(fic) Not Forget (2/2)
Title: Not Forget
Author: ladygray99
Chapter: 2/2
Rating: FRT
Pairing: Alan/Margaret/OMC, Alan/Colby
Warnings: Slash, Angst
Summery: Some family secrets are bigger than others
Disclaimer: Of course it’s not mine but I’ve paid for three DVD box sets like everyone else.
Notes: This is for and completely the fault of
mikes_grrl. Not only did she ask for it but waved a pokie stick in my direction. My beta also recommends a box to tissue warning.
Beta: The very brave swingandswirl
Not Forget part 2
Colby was filling out paperwork and keeping his head down when his transfer request was slapped down in front of him the word ‘denied’ stamped across it. Colby tensed as Don leaned in close, lips nearly pressed to his ear.
“The first time I ever saw my father cry was watching the fall of Saigon.” A scrap of paper was placed on top of the transfer request. It had a name and a couple of dates. “Use your contacts, find this man.”
~
Colby opened the folder. Don sat across from him, the blinds in the conference room pulled shut for privacy.
“Private Charles Donald Lathrup,” Colby read carefully, “born September 24, 1945, Ottumwa, Iowa, parents listed as deceased in 1958. Drafted through the Los Angeles induction center in 1970, passed his physical with no notes, listed as 1-A, went through basic with no note for or against him, sent to Vietnam May 1970 where he was assigned as light infantry.”
Colby paused. “That’s it?” Don asked.
Colby shook his head. “No.” He opened a thicker folder. “His company was in an area that saw a lot of action. He would have been in it from day one. In September of 1970 his platoon was moving, took a bit of a wrong turn, got ambushed. The CO was killed almost immediately.” Colby flipped through yellowed, hand written forms. “Private Lathrup organized a defensive line while air support was called for. Then, according to reports he managed to get a squad out of the line of fire, into the jungle and ambushed their ambush taking several prisoners in the process and saving the rest of the platoon. He was awarded a silver star for courage and tactical brilliance under fire.”
Don frowned. “What? No way? I mean, this guy was a surfer with a fondness for Kafka.”
Colby leveled a hard look at Don. “Don, you were a minor league ball player with a fondness for blondes. How long did it take before the Bureau had you teaching tactics?”
Don shrugged. “Fair enough.”
Colby flipped through a few more files “His unit continued to engage in regular action. There are several recommendations for officer training in his file. It looks like his CO wanted to see him join up proper. Then in mid ’71 they were transferred to an area along the Cambodian border. October 14th, 1971, he went out with a squad on a night patrol, the squad radioed in that they were exchanging fire with the enemy and…that’s it.”
“That’s it?” Don practically squeaked. “It just…”
“The squad didn’t return from patrol. I did some more digging but you’ve got to understand, Don, this stuff, none of it's on computers, lots has been lost or destroyed. Four bodies were retrieved, four were listed MIA including Private Lathrup. A message was sent to next of kin informing them of the change in status.”
“That’s what it’s called? A change in status!?”
Colby sighed. “In ’76 two members of that squad were returned as part of a prisoner exchange but if there’s any record of what happened to Private Lathrup it’s long gone. I’ve got the last names of the guys returned but they’re Smith and Gonzolas.” Don winced. “Yeah, I’m trying to shake down the VA for more info but… It’s been 30 years, Don, it’ll take some time.”
Don nodded. “MIA.”
“Limbo. You know Don the DoD has a group that’s still going in and finding remains, doing DNA comparisons, and if I can find those two guys they might know something, and you hear stories sometimes, weird rumors, but...” Colby shook his head.
“So that’s it.”
“Well not quite. There was a bit of a paperwork snafu. His personal effects should have been returned to next of kin,” Colby lifted a battered cardboard box off the floor and placed it on the table “…but they took a bit of a detour and ended up in a warehouse in Bethesda.”
Don looked at the box. Cracked yellowed tape was still in place. “You didn’t open it?”
“No.”
Don ran his hand over his face a few times a cold chill seeping into him as if Charles Lathrup’s bones were sitting in the box.
“Who’s listed as next of kin?”
“Donald Eugene Eppes.”
