Remembrance Day
It was a cold night, the wind had started to pick up earlier in the day and had whipped up the ice cold winter air. But that didn't stop people enjoying the end of a long day. And it had been a long day for him. And a painful one, he needed to be alone tonight. He had turned down a couple of other detectives who had asked to see if he wanted to join them in going to the local bar but he quickly turned them done; telling them that he was spending time with his family.
He had also been asked by Jamie if he wanted to get a drink but yet again he turned him done. He enjoyed his drinks with his brother however he couldn't. Not tonight. One thing he knew was that he wouldn't be good company tonight. And for this reason he didn't want to have to deal with all the questions that came with his behaviour.
This mood had clouded him from the moment he woke up. Luckily for him the day had been slow, him and his partner hadn't been given a case due to his partner needing to attend court in the morning. So instead he just quietly caught up with his paperwork. And just waited for the shift to be over.
However his mood hadn't gone amiss with his Sergeant as he watched him through his office door. The person that sat in his chair wasn't the man who he knew to be a determined and sometimes reckless detective. When his partner arrived at around midday, she noticed that he wasn't himself. He nodded to her as she sat down in her chair but that was it. He didn't joke or make a comment about the fact she had been in court as he would normally do.
As soon as their shift ended, he had packed up his things said a short goodbye to his partner and left the squad room. Both his sergeant and his partner had seen his odd behaviour and knew that he was in no fit state to deal with the public. He wasn't in the right headspace. And he had good reason for it. Today was a day he wish he could forget.
Today was the day that had changed his life forever, every year he was forced to relive the day again and again in his mind. He would wake up in hot sweats every day for a week before the day itself, seeing his friends laughing one moment and then lying dead in the rumble of the hospital. And worse images appeared in his mind every time he closed his eye, even in the day.
Thankful Linda didn't ask questions. She just knew that he wasn't ready to speak about what had happened to him overseas. So she didn't ask. Every time she had felt the covers pull away from her she knew that he had woke up with a shock, and soon he would disappear down stairs. She would just lay there, knowing that he was hurting but not knowing what to do. Or who to ask for help.
People asking questions. That was one thing he hated, but less than when people tried to relate to what he went through over there. When had finally returned from his last tour, everyone knew that something had changed in him. He wasn't the same man that he was when he left. Not even close. The first few days it was hard being home. Him and Linda had chose to stay with his father and mother for a week or so. His mother had gone down hill again with cancer and she wanted her son close to her. But he knew that he wasn't the same son who had left her.
Linda had gone shopping with his mother allowing time for him and his father to talk. His father, like him had been a Marine. It was in that short time that it started, his father had tried to get him to talk about what had happened in Iraq. What had caused him to come home a shell of the man that had left them. This had happened a few times in as many weeks including when he had returned back to the force. He had been lucky not to lash out to his father, but words were enough to damage the relationship between the pair greatly. But thankfully Pops had stepped in before their relationship got too damaged for them to get it back.
But that didn't mean he spoke to anyone about what had happened. To be truthful he had never spoke to anyone about what had happened that day. Or anytime of the war he had seen. Whenever he came close to mentioning something about his experience in war, he returned to that day. The horrifying day that the blanket of dust wrap around his body and the screams of the dying; the blood all round him and the pain in his heart. That had soon put a stop to him even mentioning anything about the hell he had seen in Fallujah. Even to his family.
But that didn't help with the nightmares, his dreamt that he was back there. Buried underneath the rubble of the hospital. The only good building that gave people hope had become for many people the grave. So many had died, and for what? Nothing. Sometimes in his dreams he would see his friends engulfed in flames as the bomb exploded. Or worse he would see that instead of allied soldiers coming to save him he found himself face to face with the bomber himself.
He wouldn't say a word to him. Not why he did it or who had told him to do it. Nothing passed his lips. All he would do was look down at him with a grin on his face and at the pain he had caused. And not only to the families and friends of the soldiers that he killed but his own could anyone say that they were fighting for their country by killing their own people. But not just the people who had tried to live their lives as normal as they could but also the children. Cutting their lives too short.
