He walked through the cemetery, a solitary figure amongst the many who visited this day leaving flowers and a few shed tears. No one noticed his passing. No one noticed the two, unopened bottles of beer in his hand. Arriving at his destination, he squatted beside a head stone not yet weathered with time but with memory instead.
"May 28th, Charlie. Another year, so many more dead in this never ending battle that we took on over 5 years ago. Too many and you were one of them, old friend and it was me that pulled the trigger.
"I know you forgave me. I know it was what you wanted, but it still hurts sometimes when I remember all the things that we'd been through together. Why couldn't we have made it through that together, too?
"I know what you'd say. C'mon, Colonel. What was meant to be, was meant to be. At least I got to see some of the show and I got to help some of those people. It was another fine day on Planet Kawalsky. But I got to do my job and that's what's important, isn't it? When all is said and done? I did my job and you did yours.
"That's what you'd say. And you'd be right. We did our job and in doing it, you died. We know so much more now than we did then. We know it's possible to get the snakes out of someone's head. We did it with Ska'ra. We could have done it with you if we'd only had the time. If only. If only.
"You know, Charlie. There are times when I almost envy you. You get to sit back on the sidelines and watch what is happening. You don't have to worry anymore about whether or not you're doing the right thing. You don't have to always be strong, always be in charge. You don't have to look in all those faces and be the man that everyone thinks you are.
"I feel old too sometimes, Charlie. So many of the men and women that are assigned to the SGC are just kids. Kids who really don't have any idea what they've just gotten into. Kids who should be out cruising up and down Main Street looking for dates instead of looking at the horror that we have to face so that kids, just like them, can be out cruising.
"I don't know, Charlie. I don't know if we're going to win. I don't know if we're going to ever be able to walk through the Stargate or look at the sky and feel safe. I just don't know. But I do know what you'd say if you were here. It's our lot in life, Colonel. We're the guys who get to go out and fight the boogie men and make it safe for everyone else. We're the guys who get to get shot at and killed so that Joe Blow down the street can have his big screen TV and watch the Superbowl in January. We're the line, Colonel and we can't let those snake heads cross it because if we do, we haven't done our job.
Jack O'Neill opened both bottles of beer. He put one on top of the head stone of Major Charles Kawalsky. The other he held out in a toast. "Here's to you Charlie. You did your job and you did it well. And I promise you Charlie, as long as I'm alive the snakeheads won't cross that line. And I pray I can be as strong as you were when my time comes."
***
Only one light illuminated her as she sat on the couch, a photo album on her lap. She slowly turned each page, pausing to touch a photograph with a fingertip before moving on to the next. It was a yearly ritual that she and her father had started many years ago on this day. It was their way of remembering together what they had lost and what they had gained. As soon as she reached the final page in the album, she closed it. A soft caress of the worn, leather cover caused her throat to tighten and tears to form at the corner of her eyes, but it wasn't time for that yet.
"I know it's been awhile, but I've been so busy with my work and Dad can't be here because, well you know why. I know you understand. You always did. No matter what, you always understood. It took me a long time to realize just how much you showed your love to us by putting yourself last, by never complaining when Dad wasn't there. I should have seen it then, but I guess that some things the young just aren't meant to comprehend.
"I want you to know that we're all together again. Dad finally took the step to bring Mark back into his life ... into our life. Even though we can't tell him everything and the visits with him and the kids are sporadic, I think Mark understands now that sometimes by not being available all the time but by being where you are needed the most is a far better way to show your love. I really do wish I could tell him sometimes, how much of a hero Dad really is in allowing himself to become a Tok'ra. I know he'd be just as proud of him as I am. As I know you are.
"You know Mom, there are so many times I turn around and wish you were here to talk with me. So many things have happened in my life since you left that I've wanted to share with you. So many times I've wanted your approval ... even more than Dad's. So many times I've just wanted to feel your arms holding me again like when I was a little girl and I'd fallen and hurt myself. But you know Mom, at those times ... the times when I really need you ... I know you're there. I can feel you there and if I try real hard, I can feel your arms, feel your hand smoothing the hair out of my face. And if I listen real close, I can hear you say 'Sam honey, everything is going to be just fine. You'll see ... you'll see.'
"So Mom, I know you're still taking care of me and I know you're taking care of Dad and Mark. And I want you to know that it's because of you that I can do what I do. It's because you never gave up. Because of that, I can't.
As the tears began to fall, she whispered, "I love you, Mom."
***
All the spectacular exhibits with all their color and history competed with each other for the attention of the few people who wandered the New York Museum of Art. The building was filled with tribute to mankind's glory and its not so illustrious sister horror. Yet these could have been billboards advertising Howard Johnsons or a last chance to buy gas to the young man who wandered in and out among them. His mind was a million miles away and several years in the past.
His wanderings brought him to a distant corner of the museum. Quiet and semi-dark, the cool air of this corner appealed to how he was feeling right now. A bench was positioned in the corner for tired patrons to sit and rest or for those people who wanted to sit and contemplate the exhibits that they had just seen. No one else was using it at the moment, so he sat. However he was unable to release his thoughts just yet on the reason he had made this pilgrimage. He wasn't ready. He wondered to himself if he ever would be.
