The two men stood side by side. One mans eyes were fixed on the grey sculpture before them, the younger ones on the leaves covering the floor below, darting back and forth restless. The younger one stood slouched slightly, his hands buried deep in his jogging bottom pockets, one hand occasionally coming out of the warmth to face the cold and tuck his loose blond hair behind his ears, the wind blowing it out of place. The older of the two, a darker blonde, stood by his side with the perfect posture, his back straight and shoulders back. His arms hung by his sides prepared, waiting for something. Always ready to react.
The two were enveloped in silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. This was neutral, understanding. The kind only people in mourning can understand, as a certain air develops between them as though they had been friends for life. When in reality, they were almost strangers. Meeting merely hours ago, when the strange man had turned up at the young mans door, needing to talk to him, needing to show him something. The truth.
The younger man now lifted his gaze from the ground, although he still couldn't let his vision rest upon it's desired target. He just couldn't. His mind would not comply with his brains command, for his mind knew the emotions it would encounter when he did perform the task. Guilt. Regret. Realisation. Realisation that the man he despised for years without any real reason, the father he had happily forgotten about, was a hero.
He shifted his eyes again, scared they would somehow land on the object they couldn't meet. They didn't. Instead they fell onto the man at his side, the man who had brought him here, gave him information he should had never known, but was glad he did. The man looked strong, solid even, with his rough exterior and his deep voice, he was indeed a fearful presence. But he knew there was more to this soul that that. He had seen his other side when they had met earlier that morning.
As he opened his apartment door to the knocking he met federal agent Jack Bauer. He wasn't surprised. The boys calmness had surprised Jack, he didn't expect him to know anything about his father. Before Jack had a chance to break the news to him the boy had spoken, his bottom lip wavering as he did so.
"He's gone isn't he."
The agent had looked down, silent and saddened. The tears that had formed in his eyes gave him his answer, and in that moment the boy understood that this man had obviously known his father, perhaps he was a friend or sorts. He didn't know, he hadn't known his father too well, they didn't get on, and after his parents divorce he had the perfect reason to alienate him. He didn't know much about the last ten years of his fathers life, but he knew he was dead.
Before he could invite the man in, the stranger had asked to take him somewhere, to show him something about his father. He had been unsure, which Jack had expected, but for some reason decided to go anyway, feeling a sense of security when in this mans presence. And if he knew his father, he couldn't be a threat. He was now glad he followed his instinct and had gone with the man, he had learned a lot about his father by doing so.
During the ride there they spoke of him, learning about each others relationships with him, and for the younger one, of his death. Jack smiled slightly when asked which disease he had died from, and decided not to tell him the details, he didn't want to upset the kid. He didn't want his friends son to know of the pain and fear he had endured. Instead he told him how he had bravely given up his own life in the line of duty, to save millions of Americans. Jack explained how heroic he had been, that he was a national hero. The boy had smiled, seemingly happy that his father had finally done something with his life.
Knowing his father died such a way was comforting, and knowing what he had achieved by doing so changed everything. It made him forget about his past and the fights, the arguments, the silence between them for years. Instead he could now be proud of his father the way other sons were, but on a level much deeper and worthy. Before they left the car Jack was thanked for telling him this classified information. The media had reported nothing on it, but Jack had felt that he had a right to know. If anything his father had earned him that right.
When they left the car and headed towards the monument all conversation stopped. No words were needed. He had glanced at Jack once more, the person who had filled him with pride and comfort, and allowed him to become at ease with his fathers death. The not knowing he had encountered over the past four weeks had driven him crazy. At least he could come to terms with it now, in his own way.
The man was still staring at the statue as though in a trance, and the boy found himself curious as to what could be going through Jack's mind, what history he held with his father. He had learned that the man was only alive because of his fathers actions, but there seemed to be more too it that the man hadn't told him yet.
Changing his direction of thought Jack turned and faced him, chewing on his lower lip.
"You going to take a look at that thing?"
The kid looked away embarrassed. "No. I don't want to see it."
He knew he sounded cold, but he couldn't help it, he couldn't make himself look at it.
Jack turned back to face it and spoke, "Its got the date, and time of when he hit the ground. His name, credentials, and a long, long poem giving thanks to his actions across it. Quite a boring read, is what I think your father would say." He allowed himself to chuckle, hoping to ease the tension. He could see the kid was having a hard time, not that Jack blamed him.
"Yeah, I guess he would,' he muttered. "You think we should head back?"
"Sure. You sure you don't want to stay a little longer?" He would give the boy time if it was what he needed, even if they had been there an hour. He would wait as long as was necessary.
"My father may not have been the best person in the world, but he is a hero. I mean, just thinking about what you say he did, its unbelievable. But I can believe it too. Its just the sort of thing he would do, y'know, like a last stand..... he always had to have the last word....this is just the same.... but I don't need to see some statue to know my father is a hero. He always was."
With that he turned and headed back to the car, the older man following, smiling at the boys faith in his father. He felt as though he had learnt some sort of wisdom today, something he didn't know before. Acceptance maybe. Before following John back to the car he looked at the large grey sculpture one more time.
"You got a good kid here George," he whispered to it.
Finally he moved away, feeling better about the way he left things with George on that plane, feeling as though he had wronged some right, spiritually. He had paid his debts to George.
R.I.P. G. Mason.