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mash_slashTitle: Reports Of My Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated, Part 2
Summary: In which Henry Blake gets to go home, wherever that might be.
Rating: G
Word Count: ~3000
Disclaimer: I don't own M*A*S*H. No money's being made.
Notes: Kind of AU. Very spoilery, for the series in general and Abyssinia Henry in particular. Mostly gen, with the odd bit of slash subtext, though this chapter comes with a fair dose of het as well.
Part Two: The Return
The UN forces found them within the week, and from there it was simply a case of taking the route that Henry should have gone down two years ago: Kimpo, San Francisco, and home.
He spent a couple of weeks in San Franscisco just resting, trying to build his strength up before he travelled further. He didn't have the money for anywhere fancy, but after the camp, a proper bed, hot showers and regular meals were luxury beyond measure. Even after one night, he could feel his old energy returning.
It wasn't all going to happen at once, mind you, and he doubted if he'd ever be quite as strong or healthy as he used to be. It was torture passing the steakhouses and having to fight the urge to go in and order half a cow: so long living off so little meant he could only stomach small meals for the time being.
It was a lonely existence, too. In the camp there had at least been a certain sense of solidarity, but in San Francisco, Henry was just one more old veteran. There were hundreds of others, but none of them were anyone he could talk to, though he was convinced that surely his fellow POWs and old friends from the MASH had to be passing through the city as well. Every so often, he'd see a dark head and start out of his chair before realising it wasn't who he thought (he hoped) it was.
Eventually, his money started to run low, and it was time to embark on the journey home. First there was another flight, followed by a long bus ride, but after several days of travel, Henry Blake finally saw Bloomington, Illinois again.
The town looked as neat and clean as if they'd kept it under dustcovers while he was away. Wandering through familiar streets, he felt a warmth creeping into him that he'd thought had been taken away forever after he'd hit those icy waters, and the nearer he got to his house, the warmer he got.
He started to sing, a little off-key, as he walked down the leafy avenue he must've been down a thousand times.
"They'll give him a hearty welcome then, when Johnny comes marching home." Henry tailed off when he came to the door and paused to collect himself. It wouldn't do to be overwhelmed by emotion before he'd even rung the bell.
(He'd dreamed of this scene so many times: the dog would leap around his feet, the kids would cling to his legs, and Lorraine would look at him with tears of joy in her eyes, hold him tight and make it all good and whole again. Many times when he'd thought he could go on no longer, the knowledge he would one day return to that spurred him onwards.)
He took a deep breath, and pressed the doorbell.
There was a long, tense moment, and then he heard the sound of the lock being undone. The door opened. Henry beamed.
"I'm back!"
The person on the other side was not Lorraine. Nor any other relative of Henry's, for that matter. Baffled expressions were swiftly apparent on both sides.
"Can I help you?" said the person by the door, a young man who Henry had never seen in his life.
"This, uh, this is the Blake residence, isn't it?" Henry said, glancing around, checking he'd got the right number. He would have thought he wouldn't forget his own house, but he supposed he had been through quite a lot of late. The man gave him a sad little smile.
"They moved out about a year ago," he said, and lowered his voice slightly, "After her husband died."
Henry only just suppressed the shiver that ran through him.
"Do you know where they moved to?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady.
The man smiled.
"Oh, I don't think they went far," he said. "Hang on a minute, I'm sure I have the forwarding address written somewhere."
Henry waited by the door, feeling increasingly ill, telling himself over and over that moving house didn't necessarily mean anything bad.
"Here you go," the young man said brightly, handing Henry a scrap of paper. "Good luck with finding them."
"Thanks," Henry managed to say, and turned away quickly, clutching the paper so tightly that his nails cut into his palm.
Henry's sense of dread only got worse as he walked across town. As he came nearer to the address on the paper, he became aware that he had been there before.
He'd had a friend called Dennis, a regular at the country club. Dennis was a smart-talking lawyer with Cary Grant looks, wealthy and charming and it was only the fact that he loved golf but was utterly terrible at it that kept Henry from being madly jealous. They'd got on very well, once upon a time.
