:Warning: Grief fic, spoilers for Jump the Shark

Disclaimer: For the benefit of sevr'l readers, a tale of loss.  This 
tale is to in no way infringe on the copyrights of Mr.(s) Carter, Spotnitz, 
Gilligan or Shiban.  Hopefully this might annoy them just a bit.  However, there 
is only admiration and regard for the fine work of Mr. Braidwood, Mr. 
Harwood and Mr. Haglund.  All errors in formatting are to be pardon'd.

LAMENT
By Kate K.

To: TNO@firemail.com
From: Starbuck@dragonmail.org

Dear M.,

I don’t know if you will receive this, but I can only hope you will.  I 
can’t bear the idea of you hearing this from anyone else.  Byers, Langly 
and Frohike just died.

They were exposed to an engineered mutated Code Five hot virus.  They 
were able to isolate themselves and the virus carrier in a sealed 
environment.  They contained it, sacrificing themselves and saving possibly thousands 
of lives.  They were heroes to the end.

I was at home when I got the call.  I was just finishing feeding 
William some peaches.  I was holding him, had towels over my arms and shoulder;
trying to get him to burp.  J.D. called me that there was a hazmat 
situation and they were exposed.  I called my mom, dropped off the baby and 
rushed there. It was already too late.

A bio seal had already been erected by the time I got there and the 
original carrier had been boxed and removed.  J.D. and M. were by Jimmy and a 
woman I didn’t know. Jimmy was sobbing. I shouted for someone to bring me a 
suit.  John came over and tried to talk me out of it, telling me to think 
about William, that it was too dangerous.  He was being cool and rational, 
but I couldn’t listen.  These were my friends, our friends, the only ones we
always knew we could trust.  I couldn’t stand out on the sidelines, no 
more than you could have.  I suited up and went into the hot zone.

They were infected.  They were collapsed on the floor, Langly was 
having a seizure.  Hazmat workers in bio-suits were over Frohike and Byers 
lifting them onto containment gurneys, which looked hideously like coffins.  
Langly stopped jerking and vomited.  Byers was shining with sweat and shaking 
all over.  Frohike wasn’t moving.  They put an oxygen mask on him.  As I 
got closer, I saw that they had taken off Frohike’s and Langly’s glasses.  
They looked so different, younger and more helpless without them.  They were
cutting off their clothes.  Langly was wearing a Joey Ramone tshirt, 
one of those he loved so much.  They cut it down the middle, yanked it off and
stuffed it in a bag.  My training allowed me to watch, almost without emotion.  It kept me 
moving towards them, asking questions, trying to find out – to understand.  
While they cut away and pulled off Frohike’s vest, his wallet fell to the 
floor.  It bounced on the concrete, opening, and fell again.  I watched it like 
it was in slow motion.  A picture fell out, face down.  I bent to retrieve 
it and turned it over.  It was a picture of me, from years ago.  It may 
have been the first photo he took of me, back when we met.  Back when he 
called me hot and Byers tore up my twenty.  I stared at it for an eternity and 
then it was taken out of my hands and shoved into a bag with the clothes.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe.  My throat closed up.  I couldn’t cry, 
not here, not now.

Byers was talking, muttering in delirium.  I moved closer to hear. 
“Jimmy, no.  Please, don’t.  It’s too late.  Never give up, ever.”  He looked 
up at me. “Susanne?  Susanne?”  I put a gloved hand on his head.  I imagined 
that I could feel the heat searing my palm through the two layers of rubber.

There was a sudden shout.  Langly was quaking with another seizure.  
They had been swabbing him with antibacterial liquid, so he was wet all over 
as he shook.  They struggled to give him an injection.  I asked how many
seizures had he had.

“Too many!  We’ve got to knock him out before his brain fries.”  One of 
the personnel told me.  I went over and saw them inject him.  At long last 
he lay still, flopped over and boneless.  His skin was so pale and pink, 
almost like William’s.  I just wanted to wrap him in a blanket and hold him.  
They finally got an I.V. set in his inner arm and an oxygen mask on.  The 
last thing I saw was the soft, butter gold of his hair when the brought the 
lid down and it sealed.

I could still hear Byers’ babble as they rinsed him.  I touched his 
face and listened.  He was talking to his loved ones, saying their names, trying 
to be encouraging, saying it was all right, to never give up.  He said 
your name, he said mine.  The last word I heard him say was Jimmy’s name as 
they closed the lid.

I don’t know how I managed to stay composed, I think I just had 
remained in my medical training, my scientist mind.  My self-control cracked when I 
saw Frohike in the box.  God help me, I wanted to rip off the gloves and 
helmet of the biosuit and just grab him and hug him.  I never really realized 
how small that he was.  He always walked with such confidence, that he 
always seemed bigger, bolder than he physically was.  Now, he was quiet, and 
so still.  His body was clammy white, his body hair was a dark contrast.  
They rolled him on his side while they rinsed him off, and they were trying 
to intubate him.  He had stopped breathing.

I felt like my blood had turned to ice.  Every smile he had ever given 
me, every fond look, every flirtatious comment, every helping hand all 
flickered on the edge of my consciousness.  In that second how much I cared for 
him, how much I loved him, how much I loved them all was drowning me.  My 
vision blurred, and I couldn’t see, I couldn’t breath.  I think I said, “No.”