“I see.” Don looked at the box.
Colby started to stand. “I’ll just…”
“No. Stay.” Don stood and used a pocket knife to cut through the half fossilized cellophane. He lifted the flaps, half expecting nothing but moth eaten dust. A uniform lay on top, carefully folded. Don lifted it out and gently set it aside. Underneath were half a dozen Hawaiian shirts, sheltered from the sun they were still riots of colors. Don unfolded the top one and held it up to himself.
“It’s you.” Colby said dryly.
Don chuckled and set the shirts aside. Next he pulled out a small box and flipped it open. A silver star, still shiny, gleamed out at him. Don felt a lump rise in his throat and he snapped the box shut setting it aside.
Then there were books, Metamorphosis, Leaves of Grass, the Martian Chronicles. Don flipped open the Martian Chronicles and chuckled, flipping it around and showing the title page to Colby.
“Autographed.”
“Cool.”
Don placed the books aside.
Then there were letters, bundled up in string that fell apart in Don’s fingers. Don recognized the handwriting on them. Some his father’s, some his mother’s. Don picked out one with his mother’s handwriting and carefully opened it. A single piece of paper was folded inside.
“Donnie says it’s a house.” Don read from the paper. Don unfolded it to find a collection of crayon scribbles. Don flipped it around until the blue scribbles were at the top, the green scribbles were at the bottom, and the boxy brown scribble was in the middle.
Don put it back, not wanting to risk finding love letters he had no business reading.
He looked at the things sitting on the table, the last objects to represent the life of a man Don couldn’t remember.
“What do I do with this, Colby?” Don asked. “I have one vague memory of someone who might have been him but… I mean… I guess it should go to Dad but…” Don looked at the stack of letters.
“Don,” Colby said softly. “He hasn’t grieved, not properly, not at all. Some part of him still expects Private Charlie Lathrup to come strolling up the front walk, green eyes and sunny smiles, not looking a day over 25 and it’s not going to happen, and I honestly can’t tell you what losing that last… hope will do to him. He’s in as much a state of limbo as Private Lathrup here.”
Don sighed and began to repack the box. “I guess it should go to dad any which way.” Don went to pick up the small box holding the Silver Star. Colby’s hand came down on top of his.
“That one stays with you, Don.”
“It does?”
Colby nodded. “Oldest living son.”
~
Don watched as his father held the Hawaiian shirt to his chest, eyes squeezed shut. No tears came but he gasped for air like a man half drowned.
“Thank you,” he managed to say softly.
~
Colby opened his front door. Alan stood there looking wan and rattled.
“You shouldn’t let me use you like this.” Alan said.
“I could say the same thing.”
“I’ll get you in trouble.”
“I’m already in trouble, it doesn’t matter.”
Alan stepped in, shutting the door behind him.
~
It was 3 a.m. when Alan came through the front door. Charlie looked up at him from a paper grading marathon and shook his head.
“You couldn’t just buy a red sports car like every other guy?” Charlie asked.
“Leave me alone, Charlie.”
“Dad, seriously I wouldn’t get too attached. He’s pissed off Don enough times, one more strike and he’s going to be finishing off his career in Anchorage.”
~
Alan handed the letter to Don. Don flipped it around in his hands.
“It’s not opened.”
Alan shook his head. “It arrived two days after the telegram, I couldn’t open it.”
Don tried to hand it back. “It’s addressed to you.”
Alan shook his head again. “No.”
~
The DNA tech flipped the letter around in her hands. “And when was this mailed?”
Don grimaced “1971?”
“And you want DNA?”
“Hey, you are the best.”
“Eppes..?”
“It’s important.”
“It’s a waste of taxpayer’s money.”
Don sighed. “What caused that letter to ever be sent was a waste of taxpayer money. Please?”
“And I suppose you want it run against the samples from before?”
“Just sample B.”
“I’m a little backlogged. I’ll run it this weekend.”
Don smiled. “I’ll owe you.”
“You keep saying that Eppes, one of these days I’m going to collect.”