("If anything happens to me when I'm out there," Henry said, draping himself over Dennis' shoulder, "You take care of Lorraine and the kids."
"Aw, Henry, you're not gonna -" Dennis waved it off.
"Promise me!" Henry said, poking Dennis in the chest. "I couldn't stand thinking of them being left on their own."
"Okay, okay, I promise!" Dennis said, laughing. "But it's not like it'll ever happen.")
It was all his fault and they couldn't be blamed, and Henry didn't know who or what he was most angry at as he hammered at Dennis' door.
The door creaked open at last, and there was the man himself, wearing his goddamn lounge jacket, relaxed as you please. Until he saw Henry, that was. He turned pale and his jaw dropped open, the pipe falling from his mouth and clattering on the floor.
"My god," Dennis said, in a small, distant voice. Henry didn't know what to say.
"Who is it, honey?" a voice called. A moment later, there she was, his sweet Lorraine, as perfect and golden as she'd ever been. When she saw Henry, she screamed.
"Lorraine," Henry said flatly. She approached him slowly, extending her arm to place it on his chest.
"Yeah, I'm real," Henry said. He reached to take her in his arms, but she hastily stepped back.
"But you're dead," she said, voice cracking.
Henry mustered a smile, of sorts. "Not completely."
"You were dead!" Lorraine sobbed, and fell against him. Over her shoulder, Henry saw Dennis, his face pale and drawn.
"Can I come in?" Henry said. "I think I've got some 'splaining to do."
They headed to the lounge. Dennis went to a cabinet and poured out three very generous measures of Scotch. Sitting on the floor on the far side of the room was a little girl playing with toy animals, and when she saw Henry she squeaked.
"Dad?" she said.
Henry nodded. "Yes, Molly, it's me." She ran to his arms and he hugged her tightly. Best welcome he'd had yet. Dennis and Lorraine looked on, stony-faced.
"I missed you lots," Molly said, and looked up at him.
"I missed you too, sweetie," Henry said.
"Are you staying now?" Molly said. "For good?"
Henry had no reply.
"Molly, run along and play with Andrew and Jane upstairs," Lorraine said. "Your father and I have got some talking to do. You can see him once we're done."
Molly looked regretful, but obeyed, her eyes on Henry all the while as she moved to leave the room. Henry gave her an awkward wave and a smile he hoped would offer some reassurance.
"I'll be up to see you all as soon as I can," he said, and waited for the door to close behind her.
When they were left alone, Lorraine was the first to speak.
"They said you were dead," she said. "They sent me a letter. Your plane crashed. There were no-" The words stuck in her throat. "No survivors."
"They found no survivors," Henry explained. "I drifted. Got picked up by a Korean fishing boat."
"Why did the army never -" Dennis started.
"A North Korean fishing boat," Henry said. Lorraine clapped her hand to her mouth. Dennis reached to comfort her, then stopped, thinking better of it.
"I've been in a prisoner of war camp for the past two years," Henry said.
"You can't have been," Lorraine said. "You were discharged, they can't imprison a civilian."
"Well, I did try and tell them," Henry said, "But the North Koreans aren't exactly sticklers for the rules." Right now, he couldn't think he could take this any deeper than the level of flippant understatement.
There was a pause, and Henry saw it as his duty to break the silence.
"So," he said, "How have you been?"
Lorraine bit her lip and reached for her glass.
"I was devastated when I heard. You can't even imagine... I cried for days. I was so scared, Henry," she said. "I felt so lost and alone, and I just didn't know what the children and I would do without you. Dennis was so kind to us all. The kids love him. He's been so generous."
Henry stared, wondering how she could think that was what he wanted to hear.
"I'm glad you were looked after," he said, turning his head so Dennis was out of his line of sight, "But what about now? I missed you so much. The thought of you was one of the only things that kept me going, all those years."
