A/N
Hey all you agents out there. Just wanted to try my hand at a Cody Banks fic. It's a little sad, but I hope I caught the moment right.
-D.N.
Contrary to Hollywood belief, the world does not cry when a good man dies. But many people do.
The funeral was in full swing by the time the blonde agent arrived, stepping from her personal lorry as an elder gentleman presses a kerchief into her hands before backing away. Her head is bent as she approaches the family of the deceased, raising it only to kiss the cheek of the mother, who, like herself, is crying.
The younger brother of the dead boy looks up at the blonde. "It was all true, wasn't it?" His brother asks. "Everything was true?"
The blonde agent nods sadly before answering in her British accent. "It was all true. The training, the missions, the secrets. It was all true."
The young teen's eyes widen. "Then you're-"
"I am." She cuts him off with those two simple words, tears falling freely now. "I was..." she whispers.
The crying blonde returns to her handler, the elder gentleman who arrived with her. In her stead is a motley crew of musicians, led by a middle aged woman with curly brown hair. She hugs the parents of the dead boy, speaking softly to the mother and father before moving on to the closed casket, placing the lilies in her hands down next to the memorial wreath.
A young Indian girl, flanked by a stocky Russian boy, approaches the casket. The boy places his hand on the lid, as if to open it, but instead pats it, sighing, and presses his lips together grimly.
"War. What is it good for, anyways?" His heavy accent is laced with sadness, unsung words pouring from his lips as the girl beside him sniffs softly. She blinks away tears as the Russian boy finishes his impromptu eulogy, then lowers her head and places a kiss on the polished wooden surface.
"Goodbye, woodwind buddy." She says softly before moving on.
The loud thwop-thwop-thwop of a helicopter breaks the somber silence as a private chopper touches down a small ways away from the funeral pavilion. AS the blades die down the cockpit opens, a beautiful blonde american emerging in a black dress. She races to the casket, throwing herself across it while she weeps for her fallen hero. Hands rub her back comfortingly, the earlier blonde Brit pulling her aside to cry with her.
"He saved me..." The new blonde says through sobs. "I never got to thank him..."
The Brit smiles softly. "You're not the only one. He saved all of London, and I never thanked him either." She holds her handkerchief out to the crying American, who takes it and wipes her eyes.
"Thank you," the American girl says, handing the cloth back. "How did you know him?"
"We worked together, undercover," the Brit replies. "And... we dated.."
The two girls talk as they move along with the service, not noticing the large African American that steps up to the microphone.
"Um..." He says into the device. "If I could have your attention please..."
Conversation stops as all heads, American, Brit and otherwise, turn to show attention to the man at the podium.
"Um, thanks. Hi. I'm Derek, and I'd like to say a few things about the deceased, if that's alright. I was his handler for a couple missions, which I guess I can talk about since he's..." Derek trails off, not wanting to say the words everybody is thinking. "Anyways, our first mission was to London, which is where some of you met him. We were sent to retrieve... something, it doesn't matter now, but we didn't expect to make nearly as many friends as we did there." He pauses, looking around the pavilion at each of the individuals. "He got me back into the agent program, and I'm grateful for that. But there's more that he never got recognition for. Like saving the president, with the help of Miss Summers."
The blonde Brit smiles and nods, thinking back to the mission that almost failed.
"He was always there for his friends," Derek continues. "I know he'd be happy if he saw you all here today. There's nothing he loved more than his job, so much so that he went out of his way to accept missions. But be that as it may, he loved his friends even more. Thank you all for being here."
A spattering of clapping follows Derek's speech, mixed with sniffles and sobs. The British agent, Summers, steps up to the podium as Derek steps down, moving her hair away from her face as she speaks.
"Hi. My name is Emily Summers, and I'm a British Intelligence agent. I first met..."
Emily's words fade away as Derek leaves the scene, making his way to his custom-built car and the chauffeur waiting inside.
"Sad day, Sir." The driver says.
"Yeah, it is." Derek replies somberly.
"Where to, Sir?"
Derek says nothing, only sighs and looks out at the funeral, still in session.
"Where to, Sir?" The driver asks again.
The handler turns, facing ahead with an ashen expression.
"Kumar, take me to the crypt."
A/N
Well, that's the end... Hope I made you all cry, because I did when writing this. Tell me what you think!
Later!
- D.N.