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We are all driven into the same fold.
Horace
.I’m standing here feeling like an outsider, but knowing that I have to be here. I have no right, and yet I have no choice. I have come to say goodbye to Frank. That in itself is absurd. Frank’s gone, sucked into that damn black hole, because I couldn’t hold him. What is even more absurd is the fact that I would come to say goodbye now, when I turned my back on him for all those years and refused to speak when he could have heard me. And as Daniel would say, therein lies the crux. I didn’t want to talk to Frank, because it would have given him the opportunity to talk to me. And if he talked, I might have listened. And if I listened, I might have forgiven. And I couldn’t. And I can’t.
I watch Frank’s team fold the flag. I wish my thoughts and feelings could be folded so neatly and locked away. It would surprise a lot of the people who know me that I have feelings. Oh, I’ve got feelings all right. I don’t choose not to share them very often. It’s just that I’ve had years of practice keeping them hidden ... folded ... pressed ... locked away ... sealed .... padlocked ... chained ... loose.
Oh shit.
I watch as they present the flag to Liz. She sits there quietly. Trying to be as strong as ever. She looks older than I remember her, tired. Well hell, aren’t we all? Liz doesn’t even have the cold comfort of the body of her husband. She’ll never know what happened to him. Never know where his final resting place is. At least I’ve got that much with Charlie. As much as it hurts, sometimes it helps to be able and sit on the grass next to him and talk. Liz won’t even have that much comfort. All she’ll get is the official story of how Frank died a hero serving God and his country and a neatly folded flag to add to a trunk full of memories.
I’ve had to look at too many, way too many, flags draped over coffins over the years. The flag, handled with care, folded precisely, to be handed to the grieving wife, who is now a widow. Unprepared for and yet always aware that this was what life might deal her. It is that flag each of us fights for, sheds blood for, lives and dies for. And then it covers and refocuses attention away from death. It represents service, duty, and honor. Was it worth it, Frank? You gave your life for your country? Was it worth it?
I watch as Sara walks quietly over and speaks to Liz. Nothing happens for a moment and then they are hugging, crying in each others arms. I’m not surprised Sara is here. They were best friends a long time ago. I guess that’s something else I killed, their friendship. I remember the night Frank and Liz came over right after I got home from Iraq. God, I was so wrapped up in my own hurt and misery, I couldn’t begin to see Sara’s. Frank stood in the doorway of my house hugging my son, just like I wanted to, but couldn’t. I wanted to kill the son of a bitch. He’d already taken four months of my life and now he was trying to take my son. I saw it then, and now I can’t forget the look on Frank’s face, the pain that flashed over it. And I was glad, so damn glad to give him a little of what I was feeling, that I completely missed the pain I was causing Sara, Liz, and even Charlie.
How often could it have been Sara sitting up there in front of a casket, lost and alone? The military’s a hard life. Hard on those who serve, but even more so on the families. God knows what Sara went through time after time and yet she never complained. She never asked me to quit and settle into a normal life. God, I loved her for that. I still do, even though I have no right. She deserves so much better than me and the life of uncertainty I could give her.. I screwed up any chance I ever had at that happiness.
It’s funny, Frank was there the day Charlie was born. Sara was having problems, complications the doctor said. She was in labor for eighteen hours. God I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone in that much pain. It tore me up. I couldn’t stand seeing her suffer. Frank never left. He was right there for me, so I could be there for Sara. I don’t remember a lot of things that happened that day, but I know it was Frank’s hand on my shoulder giving me strength, keeping me focused when the doctor told me there was a chance they would lose Sara and the baby. And I’ll never forget Frank wrapping his arms around me, hugging for all he was worth when Charlie was born and the doctor said the crisis was over. The two of us stood there a long time in that waiting room, just holding on to each other. I guess we had kind of forgotten we were both special ops officers and experts at keeping our emotions hidden. Yeah, some experts, but somehow that didn’t matter.
Frank and Liz loved Charlie. Almost as much as Sara and I did. I suppose they never could have any kids. I never thought to ask. I guess it just never seemed like the right time to bring it up. I was just too damn happy in my own little world to even think that there might have been a reason the Cromwell’s never started a family. I just stood back with parental pride and let them lavish love on my kid.
