the next greeted him with warmth and genuine affection. Father Mulcahy shook his hand, practically beaming with pride. Radar stopped in front of Hawkeye and Trapper, shoved his hands into his pockets in that patented Radar way and shrugged. "I thought you said there was a grape knee high with my name on it?"

Hawkeye took the stage. He tapped his glass delicately – no-one paid him the slightest attention. He was about to ask Radar to quieten everyone down but Radar had already pre-empted him and was roaring for silence. As Hawkeye swept his keen gaze round the assembled company a strange thought occurred to him – for all the pain and useless loss of war, these people meant more to him in a few short months than friends of ten years back home. "First, for your edification, nay delight, the results of this afternoon's competition. Father?" Mulcahy played a few rousing chords on the piano. "And the winner who, incorrectly, guess that Henry's last lecture was on planting potatoes when in reality it was on social diseases is Corporal Maxwell Klinger!" Klinger mounted the stage in a nifty taffeta ball gown which showed a distressing amount of hairy leg. "And your prize, you lucky lady, is your choice of either figure A or figure B to take home with you tonight!" Once the laughter had died away, and Klinger had finally settled on figure A whom he re-christened Henrietta, Hawkeye continued: "As you all know, the proceeds, some one thousand dollars, will go to the family Henry left behind. It doesn't make up for Lorraine's tragic loss but it means a lot to all of us." Hawkeye paused, struggling against the well of grief that he knew would never fully go away. "Father Mulcahy asked me to deliver the eulogy at Henry's Memorial Service but I think that that honour should go to the person who was closest to Henry – Radar O'Riley."

With a shy smile Radar climbed onto the stage, his eyes growing large at all the people hanging on his every word. "I never knew my dad – my real dad. He died when I was little. I was an orphan, except for ma, I mean." Radar shrugged in that self-effacing way of his. "Then I got drafted and Colonel Blake ... He made me feel special and needed and, you know, suddenly I had a dad again." Radar took a deep, trembling breath and swiped at his eyes behind his glasses. The room was very quiet. "I miss Colonel Blake so much and, by golly, I'd give anything to talk to him for just one more hour. But he's dead and I'm an orphan again."

He couldn't go on. Hawkeye stepped up, putting his arm round Radar's shoulders and, for the first time since Henry's death, Radar allowed the contact. Trapper handed them glasses and Hawkeye held his up, working at keeping his voice steady enough for the toast.

"My friends, I give you Henry Blake, friend, commanding officer, father-figure and all round good guy." He smiled affectionately, feeling some of the grief lift. "Goodbye, farewell, amen, Henry."

As the dancing resumed, Klinger came over to where Trapper, Radar and Hawkeye were sitting. He dropped into his chair with an unladylike flop. "Nurses, huh," he declared around his cigar. "Would you believe not one of them will have a dance with me?"

"I'd dance with you," Radar said earnestly and blushed when Hawkeye and Trapper sniggered. "If you were a real woman, I mean," he added hastily.

Trapper took a swill of his martini. "I don't think they like being outclassed by a fruitcake in a better frock than theirs."

"I was wondering if it was the tiara. Truthfully, does a tiara work with fake fruit and ostrich feathers?"

"Funny, I've never been asked that question before," Trapper replied. "And will you please hitch your skirt down – either that or keep your legs closed."

"Preferably both," Hawkeye joined in. "Try Janet, that's her third beer, she'd probably dance with Frank."

"Thanks, guys. Good speech, Radar." Klinger clapped Radar on the shoulder and straightened his tiara. As he was striding away, occasionally tottering in his heels, Radar gave a start and put down his drink.

"Holy cow! I'd better be going too, sirs."

"What's the rush, kid? Forgot to tell your Bear you'd be home late?" Trapper teased.

"What? Oh no, sir. It's Mrs Colonel Blake. You know Colonel Blake's Mrs Blake, his wife."

"That part we got," Hawkeye prompted.

"She's going to phone."

"Want some company?"

"Thanks, Hawkeye."

The two men had no sooner gained the door than the phone rang. Radar sucked in a deep breath, steeled himself as though he were about to wrestle a bear, and picked it up. "Mrs Colonel Blake, ma'am? It's Radar, ma'am."

