Disclaimer: Don't own MASH, never did.
A/N: So I've been having a sort of writer's block and haven't been able to come up with any story ideas for a while. Then this idea came along. I hope you all like it
My son was coming back home. I arrived at the airport early, way too early. I still had about an hour to wait, but I was so excited. I would soon be able to see him again. In fact, the last time I had seen him was in this very airport. That was the day when I had sent my only son off to war, terrified that I'd never see him again. I remember it like it was just yesterday.
oooOOOoooOOOoooOOOooo
Hawkeye was scared. He didn't show it and probably didn't want me to know, but I could tell. Once you know Hawkeye well enough or long enough, you can read him like a book. I've known him his whole life. I remember the day he was born in vivid detail. No one can read him like I can.
"It's going to be alright son, you'll see." I said, knowing that it was useless. "You'll be back home before long, cracking jokes and driving all the local girls insane."
Hawkeye gave a strangled laugh that turned into a sob. I grabbed his hand and squeezed.
"Listen to me son. You will be alright. Okay? You've got to trust me on this. It'll be okay." I tried to reassure Hawk, while trying not to show my own worries and doubts and fears.
When we reached his gate I grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him toward me. I could see the frantic look in his eyes and the slightly veiled panic. He tried to give me a reassuring smile and failed miserably. His torment was killing me.
"I love you son. I'll be here waiting for you when you come back home." This time he managed a small smile.
"I love you too dad." He grabbed and hugged me, a kind of desperate hug that reminded me of a sad twelve year old boy who had held on to me when I told him his mother had died. We stood
like that for about a minute before I gently broke the hug, pulling away, but still holding onto his shoulders.
"I will see you soon. But take care of yourself. Do you understand me?" I hoped he couldn't hear the slight tinge of fear in my voice. He swallowed and nodded. I squeezed his shoulders gently and let my hands drop.
"I will dad," he looked down at his feet, took in a deep breath, and looked back up at me. His eyes still held the slightly controlled look of panic, but I could also see determination in them now. "See ya when I come back."
And with that he turned away and walked toward his gate, disappearing from my view.
oooOOOoooOOOoooOOOooo
That was three years ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. Standing here, in almost the same spot brings back all those memories.
When I got the notice that my son was coming home, safely, I was overwhelmed. Ever since his mother died, he's been all I have. He means everything to me. I glanced at my watch. It was almost time. His plane should be coming in in any second. After a couple of minutes I heard the bustling sound of a crowd.
I looked up towards the gate and saw him. There he was. Finally home. He stood amongst the crowd, just standing there. His bags had fallen out of his hands onto the ground and now lay on either side of him. He didn't move to pick them up. He just stood there, gazing around at the crowd. I could see the dazed look in his eyes as he slowly breathed in the Maine air.
For the first time in three years, I was looking at my son. He had only been gone for three years, but it looked as if he had aged tens years. His once stark black hair had more than just a few gray hairs in it. Each gray hair, I'm sure, told a horrific story. Something he had witnessed, or heard, or felt. I was certain that he hadn't told me the worst of it in his letters. Maybe it was because he didn't want me to worry or perhaps he wasn't able to form into words the horrors that he had seen. But for one selfish moment, I was glad that I didn't know. Glad I didn't know the darker side of war that he must have witnessed. I shook my head, trying to get rid of that awful selfish thought. The war had taken its toll on him, of that there was no doubt.
Looking at his face, I could see how tired he looked, so utterly exhausted. I had never seen him look that tired before, not in his entire life. It was obvious in his face, in the hollowness, in the pallor, but mostly in his eyes. The panic was still there, but now it was a kind of worn panic, something that had become apart of the scenery, never to leave. They also had a look of dazed confusion. Their blue twinkle seemed to have faded some since I last saw him. The laugh lines that had subtly started to form before he left had deepened, but it was the worry lines that predominated his face now. His was the face of tragedy and exhaustion.
He still hadn't seen me and he still had that unseeing dazed look in his eyes. Almost as if he couldn't believe he was finally home. I walked over to him.
"Welcome home son." I put my arms around him and pulled him into a hug. He gently pulled away and looked at me.
"Dad?" He whispered. I could hear the unbelief in his voice. His eyes finally focused as they searched my face and for a second they held a kind of deep black despair that knows no comfort. But that lasted for only a second before his face broke out into a huge grin, wiping away all
traces of the war. Looking back at me was the innocent naïve son I had known before he was sent off to war. I grinned back at him and pulled him into another hug. We stood like that, in the middle of the airport, for a long time.