Lorraine choked back a sob. "It's not that easy." She paused, her hands shaking, drops of whisky spilling onto the carpet. "It's not that I don't love you, Henry, because I do and I always will do -"
(He proposed to her no more than a few weeks after he'd first met her, when he was young and callow and only barely a man, proposed with his sandy hair hanging in his eyes and his heart in his throat, never really expecting such a knockout of a girl to say yes to a goofball like him.
Until Korea, she had been only the second woman he'd ever slept with.)
"-but I've grieved for you. You told me, you made me promise, that if you died, I would find someone else, and, well... I have."
"But I didn't die!" Henry said. Lorraine lowered her head; he could see tears on her eyelashes.
"I'm sorry," Dennis said quietly.
"You're sorry?" Henry snapped. "I - I don't even -" He didn't know what to say, so he stopped, taking a few deep breaths. "Can I go and see the kids? I need to see them."
Lorraine nodded, slow and sad.
"They're playing upstairs," she said. "Don't be long, it's getting late."
Henry turned and left the lounge, heading up the stairs, trying to fight down his encroaching sense of numbness. A door at the end of the landing was ajar; carefully approaching, he heard voices.
"Don't make things up, Molly," came Janie's voice.
"Yeah," said Andrew, "You shouldn't lie about things like that."
"But he's back, he really truly is!" Molly said. "I saw him and everything!"
Henry took a breath, and entered the room.
"I told you! Didn't I tell you!" Molly crowed. Andrew went quiet and pale, the book in his hands slipping from his fingers and falling to the floor. Jane let out a surprised little sob. There was a moment of stillness and shock, and then they all ran to him at once; Henry ended up falling down on his ass, laughing, trying to hug three over-excited kids all at once.
"They said you were dead," Janie said, burying her face in his shirt, sobbing. She was the youngest and had always been the most sensitive, and Henry held her while the other two parted from him.
"Everybody thought I was dead," Henry said. "The army made a mistake."
"But you're alive and back now and you're never going to leave us again, are you?" Molly said. "Please say you won't leave us."
"I won't leave you, sweetie," Henry said. "I won't leave any of you."
"Are we going to move back into our old house?" Janie said, looking up. "Will it be like old times?"
"Don't be a dummy," Andrew said, "Mom's married to Dennis. She can't have two husbands."
"They're married?" Henry said, letting go of Janie and moving back. Andrew nodded.
"Well, of course," he said, as if it was obvious. Henry supposed it was - it wouldn't do for a woman to live with a man she wasn't married to, even a widow - but it was such a vast step, such a line through their own relationship, that he'd not contemplated it before.
"Me and your mommy have got a lot of talking to do," Henry admitted.
"I just want things to go back to how they were used to be," Janie said.
"Me too," Molly said.
"I do too, but it's not going to be easy," Henry said.
"Suppose it's hard, coming back from the dead," Andrew said, grinning lopsidedly. He'd grown such a lot since Henry had last seen him; they all had, but Andrew especially, had got tall and cynical, and he looked so much like his mother now.
Henry nodded, starting to get to his feet.
"I don't know how things will be, but I promise you all this, I'm going to be here for you," he said. "Even if your Mom stays with Dennis, I'll see you all as often as I can. I'll be there at your graduations and your football games and I'll buy you your first cars."
"Will you get me a pony?" Jane said.
Henry laughed, his first real, honest laugh in a very long time. "Coming back from the dead doesn't come cheap, Janie. But I'll take all of you out for ice-cream as soon as I can, how's about that?"
"I'm just happy you're back," Janie said, hugging him again.
"Me too," Molly said.
"And me," Andrew said, with a nod.
"Now, it's getting kinda late..." Henry started.
"Dennis lets us go to bed at nine," Andrew said.
"Well," Henry said, putting his hands on his hips, "Dennis isn't your dad, is he? You're all growing kids, and you ought to get some rest."
Janie clung hard to his legs.
"Don't go!"
"I'll be back as soon as I can be, sweetie," Henry said, gently prying her away and bending down to kiss her on the forehead. He did the same for Molly and Andrew (who squirmed a little), hugged them all, and made sure they all got to their separate rooms.