It was always the five of us. It was just a given that Charlie was included in whatever we did. Baseball games, hiking, boating, you name it and we did it. Hell, we even took Charlie skiing when he was just a few months old, although Sara and Liz almost stroked out on me. Frank backed me up though and we took Charlie down the run. He loved it and then damned if Frank hadn’t gone out and gotten him his first ski jacket complete with a patch celebrating his first run. I still don’t know where he got such a tiny coat. He never did say.
Those were good times. Memories to fall back on when Frank and I had to be away. When we were off in some God-forsaken part of the world crawling around on our bellies through swamps or hacking our way through stinking jungles sweating our balls off. Those were the times to pull out the memories. Sitting around a campfire missing Sara and Charlie so bad I wanted to die, I could almost always count on Frank to come up with some story about something Charlie had done to make me laugh. It drove away the loneliness and made me feel nearer to my family. I never got a chance to thank Frank for that either.
Frank said we were friends. And we were right from the beginning of OT. We sweated through the classwork and drills. Working our way up the ranks, pulling each other out of tight spots on missions, backing each other up while we pulled some crazy prank on the old man. Hell, we even stood up for each other when we got married. I’ve still got a copy of that picture in my wallet Frank took of Sara and my first date. I was grinning like an idiot and Sara looked unbelievably beautiful. Damn it to hell, we were friends. We were. How could he have left me behind? It was our creed, the one thing we could rely on, more sacred than the Bible.
And he turned his back and walked away. He left me bleeding and helpless, laying in the sand, waiting to die.
But I didn’t die. I lay there waiting for Frank to come back for me. I watched as he led the rest of the team to safety, knowing more than I had ever known anything in my life, that Frank would come back for me. I watched and I waited and I bled into the sand. And he didn’t come back. It was the damn Iraqi soldiers that came for me. And as they dragged me away, I was still looking over my shoulder for Frank.
I don’t know for sure when the hope died and hatred seeped in to fill its place. All I know for sure is that it was that hatred that kept me alive. It gave me something to hold on to. I chewed on it at night when my stomach was cramping with hunger. It gave me somewhere to go when the guards took turns beating the shit out of me. Thoughts of Sara and Charlie were too clean, too pure for what I was living through. Hatred was better, it fit, it belonged there. It was the only way I could survive. Most days I just gave myself over to it and went dark side, because there was no light. There were only four months of hatred, four months of hell.
Frank requested a transfer shortly after I got home. I didn’t bother to find out where. It was a rough time for Sara and I and it took all my effort just to function and to hide what a wreck I was from the Brass. I had my hands too full to worry about where Frank Cromwell was. It just didn’t matter as long as he stayed the hell away from me.
He showed up at Charlie’s funeral. Life had been better for a long time and I packed away the hatred and forgot about it. I had found my way back to Sara and Charlie. We were happy. And then Frank was there on the worse day of my life. On the day I would have given anything to have traded places with my son. Sara and I stood there in front of the small, white casket. Every condemning eye was turned on me, knowing this was my fault. I stared straight ahead like I was a raw recruit on inspection for the first time. Suddenly I saw him, Frank, standing behind the crowd. I guess Liz was with him, I really don’t know for sure. I only saw Frank. My eyes locked onto his and I saw him stiffen when our eyes met.
For a few precious moments all my self-hatred transferred to Frank. All the loathing I was feeling for myself was re-directed. I think at that moment if I had held my gun, the gun that had killed my son, I would have shot Frank Cromwell and then turned it on myself. God knows I tried hard enough later, but by then it was too late. I’d lost my nerve. Frank turned and walked away and just like a boomerang, all the hatred I had thrown came right back to me and hit me dead on.
For an organization such as the military, based on secrets, there really are few true secrets. Everyone knew there was bad blood between Frank and I. It wasn’t coincidence that we were never teamed up over the years. Standing in the corridors under tons of mountain all I could think was why in the hell did it have to be Cromwell they sent? I’ve made plenty of enemies over the years. Had one of them arranged this little surprise party? I’ve had a lot of time to think about it since then. I’m not quite as dense as people tend to think. There were others the special forces could have sent. The answer I finally hit on was that they didn’t. Frank volunteered to come. For some reason I’ll probably never know, Frank chose that time and that day to re-establish contact with me. He wanted to see me. The black hole gave him the excuse.