Hawkeye saw the look of devastation on Radar's mobile face but, just as the clerk had saluted Henry as the chopper had borne him away forever without breaking down, now he talked to the man's widow. Feeling supremely useless, Hawkeye stood behind Radar's chair and rested his hands on his shoulders. He listened with grief and sore pride as Radar comforted Lorraine. Most men found a woman crying embarrassing but in his simple, gentle way, Radar soothed and encouraged her to let go. It was a humbling experience for the doctor. Finally Radar hung up; he cast a glance at Hawkeye who had moved to perch on the desk, before dropping eye contact. When he spoke, he sounded lost and forlorn.

"He never saw his new baby, you know, never held him. Gee, Hawk, that baby will grow up never knowing what a great guy his father was."

"We'll tell him. We'll write."

For a second Radar's features twisted in bitterness. "What should I say to him? That I let his father down? Because I sure did and no mistake." Hawkeye remained silent, letting Radar rant, knowing he needed the release. "Oh, Hawk! Why couldn't I have seen Colonel Blake's death before he left? Why did I see it too late to do anything about it? I let him down." In his hour of need, the one time when Henry Blake needed him, genuinely needed him, and Radar had failed him. He recalled all the times when he had pre-empted his friend, all the stupid forms and phone calls; they had made him feel important, useful – but what use was the ability to simultaneously answer someone's question and bring them a gin before they asked when it couldn't foresee that person's death?

"Don't say that," Hawkeye snapped, "I don't know why you had to witness Henry's death, kid. I don't know why Tommy Gillis had to die under my hands. I don't know why we're stuck here in this sewer. If I ever get to heaven, however, you can be sure that I'll ask the Big Guy the first chance I get." He raised Radar's chin, his voice losing its anger to be replaced by tenderness. "I do know it wasn't your fault."

"It hurt so much, Hawk, being there. D'you know what his last words were? He was talking to his daughter's photo, telling her he'd be home soon." Radar gave a choked sob, then turning in his chair, he pressed his face into Hawkeye's belly as the tears he had not allowed himself to shed in front of the company or Lorraine began to fall.

When the worst of the storm seemed to be over, Hawkeye unwound himself from Radar's clinging arms and chivvied him to his feet. "Here," he mumbled, "up you come, kid." Radar blinked stupidly, still snuffling a little. Hawkeye cupped his face for a moment then leaned down and kissed him, more a pressure of lips than anything else.

"S-sir? Hawkeye? What are you doing?" Radar sounded so astounded that Hawkeye couldn't help but tease him.

"I'm not knitting a jumper nor am I annotating my stamp collection – because I don't have one. I do believe I'm kissing you."

- "You're kissing me!" Radar squeaked at the same time.

Although the twinkle remained, Hawkeye's eyes were serious. "You need this." There were many forms of healing, perhaps all Hawkeye was doing even now was being a doctor. "Healing, comfort, call it what you will." Hawkeye rested his hands on Radar's shoulders, tugging until Radar hesitantly stepped into his embrace. Such an uncomplicated thing, holding and being held, such a complex thing too. Usually by now he would have been chafing at the bit, wanting to progress to the next base – hit a home run even – but tonight there was no urgency. He could have stood there forever, holding Radar, giving and receiving comfort, letting the stress and the grief wash away. He concentrated on the simple things: Radar's regular if slightly elevated heartbeat, the solid weight of his body and the occasional tremor that ran through his body, half excitement, half nervousness. Keeping one hand where it was, rhythmically rubbing up and down Radar's back, he lifted the other to sieve through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Radar wriggled and giggled, leaning further into Hawkeye's embrace and his hands which had remained loose at his sides, lifted to encircle Hawkeye's waist.

"You need to feel cherished," Hawkeye murmured into the quiet of the night, his words no more than a breath against Radar's skin. And perhaps I need to feel cherished too, Hawkeye added to himself. To feel special to someone who did not calculate the cost of each touch and whose love did not come with a thousand conditions. He cupped Radar's face, letting his long fingers caress his ear which made Radar squeak, and leaned in for more kisses, sweet as honey, darting his tongue against Radar's closed lips, requesting entry which was shyly given. No frenzied duelling, just gentleness and care. Radar was beginning to respond, chasing Hawkeye's tongue back into his mouth, his hands gripping at Hawkeye's Hawaiian shirt.

Finally Radar took a step back, his eyes wide with awe. "Wow," he breathed, touching his own lips. "Holy cow."

