TITLE: Interior Landscape

RATING: R

AUTHOR: BloodandBreath

SUMMARY: After the war Hawkeye has trouble readjusting to the real world. When tragedy strikes it will take the help of all his friends to see him through. This is a story about how things don't always have to be all right.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: No copyright infringement intended. I do not own the concept or the characters that you recognize and I make no money. Literally.

WARNING: Character death. This bit of madness is not a happy story. Not in the least. Don't say you haven't been warned.

Hawkeye stood on the front porch of his father's house and took in the sight of home. The trees were already beginning to change and soon they'd be in all their glory. The reds and yellows that would paint the foliage would be magnificent. People would come from miles around just to see the beauty of New England in the fall. For three long years he'd dreamed of this day. Three years of horror and death. Of putting kids back together again so they could go back and end up getting killed. Three years of swimming in blood and guts and sweat. Now he was here. And while he was grateful, to put it mildly, he also felt that something was missing. He continued to stare out at the landscape while the wind blew his hair, now much greyer than it had been, and whisked away the sweat that gathered under his arms and on his brow.

The landscape was the same. There were the same trees, the same rocks, and the same taste of Americana on the wind. He could hear kids playing down the road and he smiled a little as memories of his own childhood flitted through his mind. But it all looked different. He was stumped for a time, trying to put his finger on what it was that had changed. He finally realized that everything was the same, everything except him. As he sat down in the chair the answer came to him. The scenery hadn't changed, he had. In those three short years, three years that had lasted a lifetime; he felt he'd grown old.

As fast as it had come the elation of being home started to fade and he felt a depression start to settle over him. Three years of his life were gone, wasted in that hell called Korea. Hawkeye stood up and started to pace. For the past two weeks he and his father had been inundated by visitors welcoming Dr. Benjamin Franklin Pierce home from the war. Now, at last, he had time to sit and think and he wasn't sure he liked where his mind was taking him. His childhood friends and their children had been here along with most of the small town. It had been both exhilarating and devastating to see them. They were all the same. Not much changed in Crabapple Cove but then he hadn't been in Crabapple Cove for three years.

While in Korea he'd wanted nothing more when he got back home than to settle down into a comfortable life and make Crabapple Cove say 'Ahh'. He tried to tell himself that two weeks wasn't enough time to recuperate from all he'd been through and he needed to give himself more time to adjust.

Hawkeye sat back down in the old but comfortable wooden chair on the porch, placating himself with the idea of needing more time. He leaned his head back in the chair and closed his eyes. Sidney had told him he'd need time to adjust. He just hadn't expected it to be so hard. Sometimes he found himself waiting for the sound of choppers coming and the other day he'd found himself ducking as some neighborhood children set off firecrackers. He hadn't missed the worried looks from his dad either.

He hadn't sent that letter to his father that he'd started writing in the hospital. He hadn't wanted to worry his father and since he was getting out it seemed pointless to tell him that his son had lost his marbles, cracked up, and otherwise gone insane. He suspected his dad knew. There were the worried looks when his dad thought he wasn't looking and the platitudes to rest and take it easy. Did the army inform family if their sons and daughters cracked up or did one of his well meaning friends tell his dad?

Perhaps that was one reason it was taking so long to adjust. His father didn't seem to know how to act around him anymore. Come to think of it, he didn't quite know how to act around his dad either. Hawkeye sighed and took a deep breath.

His homecoming had been marvelous of course. His father had met him at the airport with a smile, hug, and tears in his eyes. He came from a long line of pacifists and his father had been heartbroken that his boy was going to have to go off to war. It'd been great seeing all his friends and catching up on their lives. At least that's what he told himself. They'd been curious about what it'd been like in the war of course, but every time it was brought up he'd managed to turn the conversation to another topic.

He was brought out of his reverie by a hand on his shoulder. "Hawk, you're woolgathering again. I said it's time for dinner. You okay?"

There it was; that look again. Trying to hide the pain that his father's unease caused, Hawkeye smiled and patted his father's hand. "Of course, just dozed off is all." He got up and followed his father back in the house and into the kitchen where they used the little kitchenette when it was just the two of them.

"God, that smells good." He eyed the food set on the table and tried to muster up something akin to an appetite. The food did look wonderful, it smelled wonderful, and he knew it would be wonderful. But somehow his stomach refused to believe his eyes. At the thought of eating his stomach knotted and he cursed the rebellion. He felt like a starving man looking at a banquet in a restaurant he couldn't enter.

Daniel Pierce eyed his son critically. "Well you need to eat. From the looks of it they starved you over there. You're all skin and bones!"

Hawkeye forced a laugh past the knot in his throat. "I told you how bad the food was. They weren't trying to starve us they were trying to poison us!"

Daniel couldn't help the smile that came to his face. At least his son's sense of humor had survived the war. He finished fixing his own plate and sat down across from his son. "I know I've said this over and over the last couple of weeks but it sure is good to see you, Son."

Hawkeye smiled, this time he didn't have to fake the emotion. "It's good to see you too." He sat for a moment toying with his food. "I know it was hard on you having me over there."

Daniel nodded and wiped his mouth. "Eat, eat. You look like a refugee."

