Happy hour in the Swamp. About seven o'clock in the evening, a warm, airless summer night. The sun retreating slowly behind the western hills, the rumble of artillery now barely audible as the day's destruction fades beneath a gin-induced haze. The still, their shrine bubbling contentedly between the bunks, a song distorted by static playing over the PA system. Fred Astaire, 'The way you look tonight', for the hundred and twenty sixth time. Spearchucker and Ginger playing poker with the Father; Henry debating with Klinger the various merits of blue silk or pink chiffon while Radar bobs ever-present at his elbow. Captain Spalding curled on Hawkeye's bunk with his guitar, surgeon's hands caressing the varnished black-gold body.
And them. Two men in crumpled army jackets, heads inclined somewhere between laughter and sincerity as they dance. One tall and fair, the other dark and slight, stepping lightly in their socks with holes in the toes, though it's impossible to tell who is leading. The song ends, and Trapper dips Hawkeye backwards as the others laugh, the audience in this strange play.
"Kiss me, you fool!"
And Hawkeye grins, and kisses him full on the mouth, until Trapper bursts out laughing and releases him with a gentle shove in the ribs.
"Hey, Nancy was right, you do give a great tonsillectomy!" - and grins so that his eyebrows quirk upwards and the corners of his mouth twitch.
"Degenerates." Frank's token objection muttered from the corner with his bible.
The doctors turn towards him and smile fondly with heads cocked to either side, gently patronising as adults to an uncomprehending child.
"Are you kidding?" Nancy twinkles, slipping past to reach the still. "I don't kiss and tell."
"Well then I'll have to settle for just the first half."
And Trapper winks, and drops his partner's hand, lithe brown arms snaking about the nurse's waist. She kisses him, and the Hawk shoots them a look of mock affront until he notices Margie slipping in through the door.
"Hello doctor darling!" she whispers, sliding her arm through his and standing on tiptoe to kiss him.
Happy hour in the swamp. The warmth slips away softly with the sunset, and the first stars appear. 'Happy Days' is playing on the PA. Behind the hills, the artillery rumbles on.
.
.
N.B. Chapter title from an Ager/Yellen song made famous by Barbara Streisand (among others)