Title: Cannons
Author: Laurel A.
Email: [email protected]
SUMMARY: Webb has a quiet moment on the Fourth of July.
SPOILERS/RATING: Nothing specific/PG
DISCLAIMER: Webb belongs to Donald Bellisario, et al., and really to Steven Culp as well.
FEEDBACK: Laurel
"Yes Mother, I'll be there." I somewhat reluctantly promise to attend her annual Fourth of July cocktail party. It's an intimate gathering of old friends and a few new ones. There's the obligatory small talk, the "when will you be getting married Clayton?" comments and the "you *must* meet my daughter So-And-So" matchmaking. Neither Mother nor I have any illusions about the righteousness of what this country has done in the name of "democracy." But we staunchly recognize that the freedom we enjoy is a thing to be treasured and recognized with grave appreciation. And so, we celebrate. However, I have private tradition of my own to enact this evening before arriving at Mother’s. I park in a security-designated spot and find myself, as I do every Fourth of July, walking alone through the crowds gathered on the Capitol’s West Lawn, listening to the National Symphony Orchestra. Befitting my life as a spy, I love observing the people. The families, the couples, the occasional fellow lone observer; and the National Park Police, Secret Service, AFT and FBI plants in the audience that blend perfectly to all but the trained eye. The heat and humidity have abated slightly and the festivities are nearly through. I now position myself as close to the cannons as I am allowed. The orchestra is playing the 1812 Overture and I let the music wash over me from behind. Plugging my ears only slightly, I prepare for the firing of the weapons in time to the music. I want the sound to resonate painfully through me. I want to feel it in my chest. I want it to hurt. Normally, the sound of weapons firing is a sign of danger. Today, it’s a sign of independence. As the cannons violently erupt, I remember my father and my fallen colleagues and peers -- on both sides of the lines -- of the covert and overt wars we’ve waged in the past 226 years. For me, the excruciating “booms” serve as a reminder of the suffering we've both endured and caused, which has won us the right to stand here celebrating tonight. BOOM!
THE END