As he left them alone at last, he saw another room he'd missed, that wasn't a bathroom or the master bedroom, and he knew what it had to be. Carefully, trying to be as quiet as possible, Henry pushed open the door and tiptoed inside.
Henry moved to the side of the bed, and looked at his youngest son for the first time. Slowly, he crouched down by the bed, swallowing down the lump in his throat, and just sat there and watched him sleep. He'd always been a complete sap when it came to little kids - innocence disappeared so fast, and he'd seen precious little of it these past few years. Though thinking it over, there was something about the way his son's fine hair curled over his forehead and his little hands curled around the brown teddy bear in his arms that reminded Henry of the one person in Korea who had been unspoiled and simple despite all that cynicism and darkness. He hoped the years that had followed hadn't knocked that out of Radar.
Eventually, Henry realised he couldn't spend all night watching the boy, even though he would have been perfectly happy doing so. He tucked him in and kissed him goodnight, and with a heart full of regret headed downstairs again.
Lorraine and Dennis were waiting at the foot of the stairs, hanging around like he used to do when he was trying to get a guest to leave. The message was pretty obvious.
"We can get the spare bedroom ready for you, if you want," Dennis said, his tone implying that was the last thing he wanted to do.
"No, it's fine," Henry said. "I can get myself a room for the night." It wouldn't feel right, anyway, sleeping in a single bed while another man lay with his wife. He turned to Lorraine. "I guess we need some time to think about what we're gonna do next." He placed a kiss on her cheek, and could taste the salt of dried tears. "Please come back to me," he whispered in her ear, so quiet Dennis couldn't hear it.
"I'll think about it," Lorraine said. "That's all I can promise you, but I will think about it, as hard as I can."
Henry nodded. "Well. I'll see you soon, then."
"See you soon, Henry," Dennis said, opening the door.
Henry stepped out into the warm summer night. The sun was only just setting and there were moths flitting around the streetlamps, but he wasn't in the mood to appreciate natural beauty.
He was home, and he'd never felt so lost.
Summary: In which Henry Blake gets to go home, wherever that might be.
Rating: G
Word Count: ~3000
Disclaimer: I don't own M*A*S*H. No money's being made.
Notes: Kind of AU. Very spoilery, for the series in general and Abyssinia Henry in particular. Mostly gen, with the odd bit of slash subtext, though this chapter comes with a fair dose of het as well.
Part Two: The Return
The UN forces found them within the week, and from there it was simply a case of taking the route that Henry should have gone down two years ago: Kimpo, San Francisco, and home.
He spent a couple of weeks in San Franscisco just resting, trying to build his strength up before he travelled further. He didn't have the money for anywhere fancy, but after the camp, a proper bed, hot showers and regular meals were luxury beyond measure. Even after one night, he could feel his old energy returning.
It wasn't all going to happen at once, mind you, and he doubted if he'd ever be quite as strong or healthy as he used to be. It was torture passing the steakhouses and having to fight the urge to go in and order half a cow: so long living off so little meant he could only stomach small meals for the time being.
It was a lonely existence, too. In the camp there had at least been a certain sense of solidarity, but in San Francisco, Henry was just one more old veteran. There were hundreds of others, but none of them were anyone he could talk to, though he was convinced that surely his fellow POWs and old friends from the MASH had to be passing through the city as well. Every so often, he'd see a dark head and start out of his chair before realising it wasn't who he thought (he hoped) it was.
Eventually, his money started to run low, and it was time to embark on the journey home. First there was another flight, followed by a long bus ride, but after several days of travel, Henry Blake finally saw Bloomington, Illinois again.
The town looked as neat and clean as if they'd kept it under dustcovers while he was away. Wandering through familiar streets, he felt a warmth creeping into him that he'd thought had been taken away forever after he'd hit those icy waters, and the nearer he got to his house, the warmer he got.
He started to sing, a little off-key, as he walked down the leafy avenue he must've been down a thousand times.
