A Heart of Gold

[Muppetfan44]

Noticing this latest post was the second part of a much needed "good morning!" after a sleepless (yet restful?) night. So thank ye for the prod, m'dear

You're very welcome! I'm more than happy to put my fan-fic update nagging to good use on this story

Can't wait for another update with this story...and Amazon Moi...and A Change of Heart....

Until then I'll still be impressively persistent with my nagging!

 

[Fragglemuppet]

Hey, an update! Lisa, let me say that I'm truely glad you decided not to abandon this story. Also, it's great to see you online after so much time, (well, you're not right now, but you just were), and doing anything fanfictionish! I too am eager for any updates you may have to offer, but after about 2 years without an update I have faith that you won't forget about this.
And yes, I also spent the past few days rereading it. Felt a bit nostalgic, and now that you're posting again, I feel a bit of that old MC fanfic magic comin' back!

 

[TogetherAgain]

Good news: I just finished the next chapter.

Bad news: Well... It's not easy for writing to make me cry, especially my own writing. I very rarely realize the full emotional impact of my writing until I post it here and start getting reactions. And, while I was writing this chapter... I had tears in my eyes. So I STRONGLY advise you to settle in with some teddies, some tissues, something warm to drink, a little comfort food...

 

[TogetherAgain]

Chapter Sixty-Three

Everyone made sure they ate that morning, and that everyone else ate, but no one—including the Swedish Chef—was entirely sure what breakfast was. They quietly ate and talked, slowly continuing their reluctant farewells until the van pulled up in front of the house.

“They’re here,” Gonzo said, looking out the window. He turned and looked at Kermit. “I guess it’s time.”

Kermit nodded and swallowed hard as he slowly stood up. “I guess I should go meet my camera man,” he said, but he lightly choked on the words and he gripped the back of his chair. He paused to glance at that chair, still painted with lily pads. He hadn’t thought to miss it the last time he’d been gone, but he’d been glad to see it when he’d come back. He let go of the chair and slowly walked to the door with all of the Muppets following.

Kermit opened the front door just as a Marine with a camera in his hand emerged from the van. At the top of the porch steps, the frog gave his nephew a pat on the shoulder and glanced almost apologetically at the other Muppets before he went to meet the Private First Class in the middle of the yard. Crowded on the front porch, the Muppets stayed behind.

“Lance Corporal the Frog?” the Marine said quietly as he stopped and saluted.

Kermit returned the salute. “You’re my camera man?”

“Private First Class John Holt, sir.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“It’s an honor, sir.” Still at attention, Holt allowed himself a faint downward tilt of his head. “We didn’t have TV when I was a kid, but I watched you at the neighbor’s house,” he said quietly.

Kermit smiled faintly. “Well, you’ll be watching me a lot now,” he said. He nodded back towards the porch without actually looking. He didn’t trust himself to look right now and still carry on a conversation. “Did you want to show me saying goodbye?”

“That would be your choice, sir.”

“Right.” He quietly pictured the scene behind him and sighed. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to shoot it.”

“Yes sir.”

Kermit nodded. “Alright. Might as well start, then.” He turned and walked back towards the porch as Holt turned on the camera.

“Time?” Fozzie asked as his friend mounted the steps.

Kermit nodded. “Time,” he whispered, and the hugs began again, tight and strong. Even the hugs that were usually awkward were tight and strong today.

Gonzo was among the last, his hug one of the tightest and strongest. “Be safe, Kermit.”

The frog smirked against his friend’s shoulder. “I’d say ‘Same to you, Gonzo,’ but—”

“Nah…”

“Yeah.”

Another tight squeeze, and then Kermit turned and found himself buried in Rowlf’s fur. “We’re all behind you, Kermit,” the dog said, his voice rougher than usual.

Kermit nodded. “Thanks.”

Scooter was next, his hug a death grip. “Come home, Chief.”

“I will.”

“Soon.”

Kermit gave him an extra squeeze. “I’ll try,” he whispered. “It’ll be fine, kid.”

Under most circumstances, Scooter was sick and tired of being called a kid, but nothing could’ve felt more right coming from Kermit in that hug.

The frog found himself engulfed in Fozzie’s arms next. It was getting harder to talk now, and it took Kermit a little time before he could convince himself to assure his friend, “We’ll be in touch. More e-mail this time.”

“Letters are better,” Fozzie whispered.

Kermit nodded. “We’ll send some of those, too. Every Friday.”

