A/N: The title and chapter title's come from the song that inspired this fic, Brothers in Arms by Dire Straits. I recommend you have a listen, it's eerily MASH like, particularly the first verse.

As the morning light slid through the edges of the closed curtains, Hawkeye groaned. He couldn't have been asleep more than an hour or two, and even with closed eyes the sun burned. Slowly he moved an arm up to cover his face, leaving his head lolled back against the arm of the couch. His limbs were heavy with exhaustion and his head ached, but he knew he had to get himself moving. Opening one eye a fraction he found the clock on the wall. It was early, but not as early as he would have liked. He had 15 minutes until his father would be up and in the kitchen, whistling as he made his morning coffee.

With an ease that came from practice Hawkeye barely opened his eyes as he pushed himself up from the couch, collecting the bottle and glass from the table on his way to the kitchen. He left the glass on the bench as he passed through and he stuck his hand out in front of him to find the door to the outside. As it reached the cold metal handle he closed his eyes tighter, preparing himself for the intensity of the world outside. At least he was wearing a t-shirt with his shorts this time.

"Hawkeye." His father's voice from the door behind him stopped Hawkeye in his tracks. His head and his stomach dropped simultaneously. This was never something he wanted his father to see. He'd known Daniel would eventually find out, but he'd never wanted him to actually see.

"Did an elephant steal your pyjamas again?"

He tried not to look too relieved as he turned around to face the older man, screwing his face into some semblance of a smile. "How he got into them I'll never know."

Daniel smiled back at his son, though the concern in his eyes was still clear. He moved about the kitchen in his normal morning routine, seemingly content not to comment on the empty bottle of gin still in Hawkeye's hand. "There's an empty room at the surgery now you know," he began, his back to Hawkeye as he filled two mugs with coffee. "Looks like we might need to extend the waiting room."

Hawkeye left the bottle on the bench, trading it for the coffee his father was now holding out to him. They took their seats at the small kitchen table, the same as they had done a thousand mornings before. "Dad…" He fixed his eyes on the steam rising in front of him.

"It's time to get yourself back in the game, Hawk. Mrs Trill'd be delighted to see you, you know."

He wrapped his hands tightly around the mug, grateful for an anchor to stop the shaking. "She'd have to be 104 by now, how does she even remember who I am?" Hawkeye asked with a laugh as he tried to remember the last time he'd seen the old woman.

"After what you did to her flower garden how could she forget?" Daniel's laugh was low and soft, as reasonable and measured as everything in his simple life. Finishing his drink with a long swallow, he pushed himself up from the table with a small groan, he was getting old. "Get yourself a couple hours sleep. Mrs Trill has a daily appointment at one."

"What does she have?" Hawkeye asked, a note of sadness in his voice. She was a sweet woman, he didn't want to see her in pain.

Daniel smiled at the question, calling back to his son as he left the room, "Nothing. She'd have to be the healthiest woman in the whole cove!"

Hawkeye spent the rest of the morning in the dark, lying on his neatly made bed, staring up into nothing. Trapper's voice echoed in his mind, close your bulbs, and it all goes away. Maybe Trap was right. He took a deep breath, inwardly mocking the gesture even as he did it. Closing his eyes wasn't hard, he didn't need to prepare for it. Without another thought he slammed them shut, trying not to notice that his breaths were coming faster as he did. He lay completely still, straining to hear through the static of the silence, feeling for the soft sheets beneath his bare legs.

Minutes passed and nothing changed, in the infinity of the darkness nothing grew. He realised then that he'd been holding his breath, holding all of his muscles tight, who knows for how long. With a long sigh he relaxed, adjusting his position on the bed to a more comfortable one. Sleep was already tugging at his thoughts, and with every second it became easier for him to keep his mind blank, until all he was left with were those words: close your bulbs, and it all goes away...

Until the phone rang.

He shot up in the bed and looked wildly around him, his heart pounding against his chest as he struggled for breath. In an instant the static silence of the room had been replaced with a chaos of sound, the stillness with action. Chopper blades whirred over his head as nurses and corpsmen ran between litters, calling wildly for more blood, for free hands. Pierce looked down at the man he was kneeling over, not even blinking at the sight of the shredded chest in front of him. He opened his mouth to call for help, this man needed to go first, he needed to go before first.

But before he had the chance to speak, a single gunshot rang out across the compound. He fell forward over the soldier without second thought, in a vain attempt to protect the already dying man. "Get the wounded under cover! Now!" He shouted, straining to be heard above the panic.

The bullets were coming faster now, bouncing off the walls of the hospital, landing in the dirt at people's feet. Then someone was calling his name, and he looked up to see BJ standing in the pre-op doorway. "Get inside!" His voice was frantic, every breath was a fight for air.

"Benji." That wasn't BJ.

Daniel Pierce had arrived home just in time to hear the phone stop ringing. His son's behaviour over the last weeks had him worried, and when he hadn't come into the surgery that afternoon Daniel had organised to leave work early. It was clear they needed to spend some time together, try to work something out. Throwing his keys onto the table in the hall, he swung the door shut behind him. The sound was met with wild yelling, and in a second the doctor had dropped his bag and was racing up the stairs to find his son.

He could see Hawkeye through the open door even before he reached it. He was kneeling on top of the bed, frightened eyes flitting around the room as though he were somewhere else entirely. "Hawkeye!" Daniel called out, attempting to bring him back to the present, "Hawkeye!"

The younger man's eyes flew up to find him standing in the doorway, but they still weren't seeing. "Get inside!"

In two swift steps Daniel was across the room and by his son's side. "Benji" he said softly.

Hawkeye blinked, panic still written all over his face, and turned to look up at his father. His father called him Hawkeye. His friends called him Hawkeye. The whole town called him Hawkeye. It had been more than 20 years since he'd heard the name Benji. Then his father's arm wrapped around his shoulders until he found himself pressed against a warm chest, encased in the safety of the older man. With a strong hand on the back of his head for support, Hawkeye gave way to the sobs rising in his chest.

Daniel felt tears in his own eyes as he held his son close. The pain he had seen in those wide, unseeing eyes providing a reminder he wished he hadn't needed. This wasn't the confident young man who had laughed even as he boarded the plane. It was his little boy. Only now he needed more than his father alone could give him.