"They'll give him a hearty welcome then, when Johnny comes marching home." Henry tailed off when he came to the door and paused to collect himself. It wouldn't do to be overwhelmed by emotion before he'd even rung the bell.
(He'd dreamed of this scene so many times: the dog would leap around his feet, the kids would cling to his legs, and Lorraine would look at him with tears of joy in her eyes, hold him tight and make it all good and whole again. Many times when he'd thought he could go on no longer, the knowledge he would one day return to that spurred him onwards.)
He took a deep breath, and pressed the doorbell.
There was a long, tense moment, and then he heard the sound of the lock being undone. The door opened. Henry beamed.
"I'm back!"
The person on the other side was not Lorraine. Nor any other relative of Henry's, for that matter. Baffled expressions were swiftly apparent on both sides.
"Can I help you?" said the person by the door, a young man who Henry had never seen in his life.
"This, uh, this is the Blake residence, isn't it?" Henry said, glancing around, checking he'd got the right number. He would have thought he wouldn't forget his own house, but he supposed he had been through quite a lot of late. The man gave him a sad little smile.
"They moved out about a year ago," he said, and lowered his voice slightly, "After her husband died."
Henry only just suppressed the shiver that ran through him.
"Do you know where they moved to?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady.
The man smiled.
"Oh, I don't think they went far," he said. "Hang on a minute, I'm sure I have the forwarding address written somewhere."
Henry waited by the door, feeling increasingly ill, telling himself over and over that moving house didn't necessarily mean anything bad.
"Here you go," the young man said brightly, handing Henry a scrap of paper. "Good luck with finding them."
"Thanks," Henry managed to say, and turned away quickly, clutching the paper so tightly that his nails cut into his palm.
Henry's sense of dread only got worse as he walked across town. As he came nearer to the address on the paper, he became aware that he had been there before.
He'd had a friend called Dennis, a regular at the country club. Dennis was a smart-talking lawyer with Cary Grant looks, wealthy and charming and it was only the fact that he loved golf but was utterly terrible at it that kept Henry from being madly jealous. They'd got on very well, once upon a time.
("If anything happens to me when I'm out there," Henry said, draping himself over Dennis' shoulder, "You take care of Lorraine and the kids."
"Aw, Henry, you're not gonna -" Dennis waved it off.
"Promise me!" Henry said, poking Dennis in the chest. "I couldn't stand thinking of them being left on their own."
"Okay, okay, I promise!" Dennis said, laughing. "But it's not like it'll ever happen.")
It was all his fault and they couldn't be blamed, and Henry didn't know who or what he was most angry at as he hammered at Dennis' door.
The door creaked open at last, and there was the man himself, wearing his goddamn lounge jacket, relaxed as you please. Until he saw Henry, that was. He turned pale and his jaw dropped open, the pipe falling from his mouth and clattering on the floor.
"My god," Dennis said, in a small, distant voice. Henry didn't know what to say.
"Who is it, honey?" a voice called. A moment later, there she was, his sweet Lorraine, as perfect and golden as she'd ever been. When she saw Henry, she screamed.
"Lorraine," Henry said flatly. She approached him slowly, extending her arm to place it on his chest.
"Yeah, I'm real," Henry said. He reached to take her in his arms, but she hastily stepped back.
"But you're dead," she said, voice cracking.
Henry mustered a smile, of sorts. "Not completely."
"You were dead!" Lorraine sobbed, and fell against him. Over her shoulder, Henry saw Dennis, his face pale and drawn.
"Can I come in?" Henry said. "I think I've got some 'splaining to do."
They headed to the lounge. Dennis went to a cabinet and poured out three very generous measures of Scotch. Sitting on the floor on the far side of the room was a little girl playing with toy animals, and when she saw Henry she squeaked.
"Dad?" she said.
Henry nodded. "Yes, Molly, it's me." She ran to his arms and he hugged her tightly. Best welcome he'd had yet. Dennis and Lorraine looked on, stony-faced.
"I missed you lots," Molly said, and looked up at him.
"I missed you too, sweetie," Henry said.