"I like you," Hawkeye smiled, "you're easily pleased. That was some oral physical you just gave me. Let's see what else you can do." He left the pleasure of his mouth to nip along his jaw, enjoying the rasp of whiskers, until he reached his ear. He loved Radar's response to his touches – everything, even the simplest kiss, was something new and wonderful, a sensation to be cherished. He was shy and awkward but he wasn't holding back. He didn't know how to play it cool; he simply revelled in the contact. Hawkeye suckled on his earlobe, feeling Radar's body shudder and his hands knead his back like a kitten seeking its mother's milk. He eased back and, for a moment, saw terror flare in Radar's eyes at the loss of contact. He kissed him in reassurance and then transferred his attention to his shirt, starting to unbutton it. He nuzzled against the newly exposed skin of his neck, murmuring, "You're blushing."

The words served to enflame Radar's skin further. He grabbed for the sides of his shirt and began to button it back up. Hawkeye shook his head fondly and proceeded to unbutton the shirt again. They reached a stalemate of buttoning and unbuttoning until Hawkeye slapped Radar's hands away.

"I make it a rule never to sleep with anyone dressed in khaki," he explained as he finally managed to undo the shirt and slide it off Radar's arms, leaving Radar in his t shirt.

"S-sleep? Sleep? Oh, gee."

"Why, Corporal O'Riley, what else were you thinking of doing with me? Taking advantage of me like that!" His performance was so outrageous that despite his nervousness, Radar giggled. Hawkeye's eyes were warm with reassurance. "Hey, trust me, okay. I'm a doctor."

- "You're a doctor." Both men laughed and the ice was broken. Radar nodded, allowing Hawkeye to tug at the hem of his T shirt and pull it off. Hawkeye stepped back slightly and Radar blushed again at the provocative regard travelling up and down his naked torso. "Am I still cute?"

Hawkeye's smile broadened at the reference to the check-up he had given Radar a few months ago. "Cute. Arousing." Hawkeye caught Radar's gaze at the last and held it as he guided the clerk's hand to the buttons on his own shirt and watched with a mixture of fondness and building excitement as the man fumbled them open. He tossed the shirt to the foot of the cot and pulled back the blanket with a flourish. Radar's teddy stared up at him.

"Has he been watching us all this time? Three's definitely a crowd. He can keep Henry's doll company tonight. As long as he doesn't try anything, that is." He set the teddy next to the Japanese doll and crawled under the covers, opening his arms in invitation. Radar removed his glasses and cuddled close, sighing contentedly when Hawkeye spooned behind him.

"Hawkeye?"

"Here."

"Did that guy Jenkins really lose his leg because of me?"

"No, Radar, it wasn't your fault." Hawkeye felt the guilt colour his cheeks; he hadn't blushed in years. "I'm sorry I said that – it was way out of line. So far out of line that it isn't even possible to see the line." Aware that he was covering his guilt with babble, Hawkeye offered a shrug. "I'm truly sorry." The sad truth of the matter was that nothing could have saved the poor guy's leg. Another life cut short by this detestable, futile war.

Radar's face registered immense relief. "Jeepers! Oh, I'm sure glad to hear that." He frowned, reading some of Hawkeye's self-recrimination and immediately offering reassurance. "Oh, you mustn't feel bad. It's okay, really."

And that in a nutshell was what drew Hawkeye to this gentle man – his faith in humanity, his shining trust, his grace. Hawkeye sometimes felt his own hands were stained with the blood of the kids he had cobbled back together – being near Radar made him feel clean. Made him feel that there was something worth believing in, amidst the filth and lice and sharp stench of blood that never quite went away.

Radar was continuing, "I treated him so badly. I didn't even give him a painkiller. Gee, if Colonel Blake knew, he'd sure come back from heaven and tan my hide."

Despite the twinge of regret, Hawkeye couldn't help but smile at the image of Henry garbed in a white robe and strumming a harp. "You know how you can make Henry proud? By being Radar, spooky premonitions, garbled sentences, shining innocence and all – all the qualities that made him consider you a friend and surrogate son."

Hawkeye was just beginning to drift off, feeling warm and safe (which was ridiculous) for the first time in months when Radar spoke up. "Did he suffer? Much? I have to know."

