It's impressionistic, like hearing distant music that doesn't quite resolve into a recognizable melody. But Radar hears the emotion behind it: the finality of a slamming door, cries of separation, the train roaring on without stopping as it smashes everything in its path.

He swallows. "It's not like that," he says again, quiet, but more firm. "She's not gonna eat me. She's not gonna do anything else bad or trick me or anything, neither. I know."

Will Edgar even believe him? Hawkeye didn't; not really. All Radar can do is explain and hope it's enough this time.

"She's -- she's not Front like that. I know she looks it but she really isn't, Edgar. I swear."