~
Alan smiled as Colby’s breath slid down the back of his neck, warming parts of him he thought long frozen and dead. Colby’s hands slid across his face. Part of Alan’s mind was confused, knowing that strong hands should smell of salt and sand, board wax and baby powder. Colby’s hands smelled of soap and gun oil but he was getting used to it.
“Do you know how to surf, Colby?” Alan asked.
“I’m from Idaho.” Colby said with a chuckle.
“I think you’d like it. You should let me teach you.”
~
Don looked at the results. “I wasn’t able to get much. Had to melt down practically the entire envelope, stamp and all but I got an 85% sample which would be iffy in court but…”
“What about the comparison?”
“Well again, I wouldn’t take it to court but I’d say good chance we’re looking at the missing parent for sample B.”
Don ran his hand over the results, a simple black and white page mapping out matching alleles. “Hello, Dad,” he said softly.
~
Don pushed the letter across to Alan. He had read it locked in his apartment and grieved at the words. “You should read it.”
“No, Donnie.”
“It’s meant for you.”
Alan took it carefully. “I’ll read it tonight.”
~
My Love,
It is late and growing cold as I write this. It’s odd to think of this place as ever cold but it does happen like that first chill in the air around Halloween. I hope you are well as you read this. I got the last set of pictures you sent, I look at them, just one a day, savoring each one until you send more, waiting for the day when I can be part of your memories again instead of this distant viewer of your life.
I thought you should know I wear my ring all the time now. There’s no one who knows me as anything other than Private Lathrop, no one to ask questions, and it’s better than having it clink against my dog tags. When people do ask I talk of Margaret and Donnie. Oh how I wish I could speak of you in the same way, you whom I loved first and truly. The kids here think I’m a sentimental old fool. And they are kids. Eighteen, nineteen. They call me the old man, twenty-five years puts me older and wiser than most of them.
They tell me with a wife and kid I should have gotten out, I grit my teeth to keep from blurting out the truth. Some days I’m tempted to but at what cost to the family I tell myself. And even if they did nothing more than chuck me out they would just drag up another kid in my place. Every day I stay someone ages out and someone ages in.
But I find every day that our ‘kids’ our older than their kids. We so rarely see who we are fighting and when we do more often than not I’m looking into the face of someone a decade younger than myself. I find I just want to grab them and shake them, tell them to just go home, go back to their mothers who are worried. Of course, it would do little good. There’s no going back for them and they’ve all been told horror stories of what will happen if they are captured by us. I fear some of them may be true.
I will be so glad when I can return to you and Margaret and Donnie. I hope you are teaching him how to swim because as soon as I return I’m teaching him to surf. I want to spend every day in the water until this place is washed from my body and soul. They say the ocean is big enough to hold every memory, perhaps it is so, maybe it will hold the memories of this place for me so I can forget them and return to you as I was.
It is getting late now and I have patrol. I’ll send this before I leave.
Give my love to Margaret and Donnie and as always my deepest love to you.
Charlie
~
Colby held Alan as he cried, the tears seemed never to end. Thirty seven years of unshed tears flooding out. Alan shook in his arms like a man with a fever, burning away the illness of secrets and lies. Half formed screams spoke of grief society didn’t allow.
Colby held him closer and told himself that he would keep holding him for as long as necessary.
~
Colby handed a couple of pieces of paper to Don in the break room.
“Don, I need a couple of days off.”
“Really?”
“Just a long weekend in a few weeks, a Friday and Monday.” Colby knew he sounded like he was pleading. “I haven’t taken time off in ages.”
“Would this have anything to do with the trip my dad has suddenly planed to an undisclosed location?”
Colby sighed. “Come on, Don, just give me the two days.”
~
Chill early morning mist still hung over the Wall, giving it a ghostly feel. Appropriate, Alan thought, all the white marble monuments like mausoleums, homes for the dead.
Alan reached out and ran his fingers over the cool black stone, ran his fingers over a name he knew as well as his own.
He took two things from his pocket, a baseball card, Don’s last year with the Rangers, and a picture; him and Charlie in their tuxes, Margaret resplendent in white. Alan placed them at the base of the wall, below a name that was carved in his heart long before it was ever carved in stone.
Alan touched the stone again and Colby wrapped his arms around him from behind. Alan took a deep breath and, for a moment, let himself find comfort.