Compassion filled Hawkeye at the thought of what Henry had gone through in the last few minutes of his life. "No, Radar, it would have been quick." Please, God, he prayed fervently, let it have been quick.

Radar struggled awake, fighting the gripping thrall of a nightmare but even awake, gasping for breath, the images dogged him: blood, dismembered bodies and beneath it all an all-pervading sense of disgust and futility. But it wasn't his own nightmare that hounded him, made the nausea rise – it was Hawkeye's, the images so raw and brutal that Radar was receiving them. He grabbed Hawkeye's shoulder, shaking him almost in frenzy until the man woke with a half-cry. For a moment, the nightmare gleamed in his eyes then he shook his head as if to clear it.

"Radar? What ...? Choppers?"

"Golly, no. You were having a nightmare – I'm sorry, I didn't know how else to stop it."

Only half listening, Hawkeye rubbed at his eyes and glanced out of the window. He gave a twisted smile. "Dawn. The nightmares are always worse at dawn." Radar hesitantly put an arm round his shoulder and Hawkeye leaned against him for a moment before, apparently, remembering their roles. "Are you okay? You look pale. Did I wake you?"

Radar had never been good at lying. He shrugged. "Oh, that's okay. I'm sorry it hurt you so much."

Hawkeye frowned and seemed to come to a partial understanding. "You were picking up on it? Wow, you should go on TV."

Radar squirmed and felt the blush rise. He was used to the transmissions but he had learned over time, especially since coming to Korea, that other people were uncomfortable discussing his abilities. "I'm sorry, sir, I wasn't doing it on purpose. See what I mean about a curse? I don't want to keep hurting like this."

Hawkeye reached for him, drawing him back into his protection and love. "Hey, we've been through that or weren't you paying attention? The premonitions are part of who you are, Radar, as much a part of your personality and character as your honesty and gentleness. You have to let yourself feel." Hawkeye moved slightly, nudging Radar onto his back and leaning over him on his elbow. He stroked his deft fingers across Radar's face, down his throat and across his shoulders, a whisper of a touch that had Radar sighing in pleasure. He continued his ministrations, gentle and undemanding, now stroking across his friend's eyebrows, then over his lips. "Feel that? Every touch confirms that we're alive, that there's a shred of humanity that this god-awful war hasn't destroyed." He kissed Radar's forehead almost in benediction.

Radar had his eyes closed but he was smiling almost in wonder. "I can feel you," he murmured."

"That was the idea."

Radar caught Hawkeye's hand and tugged it to hold over his heart. "No, I mean I can feel you, in here." Moved beyond words, Hawkeye gathered Radar close again and the two men eased, drifting in that comforting state between sleep and wakefulness. After half an hour or so, Radar stirred. Hawkeye could feel the younger man's body stiffen. He stroked his hair gently, "What?"

"Major Burns."

With a muttered oath, Hawkeye realised how careless they had been; comfort was one thing but a dishonourable discharge another. He rolled out of bed and reached for his shirt in the one smooth movement, wondering how many seconds he had. Radar stopped him.

"Oh, no, it's okay, he won't be here for six more minutes. See, he'll go to Major Houlihan's tent first then he'll go for a shower – I'm not sure why he doesn't have a shower before going to Major Houlihan's tent though."

Hawkeye gave him a certain look and toppled back onto the cot. "You may want to be quicker with the explanation next time, Radar. I nearly gave myself a coronary – one way to get out of the army, I admit, but not Plan A by any means." Radar however wasn't listening, he was staring at Hawkeye's still naked torso, another blush suffusing his skin. He tugged the blanket up to cover his own chest. Hawkeye sighed in pretended exasperation. "Don't you think it's a little late for that?"

"Oh, no, not at all and do you mind not staring at my nakedity?"

Hawkeye snorted with laughter and grabbed Radar in a fierce embrace. "Listen, I have to go before Frank arrives to single-handedly lose us this war." He tipped up Radar's chin, suddenly serious. "Will you be okay? You know where I am if you want me. Anything, Radar, understand?"

Radar hid his head against Hawkeye's chest, soaking in the comfort for a moment before pushing away. "I'll see you at breakfast, sir." Hawkeye noticed the return to formality with a twinge. He was half way to the supply door when Radar added, "Thanks, Hawk."

He smiled, nodded and disappeared just as Frank's footsteps crunched through the gravel outside.