It was the children that made their job hard, and it wasn't only him. He had seen tough soldiers who had been in war a lot longer than him break when children were involved. He remembered seeing as rescuers and fellow soldiers pulled the bodies from the entrance as they made their way into the hospital. One of the medics at the time were trying their best to stop his arm from bleeding too badly whist another tried to get him to tell them his injuries before he passed out or they sedated him. He was in fact losing a lot of blood from his wounds. The medics only allowed Sam to stay with him because in a way Sam was allowing them to do their work without interruption from him.
He had seen one main dressed in a Marine uniform carrying the body of a child. The body was too small to be anything other than a child's. He knew that the child was long dead because instead of allowing a medic check for a pulse the soldier just placed the small lifeless body with the others that had already been cleared. That child had been in the one place that they had thought would be safe. But they had been wrong.
It was the bodies of the dead that kept him up so late at night. Hundreds of people had died that day but he only knew the names of eight of them. His friends. When they had gotten them all back to base he had to wait three days before he was allowed to leave the base hospital (only if someone was with him) to say his final goodbye to his friends. One last time.
He wasn't going home with them, he knew that he should be. He should have been placed in a box with the american flag draped over it just like them. People told him that he was lucky, but he didn't feel like it. He was just someone who now had to live with the fact that he shouldn't be alive. He should have died along with his friends. He was filled with pain and anger. All he wanted now was revenge.
Revenge on the men that did this to his friends, he wanted them to pay for it. He couldn't leave not knowing if that happened. He had unfinished business there. The family he had left back in New York would knew straight away that something was wrong with him if he went back now. But the thing that sold it to his commanders was that he was still fit enough to help. Even if that meant remaining on base. He had survived the bombing making him useful to intelligence, and more so to Sam. Sam Cooper was the best in intelligence he found and he found the man very interesting.
He had found out that Cooper was a formed FBI profiler and one of the best. He also knew that he could ask Coop anything and only on certain topics would he not get an answer. But one topic that he would only give some information about was the famous Ghost of the S.A.S.
Before the bombing, him like many soldiers had hear the rumour of a sniper that was classed as one of the best. Better than any American sniper. The sniper's shot was described as magically flying through the air taking down i's target without anyone seeing a muzzle flash. But the man behind the name was nothing like he thought he'd be.
Mick was like any other soldier, he would make jokes, and mess around like any other soldier. As he worked with Coop and the other intelligence officers he had gotten to know both Coop and Mick better. And he learnt a lot about the young Welshman.
One of them being that he didn't like to be called an Englishman. After a few months he had found himself correcting other intelligence officer who had made that mistake. He had also learnt that like him he was the oldest and had a younger sister, but unlike him Mick had no other family. Mick never said anything about how he had lost his family. But he could tell that it was a topic that was not meant to be poked. Sam didn't know either, but he had a feeling that Sam knew a little about Mick's past (however that was between them). He noticed that Sam was like older brother to the young man and that in itself told him that they had been through alot together.
But the thing that he liked about Mick was that even with everything he had seen he still wanted to help others. Even if it meant selling his own soul and it did. Like Sam he had noticed that after each mission a little bit of the Mick they knew faded. However he had been a cop for a long time and he spotted only it a little bit (when Mick was too tired to hide his emotions that well) which was pain. But not from any injury; it was from taking a life. Being a sniper meant he would easily have the highest kill record and being SAS only meant that number would go up.
After a few months working with Sam he had started to get jobs from Intelligence and soon joined their ranks. A field promotion, and the clearance to match it. He also knew that his clearance topped his father's and his grandfather's as he had started to work with other special forces and not just with his own Navy Seals and Delta Force. The S.A.S (United Kingdom), S.B.S (United Kingdom), S.A.S (Australian), Jednostka Wojskowa Agat (Polish) and the MOE (Spanish). And many more.