“Every Friday.”

“…Take care, Fozzie.”

“You—you too, K—Kermit.” The bear reluctantly let go and immediately snatched his tie to pat away his tears.

Kermit might have launched himself right back into his friend’s arms if another pair hadn’t wrapped around him. He immediately turned and hugged his fiancé with all of his might.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They nuzzled against each other.

“I’ll come home, Piggy. I promise,” he whispered.

She nodded. “…It—it is the right thing, Kermie,” she whispered.

He straightened up, took her cheeks in his hand, and gave her a kiss that just wasn’t enough, wasn’t even close to enough, could never have been enough. When they slipped apart, it was only to hug each other tighter.

“Mon Capitan,” she whispered.

He nodded and pressed a kiss to her neck, whispering her name. He gave her hand one last squeeze before he knelt down in front of his nephew.

Robin hopped into his uncle’s arms and squeezed tight. This was the longest hug. Kermit could feel warm water trickling down his cheeks. “Make me proud, Robin,” he finally choked out.

Robin nodded. “I will,” he promised.

Kermit lightly rubbed his back. “…I’ll make you proud, too,” he whispered.

“I know.” There was absolute faith in that answer.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Kermit finally sighed and slipped back just enough to take one last look and straighten the Frog Scout’s cap.

Robin reached up and straightened his uncle’s cap, too, which made Kermit laugh. That, in itself, was a small miracle. He rubbed his nephew’s shoulder. “Tell Grandma I love her,” he said softly, and he held the little frog’s hand as he stood up and his eyes caught on the American flag that flew above the Muppet Boarding House.

For a brief moment, the lump was so thick in his throat that he couldn’t breathe. He gazed up at that flag, and back at his friends, and up at that flag again before he turned to all of them.

“You’ll—take care of it. For me. Won’t you?”

They immediately, unanimously answered that yes, they would, absolutely. “Of course,” Fozzie said, laying a hand on his best friend’s shoulder.

And they meant more than raising it each day and keeping it out of the rain.

Kermit nodded and acknowledged the flag again before he took one last look at his beloved friends. His family. And because he couldn’t bring himself to say goodbye—couldn’t say much of anything anymore—he simply gave his nephew’s hand one last impossibly tight squeeze before he slipped away and marched down the steps.

It was Clifford who started humming first, his eyes drifting between flag and frog. He hummed the very last song they’d sung on the show—was it only a month and a half ago? It felt like a lifetime. But Clifford hummed that song, and others joined him, and so he switched to words as Holt turned to follow Kermit to the van, his voice soft but strong.

“’Cause the flag still stands for freedom, and they can’t take that away…”

Everyone joined him then, and though every voice was quiet… there were a lot of voices.

“And I’m proud to be an American,
Where at least I know I’m free.
And I won’t forget the men who died
And gave that right to me
And I gladly stand up…”

Hearing the tears in their voices, Kermit stopped and looked at them again. Holt turned the camera to follow the frog’s gaze.

“Next to you, and defend her still today
‘Cause there ain’t no doubt, I love this land…
God bless the U.S.A.”

Kermit somehow convinced himself to climb into the van. Holt followed. The frog stared back at his friends, listening to them sing even after the door closed. “…That’s my family,” was all he managed to say.

Their voices grew stronger and they waved after him as the van pulled away.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~​

Within an hour after they had all trickled back inside, Robin wanted nothing more than a little time alone.

No one seemed terribly inclined to let that happen. Wherever he went, at least one, more likely two, and quite often three other Muppets followed. Wherever he sat, he was promptly scooped into someone’s lap. Whenever he stood, someone was immediately beside him with a hand on his shoulder.

It made it very hard to sneak away.

If he’d had a different mindset, he could have milked the situation considerably. He could have had all the sweets he wanted, and stayed up late, and gone to the zoo and the park and the toy store and gotten anything he asked for. But none of those things crossed his mind. He just wanted one tiny little moment to himself.

He finally escaped by going to the bathroom. As soon as he was done, he bolted to his bedroom while the Muppets who had followed him were still caught up in the line. He firmly closed the door.

Alone at last, he sank to the floor and hugged his knees to his chest. He didn’t want to be in his Frog Scout uniform anymore. He snatched his hat from his head, threw it across the room, and then immediately regretted it, remembering how his uncle had straightened that hat. He hugged himself a little tighter and set his chin on his knees.

How long would Uncle Kermit be gone this time?

