Chapter Text
Prologue
JUL05
The sun beat a burning cadence along his uniformed shoulders as he shifted slightly to let the damp pants move from the back of his knees. You could see the waves of heat wafting over the heads of the assembled, the stifling temperature making the day just that bit more uncomfortable.
He straightened his non regulation sunglasses and tried to refocus on the solemn words being said, but he found his attention wandering away – away from the tragedy of the day, the heavy empty feeling in his chest; away from the idea that the ground would soon envelope someone he…
The feel of a small hand slipping into his broke him from that particular crushing line of thought and he gently grasped the tender lifeline. He turned and crouched down until he was face to face with a younger version of his own green eyes; her blonde hair escaping from the ties his mother had put it in this morning.
When she reached for him, he gathered her up and rose again as the solemn intoning stopped and movement alerted him to a change in the SOP. She is a light, warm weight against his side as he turned and watched men in dress blues snap and fold the flag in clean precise movements.
It’s the moment he’s been dreading since he got the early morning phone call 2 weeks ago; any second now he’s going to be given that perfectly folded flag, they are going to salute and the coffin with his wife’s body will be lowered into the ground. A wife, mother and his best friend for a neatly folded flag – he can’t even begin to think on the unfairness of the exchange.
He takes the damn flag, suffers the saluting and resolutely watches the coffin being lowered. The child in his arms sniffles, resting her head on his shoulder and he brings his free hand up to stroke her soft hair. He looks over to his mother and watches the other child sleeping in her arms. The sudden impulse to grab his children and run hits him hard in his gut and he can’t stop the small groan that tumbles from his lips; the overwhelming pain, fear and anger threaten to erupt.
Small arms tightening around his neck bring him back to the now, the pain numbing his limbs. He realises his mother is standing in front of him and the others are moving slowly away in the heat, their eyes never quite catching his, their faces drawn in sadness. The sleeping child in her arms is now awake and reaching for him with chubby arms. He lowers Isabella to the ground still holding onto to her hand, tucks the flag under his arm as Christopher wriggles from his mother to him. He watches her move away.
The forlorn little family stands in the blaring heat watching workers shovel dirt onto of the coffin, the sickly sweet smell of Lilies clogging the still air. He can feel sweat trickling down his back and the heavy press of his uniform. Tightening his arms around his son and his daughter’s small hand in his he turns away from his wife’s final resting place and moves them out of the heat and into the cool darkness of the black funeral cars.