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The morning announcements fill the air, crackling with static as they spill forth from every loudspeaker on base. You listen idly while you prep for the day, noting the weather report and throwing on an extra layer. Odd to think that the weather here is the same as it probably is back home, You muse while you lace up your boots, So far away, but so damn similar. Radar seems to be in an especially good mood this morning- his voice is noticeably more chipper than usual as he wraps up the schedule for the day’s activities. You hear your name over the sound system and freeze up, ears straining as you tune in to Radar’s last announcement.
“Our first song of the day goes out to you. You made the request about a week ago, but I lost the record when- well, you know when. Ah, anyway-”
There’s a pause, and you can just barely make out a nervous huff of laughter before Orange Colored Sky is broadcast throughout the base. You grin to yourself, the familiar piano momentarily whisking you away from the war and back to a memory of home, the edges softened by nostalgia. You strap on your watch and note the time- whatever slop the military is going to call breakfast today should start being doled out in two minutes. You forgo making your bed to rush out of your yurt and toward the mess tent, boots kicking up clods of dirt as you go.
“Woah there, sunshine, no one’s gonna fight you for the first scoop of nuclear waste this morning, you know.”
You roll your eyes at the sound of Hawkeye’s familiar voice, glancing over your shoulder to see him and B.J. rushing to catch up with you. The three of you fall into step, your compatriots visibly winded, and Hawk starts in again with the teasing, undeterred by your lack of response to his opening line.
“Oh, but of course! You’ve got an extra mouth to feed today!”
“You know,” Hunnicutt interjects, leaning toward you and raising his eyebrows as if he’s letting you in on some sort of huge secret, “The average ten-month-old requires anywhere between two and four cups of semi-solid or soft food a day-”
“Oh, for god’s sake,” You sigh, throwing your hands up in exasperation, “Yes, I’m bringing Radar breakfast! Is that what you two wanted to know?”
“Pretty much.” B.J. confirms, leaning around you to catch Hawk’s eye and share a nod with him.
“The million dollar question is: Will you be serving confessions, or is it just breakfast this morning, Lieutenant?” Pierce inquires, rushing ahead of you to open the mess tent’s flap and bowing to you like a doorman at a fancy restaurant.
You scoff at your friend’s antics and brush past Hawkeye without so much as a backward glance. B.J.’s barking laughter rings out from behind you, and you just shake your head at the two of them as they catch up to you once more and take their place behind you in the mess line.
“Is that a yes?” Hunnicutt pries, gently jabbing your elbow with the edge of a food tray.
“Not gonna dignify that with an answer,” You airily announce, snagging two trays and going through the motions of dishing up for yourself and Radar, “And you two need better hobbies. Whether or not I ask the Corporal out on a date is none of your damn business.”
“Oh, but where else are we gonna get our entertainment?” Hawkeye exclaims, eyes going comically wide, “You two are the hottest thing in Korea since Jack Benny almost had a heart attack on stage last summer.”
You tilt your head toward the sky, searching for an answer from a god you never pray to and knowing you’ll never get one. The marx brothers look on in amusement as you snatch up yours and Radar’s breakfast and book it for the exit, the two of them exchanging conspiratorial grins as you fast-walk toward the communications building.
“Two hundred bucks says today’s the day.” B.J. mutters, watching intently as you kick at the building’s front door in lieu of knocking.
“Are you kidding? You don’t have that kind of money.”
“So what? I’ll pay you in three years.”
You balance the trays on each hand, feeling rather like a waiter, and the door opens before you have a chance to put your foot back down, Radar’s inquisitive face peeking out from behind it. He grins at the sight of you, and his eyes widen when he notices the food you’re holding. He takes the fuller tray away from you and cradles it protectively against his chest with both hands, using his back to hold the door open for you.
“Sheesh- nice to see you, too.” You joke, sidling past the Corporal and setting your tray on the other side of his makeshift D.J. station.
“It’s good to see you!” Radar insists, letting the door fall shut and rushing to set his tray next to yours, “But it’s good to see the food, too. I was starting to waste away here. I think my body was eating itself to stay alive.”
“Didn’t you eat two hours ago?” You question, knowing full and well what the answer will be.
“Yeah!”
You nod slowly, biting back a smile, and wait next to the desk while Radar hastily shuffles about the office, aimlessly straightening stacks of paperwork and moving equipment around in an attempt to make the place look a bit more presentable. You snort at his efforts, mouth quirking into an amused grin, and he gives you a nervous smile of his own. The Corporal pulls off his hat and runs a shaky hand through his hair.
“I don’t think we’ve got an extra chair.” He titters, eyes darting about the room.
You shrug and pick up your tray while you circle the desk, bypassing Radar’s chair in favor of settling on the floor with your back against the wall.
“Are you sure you don’t-” He starts, gesturing vaguely toward his own seat.
“I’m fine down here!” You chirp, balancing your tray on your legs and digging into your bland breakfast, “Thanks for playing my song, by the way.”
The Corporal’s cheeks darken in an instant, and he shoves his hat back onto his head while reclaiming his seat. He swivels away from you in an attempt to hide his embarrassment, but the waver in his voice gives him away.
“Well, y’know, I promised I would.”
