[Summer Camp FanFic] The Middle Man; Funeral
Title: The Middle Man; Funeral
Genre: Hurt/Comfrot
Pairing(s): USUK
Word Count: 1,110
Rating/Warnings:T
Summary: He never thought he would be a live attendant to his own funeral.
A/N: This is a not quite a sequel to the fic I wrote called The Middle Man ...which you can read here . This A.U. was based off the T.V show Dead Like Me...So yeah do enjoy!
My father had a saying,“There are no atheist in foxholes, and everyone prays on the battlefield.”
But, my father was a marine and spent most of the first Gulf War hiding in foxholes, and at the time when he was still with my mom, I was too young to understand what he meant. It wouldn’t be until I myself joined the air force and got my first real taste of combat, did I finally understand what he meant.
No matter who you are, or what you believe in, you just pray that you live to see the next day. Though lately, some things have happened in my life that has made me question not only god, but the whole universe itself.
But I guess dying dose that to a person.
***
He was told that he shouldn’t be there. They told him it wasn’t a good idea go.
But Alfred knew he had to go, it was his own funeral after all.
It had been a nice service, in that small family church in that town where he grew up, not far from Washington D. C. The cold November morning had been clear and ironically sunny. He had stood in the back, for really it had been the only place to stand. He was rather surprised to see every pew filled, with friends and family, and even a few people he only vaguely recalled meeting.
Military chaplain had given a nice eulogy, and a few of his buddies from his platoon had stood up to recall some of their favorit memories of him. However, Alfred didn’t pay much attention to what was said. No, he spent most of the service gazing at the front most pew, where a young boy not much older than eleven sat quietly. Even though, Alfred could only see the back of his little brother’s head he knew Mathew was feeling all alone in the world.
Every so often, the blond man sitting next to Mathew would pat the back of his head, Francis’s way of trying to fulfill his role as Matt’s legal guardian. Alfred felt glad that Matthew had someone there who cared.
But what had surprised him the most, was another man sitting in the front pew. This man was tall and stoic, with the soldiers thousand mile stair but that’s how his father always handled grief.
Alfred had wondered why his father had shown up. They were never very close, and he had not seen him much after his father and mother got divorced when he was six. But there his father was, in his marine dress blues.
His father didn’t say a word nor did he shed a tear. His father had always said “A soldier never cries.”
But when Alfred’s fellow airman took away the flag covered box, that held what used to be his body, he saw his father bury his head in his hands.
Now he stood some way a ways from his gravesite next to his mom. He may never see her again but he didn't want her to be lonely.
The chaplain finish reading from his bible; ashes to ashes and dust to dust. He watched as six of his platoon mates, his buddies, and brothers in arms lift Old Glory off his casket. Twelve times she was folded; a flag never to be flown again. The neat triangle ended up the hands of his commanding officer, a staunch man, who never spoke much, he then turn to Matthew. After his mom had died he had made sure that if anything happened to himself, Matt would get everything.
Alfred wasn't standing close enough to hear what was actually said but he knew the word his C.O spoke as he presented the flag to his little brother.
“On behalf of the President of United States, the Department of the Air Force, and a grateful nation, we offer this flag for the faithful and dedicated service of Master Sergeant Alfred F Jones. May God bless you this family and the United States of America.”
Matthew took the flag in shaking hands, and he knew his brother was crying. His C.O saluted and in the distance Taps began to play on the horn of a lone bugler. All military personnel saluted as his coffin was lowered into the freshly dug grave, and even Matthew gave his brother one final salute.
“So did this make you feel any better?” Said a heavily accented voice behind him.
Alfred turned and was not all that surprised to see Arthur standing there amongst the headstones, a cigarette between his lips and smoke curling about his head. Alfred looked back to his funeral then back to the man who had become something like his handler over the past few weeks.
“I think you’re standing on someone’s grave,” was all he said.
The green eyed Englishmen gave a cynical chuckle taking the cigarette from his lips, “I’m dead as well so I rather doubt it counts. However, that doesn’t answer my question.”
Alfred glared, and Arthur sighed, “You should forget about them, they can’t see you for who you were anymore, so don’t even bother you’ll only get hurt in the end.”
“You know what,” Alfred said moving closer until he stood eye to eye with Arthur his fists balled, “just because you happen to be jaded about your death doesn’t mean I want to be. So I will not forget about my family, I made a promise Matthew and even though he might not be able to see me, or even recognize me, I will still look after him and I will still protect him. And make the best of this …t-this life!”
He wheeled away breathing hard, he felt Arthur regarded him coolly, “You really are something else.”
Alfred did not reply, just watched as his funeral ended and people began going their separate ways. His military buddies leaving together, probably to have one last drink in his honor. Matthew leaving with Francis one hand held tightly than the other man’s the flag clutched to his chest. But his father stayed even after all others had left, he couldn’t tell if the man was still crying.
A hand has to shoulder, and for once Arthur had a sympathetic look on his face. He had yet to ask how Arthur had died, but he got the feeling that maybe he understood.
“So are you going to tell Felix that I was here?”
Arthur shook his head, “No, I’m not.”
“Thank you.”
“Now come on let’s not stand here any longer. Graveyards tend to make me feel unpleasant,” Arthur said.
Alfred nodded and followed quietly, casting one final glance over his shoulder to where his father still stood. He may never know why his dad stood there for so long, but tomorrow was another day.
