Disclaimer: I do not own anything recognizable. They belong to people much more creative and much richer than I am. Please don't sue me, I'm just having fun.
The Cross in the Diamond
Temperence Brennan walked down the brick walkway, the sun and the Lincoln Memorial at her back. Dry autumn leaves swirled around her feet and she pulled her jacket tighter around her neck to block the biting chill as the temperature dropped.
To her right a series of evenly spaced black metal posts supporting a single black chain lined the brick path. On her left she was a low sloping black wall that grew steadily out of the ground as she walked its length, nearly twice that of a football field. She walked in silence, passing mementos placed along the base of the wall; a small burned out candle, a pack of cigarettes, a black-and-white photograph, a child's crayon drawing with the words "I Love You, Grandpa" scrawled across the top, a pair of olive drab socks.
The wall reached its apex—over ten feet of polished granite loomed over her head—and started its descent beside her once again. She stopped near the 35th panel of this wing of the wall. She knew where to look. Seven lines from the bottom a single name called out to her. The name of a man she never met, but whom she knew very well. Next to his name was a diamond imposed over a cross.
The man's remains had been discovered outside the ruins of a decades-gone POW camp. Brennan spent many hours researching not only the man's identity, but the whereabouts of his family. She traveled with the man's remains when they were returned to his family in Indiana for burial.
She traced the block letters of the name while the wind whipped her hair around her face. She'd been here in the summer, when the name was still marked with a small cross—killed, body not recovered—and felt how the dark stone radiated the sun's heat even at night. Now it was cold and slick as she traced the newly carved diamond, the indicator that the person's remains had been recovered and brought home.
This man never got to see his daughter be born. Never had the chance to see his daughter grow up. His daughter never knew her father. His widow waited nearly forty years for confirmation of what had happened to her husband.
Brennan wiped away a tear with one gloved hand before reaching into her pocket to remove a small flag. It had a wide red border with a white field. In the center of the field was a gold star bordered in blue. She gently placed the flag at the base of the panel.
Normally she would have compartmentalized the emotions—pushed the sadness away. After all, this man wasn't her family. She didn't know him. But she understood him and his family and what they'd gone through. Understood the need for answers. Understood why they asked her to place the flag there.
She felt the warmth of a familiar embrace envelop her from behind and she leaned back into him. She'd heard him approach as she contemplated the names on the wall but she didn't look up or acknowledge his arrival.
58,260 unfinished stories. One more with some closure.
"You okay?" The husky voice spoke softly near her ear.
She nodded.,"I will be." She stared at the name as the sunset lit up the sky with rosy pinks, reds, and oranges. The reflected pair stared back from behind the rows of names. She finally took a deep breath and pulled gently away from him. She took his hand and started walking back toward the Lincoln Memorial, white plumes of breath rising in the air around them.
As they neared the apex of the wall Booth wrapped his arm around her. His eyes flicked to the bottom of the panel immediately to the left of the apex. Booth stopped walking and didn't answer when Brennan prodded him for information. He dropped his arm from around her and stepped closer to the wall. He lowered his head and closed his eyes, blessing himself with his right hand. Brennan stood beside and slightly behind him, allowing him time and space for his prayer.
After several minutes Booth again made the sign of the Cross and raised his head. He wiped at his eyes and sighed heavily before jamming his hands in his coat pockets. Brennan moved close to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. She followed his gaze to the name etched in the stone.
Roger Seeley Booth.
She pursed her lips, unable to find the words to comfort him. With a shaky voice Booth spoke.
"My mom has my baby book at their house in Pennsylvania. It has the name filled out," his voice cracked. "Joshua Michael Booth," he looked at Brennan. "My uncle Roger was killed three weeks before I was born. My grandparents got the telegram just before I was born." He dropped his gaze back to the name on the wall. "Mom changed the name they'd picked out without asking my father. He's never said anything about it."
Booth lifted his head back and looked up beyond the top of the monument and blinked several times to clear away the tears.
"He'd have been 55 today."
Brennan slipped her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Booth."
He nodded and turned, resuming their silent trek. Booth stopped again after a few paces and pulled away from Brennan. She stood still as he returned to his uncle's name, stood at attention, and saluted.
He turned back to her and offered her a sad smile.
"Come on, Bones, it's freezing out here. I need a cup of coffee."
She took his hand and squeezed gently. "Sure, but this time I'm buying."
This was inspired by a project I am currently involved with at work. FYI, there are no MIAs from Indiana on the Wall on panel 35E. There are 12 Booths on the Wall, however not the one I named here. I checked to make sure I wouldn't inadvertently upset a family member.