A/N: I don't own M*A*S*H or the characters mentioned in this fic. No copyright infringement intended. Spoilers for "The Late Captain Pierce." Daniel Pierce's reaction to the telegram regarding his son's death. Since the episode did not mention a means of death, I took the liberty to make up my own. Yes, I know that this has no doubt been done before, but this idea still wouldn't let me go. On a sidebar, I researched as best I could what a family member would receive in a telegram during the war. I hope that I was at least somewhat accurate.

The Darkest Hours Before the Dawn

Weeping may endure for a night…

Daniel Pierce stared at the telegram with trembling hands, the offending words mocking as he read.

We regret to inform you that your son, Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce, was killed in action while serving his country in Korea. He was assisting at a Battalion Aid station when attacked by enemy fire. The US Army offers our deepest condolences…

Dead. It wasn't possible. His own son… Feeling his knees give beneath him, Daniel leaned against the doorframe, the offending telegram still grasped in his shaking hands. A low moan escaped his lips, and as he felt his body slide uselessly to the floor, the older man began to cry, gently at first, and then horrible, wrenching sobs. The aging man did not notice, or care, when neighbours walked by, turning their heads in sympathy and grief (for Hawkeye was a well-known doctor in Crabapple Cove before his deployment). For several minutes Daniel cried, the tears doing nothing to ease the intense agony he hadn't felt since his wife's death years earlier. And when at last the tears were spent, he slowly rose to his feet and walked unsteadily to the telephone. With a heavy heart he placed the call to the army hospital his son had called home for the past year.

"My name is Daniel Pierce. I need to speak to Captain B.J. Hunnicutt…"

XXX

The news of the death of Dr. Pierce's boy spread rapidly through the tiny Maine community. By evening many friends and acquaintances of both father and son had dropped by offering their sympathies and the clichéd casseroles. Daniel accepted both food and condolences as graciously as he could, for once cursing the fact that he lived in a small town. For as much as he appreciated the kindness of his neighbours, all he truly wanted was to be left alone. When at last the old house was empty, Daniel retreated to his son's room to face the daunting task of going through his son's possessions. For as soon as it was following Ben's death, the blatant reminders of him were haunting him. Slowly he eased himself on Hawkeye's bed, tracing the seams on the blanket with unsteady hands. His mother had made that blanket for the spare bed when his son had been still in diapers. Daniel closed his eyes, remembering when his boy had asked to keep it following her death…

"Oh, Hawkeye," Daniel sighed brokenly, and once more he felt the sting of tears threatening to spill. When, after a few minutes, he regained composure, the aging doctor sat up, continuing the dreaded task. His eyes darted across the room, until he spotted Hawkeye's set of golf clubs; he knew just the person who would appreciate them. The two buddies had spent hours at the range…

The clubs were looking unnaturally blurry. Wiping his eyes, Daniel rose and left the room, the task proving to be much harder than he initially believed. But before he closed the door behind him, Daniel gave one final glance at the room his son had inhabited since childhood: at the dresser still containing his clothes; the books on the shelf, the magazines tossed in a cardboard box in the corner, the Hawaiian print shirt he had draped over his chair the day before leaving for Korea. Daniel had never had the heart to return it to the closet. For what if it proved to be one of the last things he'd touched before?...

There were too many ghosts in here. Unable to look, Daniel Pierce closed the door to his son's bedroom, vowing to leave the rest exactly as it was.

XXX

…But joy cometh in the morning.

The sound of the phone ringing startled Daniel awake. For a moment, he sat there, still disoriented from sleep. He had been dreaming, of the last time he and Ben had gone to the driving range before the draft. His boy is laughing, face crinkling the same way his mother's had when she laughed. The dream was pleasant, a warm distraction from the agony he would face in the morning. But the telephone continued to ring, shrill and almost menacing, as if mocking him, daring him to pick up and receive even more devastating news. After a few seconds, Daniel slowly rose, taking his time reaching the phone. He expected the usual sympathy call, followed by stories of how Hawkeye was such a good boy and would be missed. The grieving father would utter his thanks and listen for a while before politely disconnecting the call. And so he was genuinely surprised to hear an unfamiliar voice, masked by static, on the other end of the line.

"Is this Dr. Daniel Pierce? This is Corporal Klinger from the 4077th M*A*S*H."

Korea? Why was Ben's M*A*S*H unit contacting him? Oh god, had they lost his son? Would he even be able to bury him?

"Dr. Pierce?"

"Yes. This is Dr. Pierce. Oh God, please don't tell me you've lost his body. Oh, my boy…"

"No, sir. Hang on for Hawkeye, sir."

"I beg your pardon?" And then the most beautiful sound he had ever heard on the other end of the line.

"Dad?!"

No. It's not possible. Hawkeye, the boy he had believed dead not a minute earlier, was alive and talking to him. For the second time in forty-eight hours Daniel Pierce felt his knees buckle beneath him. At the other end of the line, he could hear his son calling for him again, mumbling curses under his breath. "Dad! Can you hear me? It's Hawkeye!"

And somehow, by some miracle, the once grieving father somehow spoke, his voice barely carrying over the wire. "Hawkeye? Is it really you?" And once more Daniel found himself crying, this time tears of relief. He was safe. Somehow, his boy was alive. "Oh my God, my God…"

"The US Army at its finest. Remind me not to vote for Truman next time."

Though flat, the joke managed to bring a faint smile to Daniel's lips. But despite the joy he felt in hearing Hawkeye's trademark attempts at humour, he continued to cry, barely even able to speak other than thank God, over and over.

"Quit crying, Dad, it's ok."

At that, Daniel at last managed to compose himself. Wiping his eyes, he drew a deep breath, relishing in the sound of his son's voice. "I know, I'm sorry, son. I'm ok. Actually, I might be in hot water. I gave away your clubs to one of your friends. I'm sure he won't mind giving them back to their rightful owner, though."

"Really? I needed a new set of clubs anyway."

For a few minutes father and son talked, the former hanging on to every word and trying desperately not to cry again. He shuddered in sympathy upon hearing that the army still considered Hawkeye dead, and chuckled when he only half teasingly asked him to send him an allowance until the whole mess could be cleared up. But despite himself, Daniel felt himself once more on the verge of weeping. "It's good to hear your voice, Ben."

"…it's good to hear your voice, too."

Before he knew it, the call had disconnected, and Daniel reluctantly returned the phone to its receiver. For a moment, he thought he would break down yet again; but instead he rose, opened the back door and stepped onto the porch, the warmth of the sun and gentle breeze cooling his burning eyes. Neighbours would have to be notified, arrangements mercifully cancelled. But for now, Daniel Pierce simply stood, listening to the faint tinkling of the wind chimes, the roar of the surf, muffled by the wind and distance, enjoying the beauty of a world that had been so bleak and empty only moments before.

"Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning," he whispered.