The two of you eat in relative peace, Radar pausing every few minutes to put a new record on the turntable. There are no speakers inside of the office, but you can hear the music issuing from the loudspeaker just outside of the door. You read the titles of the records whose spines you can see. Your eyes find a title that you recognize, and you continue to eat one-handed while reaching out to pinch one of the sleeves and carefully pull it from the middle of the stack. Radar lets out an interested hum around a mouthful of soggy eggs, gesturing to the record with his fork and raising his eyebrows in a silent question.
“If you don’t have any other pressing engagements.” You gibe, setting the 45 into the Corporal’s waiting hand.
“Just this one.” He counters, lips twitching into a bashful smile.
Jo Stafford pours from the loudspeakers, velvety and wistful, and you abandon your breakfast in favor of closing your eyes and swaying to the music. There’s a minute of blissful quiet before Radar clears his throat to get your attention. You look up at him, still moving back and forth. He sets his tray aside and tangles his fingers together in his lap, trying and failing to feign nonchalance, and asks, “Do you dance?”
“Not very well.” You snort.
“Oh, yeah. Me either.”
The Corporal swallows hard, eyes darting about the room, and your instincts tell you that something important is about to happen, so you wait. Radar takes a deep breath, shoulders heaving with the effort, and when he speaks again, it’s almost too fast for you to understand.
“Would you dance with me? I’m not good at it- you’re not good at it- n-not that I’m really qualified to make any sorta judgement on-”
“Sure.”
“What?”
Radar’s eyes go wide, the movement magnified by his glasses, and his hands fall still in his lap. You push off of the floor, and do your damndest to suppress the nervous tremor in your hand when you offer it to Radar. He doesn’t notice your shakiness- he’s still shell-shocked by your answer. He stares at you with his mouth slightly agape, blinking rapidly as if coming out of a daze. It’s only when you lean forward to take his hands in yours that he snaps to attention.
“Right, right- Oops-”
He stands a bit too fast- the backs of his knees hit his desk chair and send it careening into the nearest wall. Both of you jolt at the loud crash before bursting into nervous laughter, the scare doing little to ease the tension in the room. You’re caught off-guard by the feeling of a gentle, hesitant arm sneaking around your waist. Your eyes snap up to meet Radar’s, and the Corporal is quick to exclaim, “Unless you want to lead! I haven’t done this since Senior year-” as his right hand shakily laces with yours.
“You’re assuming I’m gonna be any better at this than you are.” You chuckle, left hand sliding over the curve of his shoulder and settling just shy of his uniform collar.
The two of you start to aimlessly sway, doing the occasional half-turn when one of you is feeling especially brave.
“Hey- this isn’t so bad!” He muses, eyes widening as he realizes the implication behind his words, “Not that you’re bad! You’re pretty okay, actually.”
“Just okay?” You scoff, “That’s a step above Frank, so I guess it’s not so bad.”
“You know what I mean!” Radar squawks, cheeks reddening.
“I’m not sure I do.” You mutter, giving the Corporal a look of mock confusion.
He opens his mouth to protest and cuts himself off with a curious hum, head tilting to the right. The two of you stop turning while he homes in on whatever’s distracted him, brow furrowing.
“Helicopter’s coming.” He murmurs, head turning in the direction of a sound that’s well out of your range of hearing.
“That’s my cue, I guess” You sigh, letting go of your dance partner and taking a step backward, “Thanks for letting me crash your radio show for a while.”
“Oh, yeah, sure…”
The Corporal looks like he wants to say more, eyes darting between you and the door while his mouth opens and closes uselessly. You want to stay- you’d stay in this office all damn day if you could- but duty calls. You start to walk backward toward the door, giving Radar a sheepish, apologetic grin as you go.
“I gotta go if I wanna be scrubbed up in time,” You lamely explain, jerking a thumb over your shoulder, “But we can do this again-”
You set your hand on the knob and are just starting to turn it when Radar shouts, “No, wait a minute-”
You hear his frantic footfalls as he jogs across the office to catch up with you. You turn, thinking you’ve forgotten something, and open your mouth to tell him that you’ll come back for it later. You don’t get a chance to say anything. Calloused, trembling hands frame your jaw and pull you forward into a rushed, clumsy kiss. You let out a muffled sound of surprise against Radar’s lips, eyes wide and unblinking, and the Corporal pulls away from you with a gasp, his glasses now slightly askew.
“Oh, boy,” He breathes, letting go of you to wipe his hands on the front of his shirt, “Uh- Look, I just-”
You move before you lose your nerve, grappling his lapels and reeling him in to deliver a kiss of your own. He inhales sharply through his nose, momentarily taken aback, and his arms flap at his sides as if he’s not sure what to do with them. You let him go after a few seconds, the urgency of your job outweighing the urge to stay, and give him a shaky grin as you reach behind yourself and open the door.
“Gotta go.” You titter, stepping backward and squeezing yourself between the door and the frame.
Radar nods and smiles dazedly, murmuring a distracted, “Okay..” while you continue to make your exit. You close the door behind you, the sound of the helicopter’s whirring engines finally reaching your ears, and before you make it two steps away from the building, you hear a delirious, triumphant whoop from inside of the office. You run toward the hospital with an extra spring in your step, grinning all the while.