Author: ladygray99
Chapter: 2/2
Rating: FRT
Pairing: Alan/Margaret/OMC, Alan/Colby
Warnings: Slash, Angst
Summery: Some family secrets are bigger than others
Disclaimer: Of course it’s not mine but I’ve paid for three DVD box sets like everyone else.
Notes: This is for and completely the fault of
mikes_grrl. Not only did she ask for it but waved a pokie stick in my direction. My beta also recommends a box to tissue warning.
Beta: The very brave swingandswirl
Not Forget part 2
Colby was filling out paperwork and keeping his head down when his transfer request was slapped down in front of him the word ‘denied’ stamped across it. Colby tensed as Don leaned in close, lips nearly pressed to his ear.
“The first time I ever saw my father cry was watching the fall of Saigon.” A scrap of paper was placed on top of the transfer request. It had a name and a couple of dates. “Use your contacts, find this man.”
~
Colby opened the folder. Don sat across from him, the blinds in the conference room pulled shut for privacy.
“Private Charles Donald Lathrup,” Colby read carefully, “born September 24, 1945, Ottumwa, Iowa, parents listed as deceased in 1958. Drafted through the Los Angeles induction center in 1970, passed his physical with no notes, listed as 1-A, went through basic with no note for or against him, sent to Vietnam May 1970 where he was assigned as light infantry.”
Colby paused. “That’s it?” Don asked.
Colby shook his head. “No.” He opened a thicker folder. “His company was in an area that saw a lot of action. He would have been in it from day one. In September of 1970 his platoon was moving, took a bit of a wrong turn, got ambushed. The CO was killed almost immediately.” Colby flipped through yellowed, hand written forms. “Private Lathrup organized a defensive line while air support was called for. Then, according to reports he managed to get a squad out of the line of fire, into the jungle and ambushed their ambush taking several prisoners in the process and saving the rest of the platoon. He was awarded a silver star for courage and tactical brilliance under fire.”
Don frowned. “What? No way? I mean, this guy was a surfer with a fondness for Kafka.”
Colby leveled a hard look at Don. “Don, you were a minor league ball player with a fondness for blondes. How long did it take before the Bureau had you teaching tactics?”
Don shrugged. “Fair enough.”
Colby flipped through a few more files “His unit continued to engage in regular action. There are several recommendations for officer training in his file. It looks like his CO wanted to see him join up proper. Then in mid ’71 they were transferred to an area along the Cambodian border. October 14th, 1971, he went out with a squad on a night patrol, the squad radioed in that they were exchanging fire with the enemy and…that’s it.”
“That’s it?” Don practically squeaked. “It just…”
“The squad didn’t return from patrol. I did some more digging but you’ve got to understand, Don, this stuff, none of it's on computers, lots has been lost or destroyed. Four bodies were retrieved, four were listed MIA including Private Lathrup. A message was sent to next of kin informing them of the change in status.”
“That’s what it’s called? A change in status!?”
Colby sighed. “In ’76 two members of that squad were returned as part of a prisoner exchange but if there’s any record of what happened to Private Lathrup it’s long gone. I’ve got the last names of the guys returned but they’re Smith and Gonzolas.” Don winced. “Yeah, I’m trying to shake down the VA for more info but… It’s been 30 years, Don, it’ll take some time.”
Don nodded. “MIA.”
“Limbo. You know Don the DoD has a group that’s still going in and finding remains, doing DNA comparisons, and if I can find those two guys they might know something, and you hear stories sometimes, weird rumors, but...” Colby shook his head.
“So that’s it.”
“Well not quite. There was a bit of a paperwork snafu. His personal effects should have been returned to next of kin,” Colby lifted a battered cardboard box off the floor and placed it on the table “…but they took a bit of a detour and ended up in a warehouse in Bethesda.”
Don looked at the box. Cracked yellowed tape was still in place. “You didn’t open it?”
“No.”
Don ran his hand over his face a few times a cold chill seeping into him as if Charles Lathrup’s bones were sitting in the box.
“Who’s listed as next of kin?”
“Donald Eugene Eppes.”
“I see.” Don looked at the box.