~~~
Unbeknownst to the young man, someone had been watching him as he progressed through the museum. Following quietly behind, an old man debated with himself the wisdom of approaching and speaking. He thought he knew why this man carried the haunted look of a survivor on his face, but he wasn't positive so he followed and watched, hoping for a sign that he was right. When he saw him sit on the bench in the corner, he knew the time was now and that it was right.
~~~
Daniel looked up at the old man standing in front of him, a smiled greeting automatically adorned his handsome face, then recognition.
"You remember me?" asked the old man.
"Uh, yes. I do. You're Max Roca," answered Daniel. "You were a friend of my parents."
Roca sat next to Daniel on the bench. "These old bones, you know. They don't carry the weight as easily as they used to do."
Daniel smiled by way of responding.
Roca's eyes grabbed Daniel's and held them. "They'd be proud, you know."
"I'm not so sure," said Daniel.
"I am."
"How? When I emptied that room with my theory about the pyramids? I don't know, I just felt like I'd let them down and I came here today ..."
"To apologize? To justify to them your reasoning? To explain your research and what led you to that theory?"
"Yes."
"Daniel," said Roca placing a hand on the young man's arm, "don't you think that they already know?"
Daniel looked at the hand on his arm wondering to himself why he didn't feel threatened by that gesture ... didn't feel like pulling away, in fact wondering why it felt right instead.
"Daniel." When he didn't respond right away to Roca's voice, he repeated a little more forcefully. "Daniel!"
Daniel's head jerked up and he was, once again, held by Roca's eyes.
"Your parents would not care that no one else believes in your theories. Your parents WOULD care and WOULD be proud of the way you did your research. They would care and be proud of your presenting it to a room full of people whom you knew well in advance, would not believe you ... would in fact, ridicule you. They would be proud, Daniel, because you are their son."
"I wish I could believe you," sighed Daniel.
"Believe them."
"What do you mean? How can I believe them. They can't tell me anything?"
Roca shook his head. "Did you pick this place, this bench today for any particular reason?" he asked.
"I don't know. I don't think so," answered Daniel. Then shaking his head in the negative he added, "No. As a matter of fact, I know I didn't."
"I didn't think so. It chose you."
"You're talking in riddles. How can a bench or a place chose me?"
Roca stood pulling Daniel with him and turning him to face the bench. "Look."
A small, bronze plaque that Daniel hadn't noticed when he sat down, was positioned at eye level above the bench. Looking close Daniel read, "Dedicated to Drs. Melburn and Claire Jackson who died when an exhibit they were working on collapsed. May you find peace where you are now and give peace to those who come to see the work you loved so well."
***
He sat alone amidst the candles that shed a flickering light on the walls and floors of a room barren of everything except the necessities. Eyes closed, breathing slowed to imperceptible levels he turned his gaze inward contemplating what he had been told about this day.
Memorial Day. A day to honor those that had fallen in battle. O'Neill had quoted to him from one of the former Presidents of the United States, a John F. Kennedy. He had said that no one had ever said it better.
"A nation reveals itself not only by the men it produces, but also by the men it honors, the men it remembers."
This custom, he could understand for he was a warrior. A warrior now who fought on the side of the Tau'ri against his former masters. Against an enemy who waged war on the innocent not just by killing, but by taking their very lives. They took their bodies and submerged their souls creating, as DanielJackson had put it, a living nightmare that continued forever.
DanielJackson and O'Neill remember Sha're and Ska'ra. They knew them. But who remembers the rest? The scribe whose body Apophis now inhabits? Was the woman whose body Hathor took someone's wife and mother? And what of the man whom Chronos robbed of his life? Was he a father, a husband? Was he a farmer from some distant world whose only fear before being taken was whether or not it was going to rain? Are they not worthy of being remembered on this day?
Other faces flashed in Teal'c's mind ... faces etched with fear. Fear of him as he appeared at each village to take new slaves and hosts for Apophis. These too should be remembered and honored as they live out each day, trying to survive the constant threat imposed on them by the System Lords. These men, women, and children who live with no hope but with a certain dignity, a certain strength to go on and survive.
These are the people whom he will remember on this day. For it is these people for whom he fights ... for whom he, O'Neill, Major Carter, DanielJackson, and the rest of the men and women at the SGC would die for in order to free them from the Goa'uld ... in order to help them survive ... in order to give them hope.
***
He waved goodbye again to his grand daughters, Tessa and Kayla as their parents drove off after spending the day with him going first to the cemetery to leave flowers on his wife's grave and then enjoying a leisurely family dinner. Walking back into the house, he entered his den and walked to the bookshelves. He laid a finger along the spine of the first book in the top row, touching each one as he searched for a specific volume. Finally finding it, he pulled it from the shelf and took it to the reading table beside his easy chair. He sat and leaned his head back, closing his eyes and letting his mind wander.
He began sifting through memories ... memories of the faces of those whom he had known either as friend, family member, or soldier. Each year more faces were added to his private tribute to their memory. Each year he mourned their loss and each year, he hoped that this would be the last year he would have to order men and women to go to their death.
Opening his eyes, he reached over for the book he had placed on the reading table. Thumbing through the well worn pages carefully, he found the passage he was looking for. Then he read out loud to all those remembered faces.
"This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.'
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day."
---Henry V, William Shakespeare
***
fin
© August 15, 2001 The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp. The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.