Hawkeye smiled and tried to force his stomach to cooperate. As he took the first bite the gorge rose in his mouth and he fought to get it down. The second bite went down similarly and the third. On the fourth bite he found himself jumping from the table and running to the downstairs bathroom. He could hear his father's footsteps close behind but was helpless to stop his intrusion as he hugged the commode and wretched until bile was all that was left. He stayed on his knees and rested his forehead against the cool porcelain. He jumped as a cool cloth was placed against the back of his neck but didn't move to acknowledge the other man.

God his ribs hurt. His stomach was none too happy either. How many times was it now that he'd thrown up since coming home? At least once a day. He'd placated his father by saying he'd picked up a stomach virus but he could feel the worry emanating off of the older man and knew that the excuse had just died a watery death along with his stomach contents. Sighing he stood and grunted as his knees complained about the impromptu genuflecting at the porcelain god. Flushing the toilet, Hawkeye stepped around his father and washed his mouth out in the sink. He stood to meet his father's concerned gaze in the mirror.

"Ben, have you kept anything down since you came home?"

He dropped his gaze to the sink before answering. Some things were just too ingrained and lying to his father had never been easy. "Sure, Dad. I'm just not used to eating so much."

The elder Pierce studied his son critically before reaching around and probing the younger man's stomach.

Hawkeye couldn't stop the grunt of pain from escaping. He did however, manage to stop the gagging that tried to erupt. "A little warning before you do that, Dad."

Daniel squinted his eyes and placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "That made you want to gag didn't it?" He sighed as his son remained silent. "You sure this has only been going on a week?"

"Sure. I just need to adjust to eating real food again." Hawkeye started around his father and out of the room but was stopped by the hand on his arm.

"Just the same I think you need to come to my office tomorrow and let me do a work up on you."

Hawkeye couldn't help the instantaneous surge of anger that welled up within him. He felt like he was being suffocated. He jerked his arm out of his father's grasp and started up the stairs. "I'm fine! Stop hovering and stop treating me like I'll break." He continued up to his room and crawled into bed. He cradled his stomach for a while and tried to stop the pain in his chest. He really hadn't meant to yell at his father that way. He couldn't ever remember a time when he'd treated his dad with less respect.

He rolled over onto his back and stared at the shadows creeping across the ceiling. He'd apologize to his father tomorrow. Right now he was just too tired. Throwing his arms above his head he buried his face in his shoulder and eventually fell into sleep.

Hawkeye sat up, gasping. He put his hand to his chest to try to still the frantic beating of his heart. Closing his eyes he fell back on the bed and wiped the sweat off of his face. The nightmares were nothing new. He'd experienced them during his stay in Korea and since getting out of the hospital they'd been worse. Being home hadn't changed that. He turned and flicked on the lamp so he could see the clock. He groaned when he saw it was only three in the morning.

Sighing he remained still in order to let his body calm down. At least he mustn't have screamed since his father hadn't come barreling in as he had every night during the past week. With a grunt he got up and pulled off his soaking tee shirt and pulled on a clean one. He made his way downstairs in the dark and into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Drinking too deeply he choked on the water and sputtered until he could get his breath. He refilled his glass at the sink and started on his way to the living room when he saw that the light was still on in his father's study.

Hawkeye gave a token knock on the door before entering. "Dad, what are you . . .?" Hawkeye dropped his glass onto the floor where it shattered causing glass and water to spread over the floor. He stood dumbfounded for, what in reality was only a moment, before ignoring the broken glass and running to where his father lay on the floor.

"Dad? Come on, Dad, answer me!" Hawkeye felt for a pulse. He ignored the fact that his father's skin was cold and started trying to resuscitate the fallen man. He ignored the tears on his face and continued trying to revive his father long after any objective person would've advised against it.

Finally, the fact that his father was dead began to sink in and Hawkeye finally gave way to escalating fear and despair and lay down next to his father's body. The hard wooden floor dug into his ribs as he curled himself around his father's unyielding corpse. He scarcely noticed the cold flesh or the stench of bowel release that death always brought. He lay there in shock, too numb to feel anything. Eventually he felt the tears start to come and he wailed at the injustice of the loss. Hawkeye continued to cry until exhaustion pulled him under.

When he awoke again sunlight was trying to break through the shuttered windows in the study. Hawkeye moved stiffly getting up off the floor. He winced and hobbled a bit at the pain in the bottoms of his feet. He leaned on the desk and inspected the soles of his feet. They were covered in dried blood and he could see where the glass shards were still buried in the derma. In his panic and subsequent pain of last night he hadn't noticed walking over the shards from the broken glass.

He stood up and looked down at his father's body lying cold on the floor. He expected to feel the grief overwhelm him but instead numbness seemed to have taken root. The thing lying on the floor wasn't his father, not anymore. It was an object, a piece of meat to be dissected and buried. Cleaned and hidden from view, sanitized to keep the reality of death away. What was it? Why did death seem to follow him wherever he went? He'd thought he was leaving death behind him in Korea but instead he'd brought it along with him. He'd brought it into his own home. He stared down at the object that had been his father and went into the kitchen to dial for the coroner.