Colby started to stand. “I’ll just…”
“No. Stay.” Don stood and used a pocket knife to cut through the half fossilized cellophane. He lifted the flaps, half expecting nothing but moth eaten dust. A uniform lay on top, carefully folded. Don lifted it out and gently set it aside. Underneath were half a dozen Hawaiian shirts, sheltered from the sun they were still riots of colors. Don unfolded the top one and held it up to himself.
“It’s you.” Colby said dryly.
Don chuckled and set the shirts aside. Next he pulled out a small box and flipped it open. A silver star, still shiny, gleamed out at him. Don felt a lump rise in his throat and he snapped the box shut setting it aside.
Then there were books, Metamorphosis, Leaves of Grass, the Martian Chronicles. Don flipped open the Martian Chronicles and chuckled, flipping it around and showing the title page to Colby.
“Autographed.”
“Cool.”
Don placed the books aside.
Then there were letters, bundled up in string that fell apart in Don’s fingers. Don recognized the handwriting on them. Some his father’s, some his mother’s. Don picked out one with his mother’s handwriting and carefully opened it. A single piece of paper was folded inside.
“Donnie says it’s a house.” Don read from the paper. Don unfolded it to find a collection of crayon scribbles. Don flipped it around until the blue scribbles were at the top, the green scribbles were at the bottom, and the boxy brown scribble was in the middle.
Don put it back, not wanting to risk finding love letters he had no business reading.
He looked at the things sitting on the table, the last objects to represent the life of a man Don couldn’t remember.
“What do I do with this, Colby?” Don asked. “I have one vague memory of someone who might have been him but… I mean… I guess it should go to Dad but…” Don looked at the stack of letters.
“Don,” Colby said softly. “He hasn’t grieved, not properly, not at all. Some part of him still expects Private Charlie Lathrup to come strolling up the front walk, green eyes and sunny smiles, not looking a day over 25 and it’s not going to happen, and I honestly can’t tell you what losing that last… hope will do to him. He’s in as much a state of limbo as Private Lathrup here.”
Don sighed and began to repack the box. “I guess it should go to dad any which way.” Don went to pick up the small box holding the Silver Star. Colby’s hand came down on top of his.
“That one stays with you, Don.”
“It does?”
Colby nodded. “Oldest living son.”
~
Don watched as his father held the Hawaiian shirt to his chest, eyes squeezed shut. No tears came but he gasped for air like a man half drowned.
“Thank you,” he managed to say softly.
~
Colby opened his front door. Alan stood there looking wan and rattled.
“You shouldn’t let me use you like this.” Alan said.
“I could say the same thing.”
“I’ll get you in trouble.”
“I’m already in trouble, it doesn’t matter.”
Alan stepped in, shutting the door behind him.
~
It was 3 a.m. when Alan came through the front door. Charlie looked up at him from a paper grading marathon and shook his head.
“You couldn’t just buy a red sports car like every other guy?” Charlie asked.
“Leave me alone, Charlie.”
“Dad, seriously I wouldn’t get too attached. He’s pissed off Don enough times, one more strike and he’s going to be finishing off his career in Anchorage.”
~
Alan handed the letter to Don. Don flipped it around in his hands.
“It’s not opened.”
Alan shook his head. “It arrived two days after the telegram, I couldn’t open it.”
Don tried to hand it back. “It’s addressed to you.”
Alan shook his head again. “No.”
~
The DNA tech flipped the letter around in her hands. “And when was this mailed?”
Don grimaced “1971?”
“And you want DNA?”
“Hey, you are the best.”
“Eppes..?”
“It’s important.”
“It’s a waste of taxpayer’s money.”
Don sighed. “What caused that letter to ever be sent was a waste of taxpayer money. Please?”
“And I suppose you want it run against the samples from before?”
“Just sample B.”
“I’m a little backlogged. I’ll run it this weekend.”
Don smiled. “I’ll owe you.”
“You keep saying that Eppes, one of these days I’m going to collect.”
~
Alan smiled as Colby’s breath slid down the back of his neck, warming parts of him he thought long frozen and dead. Colby’s hands slid across his face. Part of Alan’s mind was confused, knowing that strong hands should smell of salt and sand, board wax and baby powder. Colby’s hands smelled of soap and gun oil but he was getting used to it.