"Are you staying now?" Molly said. "For good?"
Henry had no reply.
"Molly, run along and play with Andrew and Jane upstairs," Lorraine said. "Your father and I have got some talking to do. You can see him once we're done."
Molly looked regretful, but obeyed, her eyes on Henry all the while as she moved to leave the room. Henry gave her an awkward wave and a smile he hoped would offer some reassurance.
"I'll be up to see you all as soon as I can," he said, and waited for the door to close behind her.
When they were left alone, Lorraine was the first to speak.
"They said you were dead," she said. "They sent me a letter. Your plane crashed. There were no-" The words stuck in her throat. "No survivors."
"They found no survivors," Henry explained. "I drifted. Got picked up by a Korean fishing boat."
"Why did the army never -" Dennis started.
"A North Korean fishing boat," Henry said. Lorraine clapped her hand to her mouth. Dennis reached to comfort her, then stopped, thinking better of it.
"I've been in a prisoner of war camp for the past two years," Henry said.
"You can't have been," Lorraine said. "You were discharged, they can't imprison a civilian."
"Well, I did try and tell them," Henry said, "But the North Koreans aren't exactly sticklers for the rules." Right now, he couldn't think he could take this any deeper than the level of flippant understatement.
There was a pause, and Henry saw it as his duty to break the silence.
"So," he said, "How have you been?"
Lorraine bit her lip and reached for her glass.
"I was devastated when I heard. You can't even imagine... I cried for days. I was so scared, Henry," she said. "I felt so lost and alone, and I just didn't know what the children and I would do without you. Dennis was so kind to us all. The kids love him. He's been so generous."
Henry stared, wondering how she could think that was what he wanted to hear.
"I'm glad you were looked after," he said, turning his head so Dennis was out of his line of sight, "But what about now? I missed you so much. The thought of you was one of the only things that kept me going, all those years."
Lorraine choked back a sob. "It's not that easy." She paused, her hands shaking, drops of whisky spilling onto the carpet. "It's not that I don't love you, Henry, because I do and I always will do -"
(He proposed to her no more than a few weeks after he'd first met her, when he was young and callow and only barely a man, proposed with his sandy hair hanging in his eyes and his heart in his throat, never really expecting such a knockout of a girl to say yes to a goofball like him.
Until Korea, she had been only the second woman he'd ever slept with.)
"-but I've grieved for you. You told me, you made me promise, that if you died, I would find someone else, and, well... I have."
"But I didn't die!" Henry said. Lorraine lowered her head; he could see tears on her eyelashes.
"I'm sorry," Dennis said quietly.
"You're sorry?" Henry snapped. "I - I don't even -" He didn't know what to say, so he stopped, taking a few deep breaths. "Can I go and see the kids? I need to see them."
Lorraine nodded, slow and sad.
"They're playing upstairs," she said. "Don't be long, it's getting late."
Henry turned and left the lounge, heading up the stairs, trying to fight down his encroaching sense of numbness. A door at the end of the landing was ajar; carefully approaching, he heard voices.
"Don't make things up, Molly," came Janie's voice.
"Yeah," said Andrew, "You shouldn't lie about things like that."
"But he's back, he really truly is!" Molly said. "I saw him and everything!"
Henry took a breath, and entered the room.
"I told you! Didn't I tell you!" Molly crowed. Andrew went quiet and pale, the book in his hands slipping from his fingers and falling to the floor. Jane let out a surprised little sob. There was a moment of stillness and shock, and then they all ran to him at once; Henry ended up falling down on his ass, laughing, trying to hug three over-excited kids all at once.
"They said you were dead," Janie said, burying her face in his shirt, sobbing. She was the youngest and had always been the most sensitive, and Henry held her while the other two parted from him.
"Everybody thought I was dead," Henry said. "The army made a mistake."
"But you're alive and back now and you're never going to leave us again, are you?" Molly said. "Please say you won't leave us."
"I won't leave you, sweetie," Henry said. "I won't leave any of you."