But with his new job only meant that he couldn't talk about what he did to his family. His job was a secret but the good thing that came out of it and that was he made some new friends from multiple countries.
Some of the other marines and even a few intelligent officer had found it odd his relationship with a member of the british army. And how quickly the soldier had trusted him after only speaking to him for a few minutes. But in the same way they understood it. The British Soldier had gotten the revenge that they all wanted. He had ended the life of a man who had killed eight of their own.
As he drove through the same streets he use to patrol he pulled up a familiar bar, one which not many cops visited unless they had a military background. The bar was run by a former Marine and no one messed with him or anyone in the bar. Any fights quickly sorted themselves out without the need for the cops. He also that it was the one place that he could go and others would know not to get in his face or ask him a load of questions.
He parked his car close to the front door, knowing that it was safe but also knowing that if he drank too much the owner wouldn't mind keeping an eye on it. He replaced his suit jacket to his leather one and quickly popped his badge into his pocket, he wasn't a cop now. He was just another customer needing a drink. However he didn't remove his gun. He knew better.
Walking into the dark bar, he saw a few faces that he knew. But only one was the person he had been looking for. On the end of the bar sat a man with two scotches already poured and in front of him. His leather jacket was open showing a dark green t-shirt and the hint of his weapon attached to his hip.
"Thanks for coming." He said as he sat down next to the man. He smiled at the familiar smile as he picked up the glass.
"Today is hell for both of us mate. And I don't mind flying for DS to help you deal with it. Coop doesn't mind. He gets it. He wasn't there and he didn't see what we saw." The man said before raising his own glass. "To fallen friends." The man said holding up his glass in a toast from before pouring the whole glass into his mouth. He followed the motion. But then coughed as the cold scotch hit his thought.
The man laughed at the view. "Mick how do you drink it that fast?" He asked. Mick only smiled and answered "That was a child's taste of scotch my friend. You need to come to the UK and try to keep up with us. Lets just say the one thing that us Brits can say we beat you at is handing our drink."
He shook his head. He knew that Mick was right but at the same time he wasn't going to say it. But then his mind turned back to the dark memories. Mick seem to know what was happening. "Still reliving that day?" Mick asked and he nodded.
"Danny, it's not going to get any earlier if you are still too stubborn to let go of that guilt that you are dragging around with you. Yes you lived when you should be 6 feet under. Hell so should I but we're not. We are still here. And not grabbing that by the horns we are just living with nothing, we are the last memory of the mates we lost over there. Or they are going to be forgotten. And so will we." Mick said in a serious tone grabbing hold of his arm and making him look at him.
Mick was right after all, he had to go on living for his friends. It didn't make it easier but he had too. "When did you get smart?" He said with a hint of surprise. Mick pulled a face as he ordered another round. "I've always been smart mate, I just sound like I make more sense to you Yanks as I been working here for over a year."
He laughed, Mick was picking up some of the American terms but his thick Welsh accent was still there. "How is Coop anyway? And hows it in the FBI?" He asked wanting to know how his other friend was doing.
"Coops alright, still hates politics and he still hits heads with the director but he is getting better at playing with others. When I told him I was coming he did want to come but he got called into a conference with other FBI team leaders. And as for the FBI, it still working ish. We don't deal with the main units of the FBI only maybe the BAU but that only happens once in a blue moon." Mick reported taking a sip of his new drink.
"I'm glad you're here Mick. And thank you." He said looking at Mick who knew what he was getting at. The thank you was for all those years ago when he pulled him out of the hospital and then killing the man responsible.
"You're welcome. Cheers to moving on." Mick said holding his glass. He smiled and copied the move. "To moving on." He repeated and then poured the liquid into his mouth. He did need to move on, but at the same time he wouldn't forget what happened. He would never forget his friends or what he was going to do to honour them. By living his life.