No one heard me.

The physician holding the bag pumping air into Frohike’s lungs suddenly
yelled, “Hey!” and waved a hand at Frohike’s nose.  Blood was dripping 
out of his right nostril, trickling down his face.  Everyone raised their 
hands away from the body of our friend.  He hooked a respirator line into the
tube.  They slammed the lid down.  All I could do was reach out and 
touch the casket as they rushed it past me.

I never saw them again.

We all went back to the warehouse to wait.  I wandered around the 
place, pacing like a tiger in a cage.  Feeling helpless, hating it, wanting 
you there with every step.  The place was so empty. All their equipment, 
all but one of their computers, half of their kitchen gear, almost all of their
electronics were gone. They’d sold everything to hunt for the woman 
named Yves or Lois, depending on who was talking to her.  The dark young 
woman who held Jimmy and guided him when his tears blinded him.  Who seemed to be 
at the root of this nightmare.

I found myself in Frohike’s bedroom.  I’d looked in all of their rooms.
Byers’ was as tidy as a priest’s cell, with his suits all put away and 
his bed made neatly.  Quiet and comfortable with white walls and dark warm
woods.  Just so like him.  Langly’s wasn’t tidy, but his space was 
alive with color and texture.  His bed had no headboard, and was a jumble of
argyle flannel sheets and wadded blankets.  He had posters of all his 
rock heroes all over the walls.  Piles of clothes spilled out of his dresser 
and were piled up in old milk crates.  Stacks of books and comics were on 
his dresser.  A copy of On The Trail Of The Assassins lay open upended on 
his pillow just waiting for him to come back to it before falling asleep.
Seeing it there brought the tears up.  I turned away and moved into 
Frohike’s room.  I somehow got to the bed and sat down, trying to pull myself
together.

I looked up at the wall, and any hope I had of keeping control had 
vanished.  The wall was covered with photos. They weren’t in frames, just tacked 
up, overlapping slightly. All ones that he had taken over the years.  Some 
were color, some were black and white.  They were of all of us, obviously 
the nearest and dearest to him.  Pictures of you and of me, separately and
together.  Pictures of Langly, Byers and Jimmy.  A couple of this 
strange woman.  I had to look over and over to find one of the man himself.  He 
was up and high in the left corner, in a picture with the Volkswagen bus 
back when it was shining and new.  At the center was a group photograph of 
the Gunmen’s last party, when we were all together.  We were all smiling,
relaxed and happy with each other.  The tears wouldn’t stop then.  I
stretched out on the bed, hugging the pillow and cried.  I could smell
Frohike’s scent on the flannel slip, as if his ghost was trying to 
comfort me.  I turned my eyes to the wall again, and I saw my own face at my 
eye level.  It was the same photo of me that he’d had in his wallet, 
hanging right where he could see it from the bed.  I closed my eyes and sobbed.

I was still there a few hours later when John came in to tell me that 
we’d gotten the call.  Frohike bled out first, dying a few hours after being
removed from the hot zone.  Langly went down next.  Byers had gone into 
a coma and was fading fast.  He wasn’t expected to live through the 
night.  I knew I should go downstairs and join the others, let us comfort each 
other.  I knew I should, but I couldn’t make myself do it.  Frohike and I once 
sat together in my kitchen and wept for you when we thought you were gone.  
Now that he was gone, I just wanted to cry with you.

I don’t think I’d ever had better friends in my life, except for you.  
They were the truest, the most honest and most loyal men I’d ever met, 
except maybe for my Dad.  All I wanted was to have them back.  I dug my rosary 
out of my purse, but I couldn’t say the prayers.  I just held it to my 
breast and whispered to someone, anyone to keep them safe, to take care of 
them, to love them.

Skinner came to the warehouse a little after three, to tell us himself 
that Byers had let go.

They’d risked themselves so many times in the years I’d known them.  
Risked their safety, their freedom, their lives without hesitation any time we
called.  Not even six weeks ago, they’d almost been shot and been in a 
car wreck to save William.  That was beyond loyalty, that was love.  It had 
to be love for them to say yes.  It had to be love that made me call them 
and knew they’d be there for us.  All I wanted to do was cry again, wail at 
God to give them back.

I’m still in this nightmare.  They’re gone out of reach.  I’ll never 
have the chance to try somehow to show them how important they were to me.  
To try to repay them for all the risks they took for us and for William.  
To even thank them for all the small things.  Upgrading my laptop when 
they got a hold of it for you.  Repairing my VCR for me one rainy weekend.
Assembling the crib for William.  Bringing flowers to me when I was in 
the hospital.  Sending a wreath and mass card for Emily.  Dragging me out 
for pizza and to play pool when they thought I was depressed.  Did I ever 
thank them enough?

Skinner called in some favors and promised others to give them a 
funeral at Arlington, a burial fit for the heroes that they were.  I gave Skinner 
one of your Knicks tshirts to put in Frohike’s coffin so you could say 
goodbye in spirit.  For the first time, I felt how alone we are now, you and I
without them. Jimmy brought me several of Frohike’s pictures.  I’m keeping them safe 
for us, and for William.  I want him to know who they were as he grows up.  
I want him to know about angels who masquerade as men, who show us how to
serve truth.  I want him to know about true heroes.

Missing you,
Dana