Genre: Hurt/Comfrot
Pairing(s): USUK
Word Count: 1,110
Rating/Warnings:T
Summary: He never thought he would be a live attendant to his own funeral.
A/N: This is a not quite a sequel to the fic I wrote called The Middle Man ...which you can read here . This A.U. was based off the T.V show Dead Like Me...So yeah do enjoy!
My father had a saying,“There are no atheist in foxholes, and everyone prays on the battlefield.”
But, my father was a marine and spent most of the first Gulf War hiding in foxholes, and at the time when he was still with my mom, I was too young to understand what he meant. It wouldn’t be until I myself joined the air force and got my first real taste of combat, did I finally understand what he meant.
No matter who you are, or what you believe in, you just pray that you live to see the next day. Though lately, some things have happened in my life that has made me question not only god, but the whole universe itself.
But I guess dying dose that to a person.
***
He was told that he shouldn’t be there. They told him it wasn’t a good idea go.
But Alfred knew he had to go, it was his own funeral after all.
It had been a nice service, in that small family church in that town where he grew up, not far from Washington D. C. The cold November morning had been clear and ironically sunny. He had stood in the back, for really it had been the only place to stand. He was rather surprised to see every pew filled, with friends and family, and even a few people he only vaguely recalled meeting.
Military chaplain had given a nice eulogy, and a few of his buddies from his platoon had stood up to recall some of their favorit memories of him. However, Alfred didn’t pay much attention to what was said. No, he spent most of the service gazing at the front most pew, where a young boy not much older than eleven sat quietly. Even though, Alfred could only see the back of his little brother’s head he knew Mathew was feeling all alone in the world.
Every so often, the blond man sitting next to Mathew would pat the back of his head, Francis’s way of trying to fulfill his role as Matt’s legal guardian. Alfred felt glad that Matthew had someone there who cared.
But what had surprised him the most, was another man sitting in the front pew. This man was tall and stoic, with the soldiers thousand mile stair but that’s how his father always handled grief.
Alfred had wondered why his father had shown up. They were never very close, and he had not seen him much after his father and mother got divorced when he was six. But there his father was, in his marine dress blues.
His father didn’t say a word nor did he shed a tear. His father had always said “A soldier never cries.”
But when Alfred’s fellow airman took away the flag covered box, that held what used to be his body, he saw his father bury his head in his hands.
Now he stood some way a ways from his gravesite next to his mom. He may never see her again but he didn't want her to be lonely.
The chaplain finish reading from his bible; ashes to ashes and dust to dust. He watched as six of his platoon mates, his buddies, and brothers in arms lift Old Glory off his casket. Twelve times she was folded; a flag never to be flown again. The neat triangle ended up the hands of his commanding officer, a staunch man, who never spoke much, he then turn to Matthew. After his mom had died he had made sure that if anything happened to himself, Matt would get everything.
Alfred wasn't standing close enough to hear what was actually said but he knew the word his C.O spoke as he presented the flag to his little brother.
“On behalf of the President of United States, the Department of the Air Force, and a grateful nation, we offer this flag for the faithful and dedicated service of Master Sergeant Alfred F Jones. May God bless you this family and the United States of America.”
Matthew took the flag in shaking hands, and he knew his brother was crying. His C.O saluted and in the distance Taps began to play on the horn of a lone bugler. All military personnel saluted as his coffin was lowered into the freshly dug grave, and even Matthew gave his brother one final salute.
“So did this make you feel any better?” Said a heavily accented voice behind him.
Alfred turned and was not all that surprised to see Arthur standing there amongst the headstones, a cigarette between his lips and smoke curling about his head. Alfred looked back to his funeral then back to the man who had become something like his handler over the past few weeks.
“I think you’re standing on someone’s grave,” was all he said.
The green eyed Englishmen gave a cynical chuckle taking the cigarette from his lips, “I’m dead as well so I rather doubt it counts. However, that doesn’t answer my question.”
Alfred glared, and Arthur sighed, “You should forget about them, they can’t see you for who you were anymore, so don’t even bother you’ll only get hurt in the end.”
“You know what,” Alfred said moving closer until he stood eye to eye with Arthur his fists balled, “just because you happen to be jaded about your death doesn’t mean I want to be. So I will not forget about my family, I made a promise Matthew and even though he might not be able to see me, or even recognize me, I will still look after him and I will still protect him. And make the best of this …t-this life!”
He wheeled away breathing hard, he felt Arthur regarded him coolly, “You really are something else.”
Alfred did not reply, just watched as his funeral ended and people began going their separate ways. His military buddies leaving together, probably to have one last drink in his honor. Matthew leaving with Francis one hand held tightly than the other man’s the flag clutched to his chest. But his father stayed even after all others had left, he couldn’t tell if the man was still crying.
A hand has to shoulder, and for once Arthur had a sympathetic look on his face. He had yet to ask how Arthur had died, but he got the feeling that maybe he understood.
“So are you going to tell Felix that I was here?”
Arthur shook his head, “No, I’m not.”
“Thank you.”
“Now come on let’s not stand here any longer. Graveyards tend to make me feel unpleasant,” Arthur said.
Alfred nodded and followed quietly, casting one final glance over his shoulder to where his father still stood. He may never know why his dad stood there for so long, but tomorrow was another day.