Like a counterweight, Radar's arms loosen as Mulcahy hugs himself. There's a funny, breathless pressure in his chest, in the back of his throat, like he's about to cry but the tears aren't there.
It's weird, being the youngest of all your friends by at least a decade. Almost three times that in the Father's case. Sometimes (okay, way more than sometimes) it chafes to be treated like a kid all the time, sometimes it's kinda nice knowing there's always someone there to look out for you. But mostly the way Radar looks after them in kind is by keeping the 4077th running smooth.
Not like this. Not someone who could be his dad confessing to him and asking forgiveness. Him, Radar, who still sleeps with a teddy bear and can get drunk on a beer and a half. He doesn't know if he can do this.
Mulcahy's told him exactly what he needs, though. And oh, if he screws this up too just like he screwed up with Hawkeye when they told him about Colonel Blake -- he can't let that happen again. He can't. Otherwise there wasn't any point to all his apologizing and promises to do better. I'd never felt so alone, Hawkeye said to him; maybe the Father hasn't said it, but he sure looks it. He has for ages. It makes Radar's heart hurt every time he sees him.
He steps closer. Whispers: "Father."
That's all, the word half-stuck in the empty space behind his throat, filling the spot where the tears ought to go. He reaches out to touch Father Mulcahy's elbow.
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It's weird, being the youngest of all your friends by at least a decade. Almost three times that in the Father's case. Sometimes (okay, way more than sometimes) it chafes to be treated like a kid all the time, sometimes it's kinda nice knowing there's always someone there to look out for you. But mostly the way Radar looks after them in kind is by keeping the 4077th running smooth.
Not like this. Not someone who could be his dad confessing to him and asking forgiveness. Him, Radar, who still sleeps with a teddy bear and can get drunk on a beer and a half. He doesn't know if he can do this.
Mulcahy's told him exactly what he needs, though. And oh, if he screws this up too just like he screwed up with Hawkeye when they told him about Colonel Blake -- he can't let that happen again. He can't. Otherwise there wasn't any point to all his apologizing and promises to do better. I'd never felt so alone, Hawkeye said to him; maybe the Father hasn't said it, but he sure looks it. He has for ages. It makes Radar's heart hurt every time he sees him.
He steps closer. Whispers: "Father."
That's all, the word half-stuck in the empty space behind his throat, filling the spot where the tears ought to go. He reaches out to touch Father Mulcahy's elbow.