My Youngest Son Came Home Today
By Oonagh
Disclaimer: The show is not mine. In fact, I don't even own the title of the story. I kind of borrowed it. But I will return it, I swear.
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William Adama stood in the sunshine, a beautiful young woman at his side, and felt his heart shatter. He stood with back straight and head held high – an Admiral even now – but inside his soul crumbled and the pieces were lowered into the deep hole along with the pine box that held his son. At the funeral service the preacher had spoken of the fact that Zach's life essence had departed its flesh and bone shell – that what had truly been Zach was gone and was living on in eternal peace with the gods. Several times the preacher had emphasised that Zach was better off, that he would know no more pain, suffering or loss.
Adama considered himself to be a relatively religious man and he had accepted the truth of the priest's words. But then Adama had looked into the coffin and he had seen Zach. The small scar through his eyebrow that he had gotten as a small child learning to walk. The mole on his cheek that he had hated so much growing up. The bit of almost-black hair that always stuck straight up, no matter what was done to it. His brown eyes were closed, his expression solemn, but to Adama it looked as though his son was just sleeping, as though at any moment the sparkling eyes would open and he would flash his ever-present grin. It was hard for Adama to look into that face and believe – truly believe – that his son was no longer there, that nothing but a slab of meat lay in the satin lined box. Adama had reached out and stroked his son's hair for the last time. Then he had closed his eyes against the tears and walked away.
And now he stood at the graveside to witness the burial. He looked around at the solemn faces, listened to the words of the priest and asked himself: if Zach is gone, if there is nothing human in that box, then why do we do this, why do we put ourselves through this ritualistic disposal of the corpse? He'd been to countless funerals in the past but never before had he asked that question. Never before had he paid such close attention to what was going on. But then, never before had he buried his son.
The huge crowds that had been at the funeral service had gone, leaving only family and close friends, but Adama was still unable to relax. He could feel Lee's glare burning into him from across the slowly lowering coffin and could hear the echo of the harshly whispered accusations Lee had thrown at him before the service. His older son was grieving and angry. Lee had always been quick to anger and slow to forgive but now he was angrier than Adama had ever seen him. And this time Zach wasn't here to joke him out of his bad mood, to make him laugh and forget his pique.
Caroline stood at her son's side, sobbing and supported by his arm. Adama had spoken to her that morning, the conversation brief and awkward. He wished he knew what to say to her. Their marriage had failed – he had not been a good husband and she had not been a good wife – but she had always been a terrific mother and she loved her sons. She had done a good job raising them and Adama knew that they had become the men they were thanks more to her than to him. And now one of them was gone forever. Her life – like his – would never be the same again. At least she didn't seem to hold him responsible. Not like Lee.
Adama risked a glance at his son who continued to stare hatefully at him for a moment before pointedly looking away. Adama heaved an audible sigh and breathed a brief prayer to the gods that he hadn't lost both of his sons. Suddenly he felt a slight pressure on his arm. Starbuck – his son's fiancée – had slipped her arm through his. He looked across at her and tried to smile. He suspected he wasn't very successful but she seemed to understand anyway. She nodded back. Zach had chosen a strong woman. Adama just wished his son had had the chance to live the life he had chosen, with this woman at his side. But that was not to be. Zach was dead and Kara Thrace was left alone, widowed even before her wedding day. Looking into her face, her grief plain but her eyes – like his – were dry, Adama swore to look after her. She was family, Zach had made that choice before he died and his father resolved then and there to honour it. He squeezed her arm, trying to convey his support. She nodded again and he saw gratitude in her eyes.
With a soft thud that seemed to echo loudly through the graveyard Zach's coffin reached the bottom of the hole. The priest finished the final prayer of the funeral liturgy and Adama joined with the other mourners in chanting the traditional response.
"So say we all." He was startled to hear how gruff his voice sounded and saddened to hear how broken Caroline's was. He had loved her once and some part of him remembered that and felt her grief as though it was his own. The depth of that grief threatened to overcome him. He blinked to try and stop the tears. He would not cry. Not here. Not now. All his life Adama had believed that tears should be shed in private and all his life he had been able to control himself. But not today. He could feel himself losing the battle and so he gave Starbuck's arm one final squeeze and then abruptly turned and walked away from the graveside, protocol be damned. He forced himself to walk slowly across the cemetery, back held high and tears streaming down his face.
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Author's Note: I don't normally write songs based on songs but I made an exception for this. The song by Eric Bogle which shares a title with this story just seemed to be begging to be used. I hope I managed to convey the grief and despair of the song in story form and I hope I did it without going too out of character for Adama. Apologies if I didn't quite manage that. Anyway, for anyone who's interested here's the chorus of the song.
"My youngest son came home today,
His friends marched with him all the way,
The flutes and drums beat out the time,
As in his box of polished pine,
Like dead meat on a butcher's tray,
My youngest son came home today."