"Are we going to move back into our old house?" Janie said, looking up. "Will it be like old times?"
"Don't be a dummy," Andrew said, "Mom's married to Dennis. She can't have two husbands."
"They're married?" Henry said, letting go of Janie and moving back. Andrew nodded.
"Well, of course," he said, as if it was obvious. Henry supposed it was - it wouldn't do for a woman to live with a man she wasn't married to, even a widow - but it was such a vast step, such a line through their own relationship, that he'd not contemplated it before.
"Me and your mommy have got a lot of talking to do," Henry admitted.
"I just want things to go back to how they were used to be," Janie said.
"Me too," Molly said.
"I do too, but it's not going to be easy," Henry said.
"Suppose it's hard, coming back from the dead," Andrew said, grinning lopsidedly. He'd grown such a lot since Henry had last seen him; they all had, but Andrew especially, had got tall and cynical, and he looked so much like his mother now.
Henry nodded, starting to get to his feet.
"I don't know how things will be, but I promise you all this, I'm going to be here for you," he said. "Even if your Mom stays with Dennis, I'll see you all as often as I can. I'll be there at your graduations and your football games and I'll buy you your first cars."
"Will you get me a pony?" Jane said.
Henry laughed, his first real, honest laugh in a very long time. "Coming back from the dead doesn't come cheap, Janie. But I'll take all of you out for ice-cream as soon as I can, how's about that?"
"I'm just happy you're back," Janie said, hugging him again.
"Me too," Molly said.
"And me," Andrew said, with a nod.
"Now, it's getting kinda late..." Henry started.
"Dennis lets us go to bed at nine," Andrew said.
"Well," Henry said, putting his hands on his hips, "Dennis isn't your dad, is he? You're all growing kids, and you ought to get some rest."
Janie clung hard to his legs.
"Don't go!"
"I'll be back as soon as I can be, sweetie," Henry said, gently prying her away and bending down to kiss her on the forehead. He did the same for Molly and Andrew (who squirmed a little), hugged them all, and made sure they all got to their separate rooms.
As he left them alone at last, he saw another room he'd missed, that wasn't a bathroom or the master bedroom, and he knew what it had to be. Carefully, trying to be as quiet as possible, Henry pushed open the door and tiptoed inside.
Henry moved to the side of the bed, and looked at his youngest son for the first time. Slowly, he crouched down by the bed, swallowing down the lump in his throat, and just sat there and watched him sleep. He'd always been a complete sap when it came to little kids - innocence disappeared so fast, and he'd seen precious little of it these past few years. Though thinking it over, there was something about the way his son's fine hair curled over his forehead and his little hands curled around the brown teddy bear in his arms that reminded Henry of the one person in Korea who had been unspoiled and simple despite all that cynicism and darkness. He hoped the years that had followed hadn't knocked that out of Radar.
Eventually, Henry realised he couldn't spend all night watching the boy, even though he would have been perfectly happy doing so. He tucked him in and kissed him goodnight, and with a heart full of regret headed downstairs again.
Lorraine and Dennis were waiting at the foot of the stairs, hanging around like he used to do when he was trying to get a guest to leave. The message was pretty obvious.
"We can get the spare bedroom ready for you, if you want," Dennis said, his tone implying that was the last thing he wanted to do.
"No, it's fine," Henry said. "I can get myself a room for the night." It wouldn't feel right, anyway, sleeping in a single bed while another man lay with his wife. He turned to Lorraine. "I guess we need some time to think about what we're gonna do next." He placed a kiss on her cheek, and could taste the salt of dried tears. "Please come back to me," he whispered in her ear, so quiet Dennis couldn't hear it.
"I'll think about it," Lorraine said. "That's all I can promise you, but I will think about it, as hard as I can."
Henry nodded. "Well. I'll see you soon, then."
"See you soon, Henry," Dennis said, opening the door.
Henry stepped out into the warm summer night. The sun was only just setting and there were moths flitting around the streetlamps, but he wasn't in the mood to appreciate natural beauty.
He was home, and he'd never felt so lost.
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