“Do you know how to surf, Colby?” Alan asked.
“I’m from Idaho.” Colby said with a chuckle.
“I think you’d like it. You should let me teach you.”
~
Don looked at the results. “I wasn’t able to get much. Had to melt down practically the entire envelope, stamp and all but I got an 85% sample which would be iffy in court but…”
“What about the comparison?”
“Well again, I wouldn’t take it to court but I’d say good chance we’re looking at the missing parent for sample B.”
Don ran his hand over the results, a simple black and white page mapping out matching alleles. “Hello, Dad,” he said softly.
~
Don pushed the letter across to Alan. He had read it locked in his apartment and grieved at the words. “You should read it.”
“No, Donnie.”
“It’s meant for you.”
Alan took it carefully. “I’ll read it tonight.”
~
My Love,
It is late and growing cold as I write this. It’s odd to think of this place as ever cold but it does happen like that first chill in the air around Halloween. I hope you are well as you read this. I got the last set of pictures you sent, I look at them, just one a day, savoring each one until you send more, waiting for the day when I can be part of your memories again instead of this distant viewer of your life.
I thought you should know I wear my ring all the time now. There’s no one who knows me as anything other than Private Lathrop, no one to ask questions, and it’s better than having it clink against my dog tags. When people do ask I talk of Margaret and Donnie. Oh how I wish I could speak of you in the same way, you whom I loved first and truly. The kids here think I’m a sentimental old fool. And they are kids. Eighteen, nineteen. They call me the old man, twenty-five years puts me older and wiser than most of them.
They tell me with a wife and kid I should have gotten out, I grit my teeth to keep from blurting out the truth. Some days I’m tempted to but at what cost to the family I tell myself. And even if they did nothing more than chuck me out they would just drag up another kid in my place. Every day I stay someone ages out and someone ages in.
But I find every day that our ‘kids’ our older than their kids. We so rarely see who we are fighting and when we do more often than not I’m looking into the face of someone a decade younger than myself. I find I just want to grab them and shake them, tell them to just go home, go back to their mothers who are worried. Of course, it would do little good. There’s no going back for them and they’ve all been told horror stories of what will happen if they are captured by us. I fear some of them may be true.
I will be so glad when I can return to you and Margaret and Donnie. I hope you are teaching him how to swim because as soon as I return I’m teaching him to surf. I want to spend every day in the water until this place is washed from my body and soul. They say the ocean is big enough to hold every memory, perhaps it is so, maybe it will hold the memories of this place for me so I can forget them and return to you as I was.
It is getting late now and I have patrol. I’ll send this before I leave.
Give my love to Margaret and Donnie and as always my deepest love to you.
Charlie
~
Colby held Alan as he cried, the tears seemed never to end. Thirty seven years of unshed tears flooding out. Alan shook in his arms like a man with a fever, burning away the illness of secrets and lies. Half formed screams spoke of grief society didn’t allow.
Colby held him closer and told himself that he would keep holding him for as long as necessary.
~
Colby handed a couple of pieces of paper to Don in the break room.
“Don, I need a couple of days off.”
“Really?”
“Just a long weekend in a few weeks, a Friday and Monday.” Colby knew he sounded like he was pleading. “I haven’t taken time off in ages.”
“Would this have anything to do with the trip my dad has suddenly planed to an undisclosed location?”
Colby sighed. “Come on, Don, just give me the two days.”
~
Chill early morning mist still hung over the Wall, giving it a ghostly feel. Appropriate, Alan thought, all the white marble monuments like mausoleums, homes for the dead.
Alan reached out and ran his fingers over the cool black stone, ran his fingers over a name he knew as well as his own.
He took two things from his pocket, a baseball card, Don’s last year with the Rangers, and a picture; him and Charlie in their tuxes, Margaret resplendent in white. Alan placed them at the base of the wall, below a name that was carved in his heart long before it was ever carved in stone.
Alan touched the stone again and Colby wrapped his arms around him from behind. Alan took a deep breath and, for a moment, let himself find comfort.