I know that now. Not at first. When I first saw him I was mad as hell. All those feelings I had tucked away and hidden since Charlie’s funeral came pouring out. It took every ounce of control I had not to lose it right there in front of Fraiser. I turned and walked away. Why couldn’t he have stayed away and left well enough alone, left my memories safely locked away. All the hatred and self-loathing I felt for him started mixing with the worry and guilt I was feeling for Henry Boyd and his team. All those feelings about Charlie and Sara and every rotten thing I have ever done got mixed up with it until I thought my gut would explode.
I had to get away from Frank, from the emotional cesspool threatening to drown me. There was only one escape. When Hammond asked for volunteers I didn’t think twice. Hey, the way I was feeling, it wasn’t like I could go topside and sit this one out. Besides who would they have sent to detonate the bomb ... that Simmons kid? I don’t think so. Besides it was the only way I could think to get rid of Cromwell, make him go away. And dammit if the son of a bitch didn’t see through my plan and volunteer as well.
I’m going to have to talk to Hammond some day about choosing his volunteers more carefully.
When everyone was gone and it was only Frank and me, I thought I’d crack a tooth, I was holding back so tightly. I fought with everything I had not to lose it, to maintain a mask of indifference. I stood there, pushing buttons and acting like I knew what I was doing. Feigning nonchalance.
I might have pulled it off, got the mission over with and gone on with life. The problem was Frank knew me too well. He knew which buttons to push. And the bastard pushed them. He asked about Henry Boyd while Hank’s frightened face leered at me from light-years away. He accused me of leaving Hank and his team behind. Frank used my own thoughts and guilt against me to rip the lid off my hidden emotions and make me share how I was feeling. Make me share those things I had hidden away a long time ago. I blew, but the shattering window grounded me and just like a pressure cooker, I released just enough steam to refocus on the bigger picture.
The problem was that it is a whole lot easier hating someone who isn’t in the same room with you, especially when that person was as close as Frank Cromwell and I were. We had a rhythm that worked so well and felt so right that in this crisis we both just fell back into it. It was as natural as breathing. Even under the weight of the situation and the baggage of the past, somehow we fit together. We were a team, then and now and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. And so I made the best of it, and got the job we’d been given, done. And it felt right. Even the lame-ass jokes we made as we inched our way towards the iris felt right.
I knew we were in trouble even before the iris collapsed. My trouble meter was off the scale and I could see in Frank’s eyes that he knew it too. Then the window shattered and Carter shouted out a warning.
Getting nailed by reinforced glass isn’t something I ever want to repeat. I was bleeding pretty bad, but then so was Frank. Damn if he wasn’t worried about me. All I could think about was completing the mission. Of Carter and Teal’c, of Hammond and Sara, and every other person on Earth who was going to die if I failed. I don’t think I wanted to die when I ordered Frank to set the timer knowing we couldn’t get out. It was just what had to be done. Sometimes life sucks ... just not always into a black hole.
If only I’d had a couple more seconds to think, to react, but I didn’t. One second Frank had set the timer and the next, his line snapped. All I could do was make a wild grab for him. His eyes locked onto mine for what seemed like forever. Carter would probably have some scientific explanation about the time being relative, but all I know is that for a lifetime I fought to hold onto Frank. Fought like I had never fought before and it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough. In that lifetime, in that millisecond he was gone.
I bullied Doc Fraiser into letting me out of the infirmary so I could attend Frank’s memorial service. She acted like she was pissed off, but I know she wasn’t really. Doc understands me, better than I understand myself sometimes. She just has to bitch a little to try and keep me from getting too cocky.
So here I am, saying goodbye to the man who was my best friend and my worst enemy. Frank Cromwell showed up asking me to forgive. I’ve lived a lifetime trying to forget. Forgiveness hasn’t played a big part.
Did I forgive Frank? I don’t know. In that last few seconds before he disappeared, something passed between us. Was it forgiveness? Frank left me behind. I left a gun for Charlie to find. The problem with forgiving Frank is I have never forgiven myself. Like I said, Frank knew me way too well. Maybe that’s what he had in mind all along. Maybe he figured, by forgiving him it would open the way towards some forgiveness and peace for myself. Can I accept that? My grandma used to say, ‘give and you shall receive.’
It’s something to think about.
The service is over. Frank’s sacrifice has been honored. Liz is being led away. The people are scattering.
Life is going on and another flag has been folded.
Author’s notes: A short Tag to one of my favorite episodes. As always feedback is appreciated. Many thanks to Elizabeth for beta reading for me. You are proof that it is a small, small world.
© November 2, 2002 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.