And now he didn’t want to be alone. Now he wanted all the coddling and attention and to be scooped into every lap. But first, there was something he had to do.

He sat down in the middle of the floor with a piece of red construction paper and cut off a strip of it. Then he took a marker and, sounding it out as best he could, wrote “Febyooary 1” on the strip and carefully taped the two ends together.

There. That was today’s link, the first link. And every day that Uncle Kermit was gone would be another link in the colorful paper chain. Maybe then it wouldn’t be completely sad.

As he set the first link down on his nightstand, there was a knock on the bedroom door. “Hey… Little Buddy?” Sweetums gently called.

Robin forgot about the supplies in the middle of the floor and hurried to open the door, where he was immediately safe in a very big hug.

 

[Muppetfan44]

***sitting in silence***

***finally breathing out after holding my breath the entire time while reading this chapter***

definitely a tear-jerker...you write everyone's reactions so well; I think of what each Muppet would do and then there it is on the screen....definitely evidence of a die-hard fan and a great writer

so Kermit's off to war again...ugh..wish it didn't have to happen but it's the only way that the Eyes might finally go away leaving Kermit in peace.

LOVING this story as always....and as always I am anxiously awaiting the next update

 

[The Count]

Thank you for posting this Lisa. We were very much in need of a dose of your fic writing. It's still there, the reason we gave you that monicker of 'Queen' of FanFiction. It's sad to see Kermit leaving again, but I hope he's able to find solace in what he'll be doing will have just as big an impact on those he's doing it for as himself as well.

When you can... Please remember to continue this story. Thank you.
*Leaves teddy bear for Robin, cause I think he'll need it more.

 

[theprawncracker]

What is there to say? This is incredible and awesome and I adore every word. (Except neck. Don't ask.) Thank you, half! This is why you're the best!

 

[redBoobergurl]

Yes very emotional indeed, I can understand how that was hard to write. But, you still managed to do it so well and still bring through each and every Muppet's personality as you wrote each reaction. And it was beautiful, sad as it was.

Hoping to see more soon!

 

[TogetherAgain]

Chapter Sixty-Three

Kermit had just arrived at camp five minutes ago, and already he was having a hard time keeping a straight face while Major D. interrogated him.

“You’re sure you didn’t take my fork, Frog?” Major D. demanded, gray eyes glittering under thick salt-and-pepper brows as he waved the fork in question at the frog’s face.

“Absolutely, sir.”

“Because I haven’t seen my fork since you ran back home, and I know I saw you with your hand on it before you left.”

“I can’t say I recall being anywhere near your fork after—my injury, sir.”

“Yeah? And how strong were those meds you were on?”

Kermit made a face in vague recollection of how much his shoulder had hurt. “Not strong enough, sir.”

Now it was Major D. who nearly choked on his snicker, and he had to press his fist to his mouth for a moment to try to keep himself composed. “You took my fork, Frog. I’m sure of it. I can’t find the darn thing anywhere. And I’ve looked everywhere!” he snapped, shaking the fork at the frog again. “I’ve looked in Emerson’s stuff, and Geraldson’s stuff, and Pine’s stuff, and Casper’s stuff…”

“Have you checked your stuff, sir?” Kermit asked.

“Now WHY in tarnation would I look THERE?” Major D. snapped, eyes twinkling.

“Just an idea, sir,” Kermit said humbly. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his fellow Marines barely containing their laughter as they watched and waited to greet him. He wondered how Holt was reacting to all this.

“Well, you got any OTHER bright ideas?” Major D. towered over most of the men who served under him. He looked like a giant next to Kermit, and especially with the look on his face, any frog who didn’t know better would have been petrified.

“You could check your right hand, sir,” Kermit said politely.

Major D. swelled up with what sure looked like rage. “Why FROG, you INSOLENT little—“ The major looked at his hand and immediately calmed at the sight of the fork he’d been shoving at the frog. “Oh, would ya look at that,” he said mildly, and he and Kermit both broke into a hearty laugh. “Ah, welcome back, Frog,” Major D. said as he gave the frog a light slap on the back.

“Thank you, sir.”

“We’ll handle the serious stuff later. You’ve been traveling two and a half days, and you’ve got an eleven-hour time difference working against you. I don’t want to see you again until you’ve been fed, washed, and rested. Understand?”

“Yes sir!”

“And Holt!” Major D. turned to the cameraman and stared past the camera at the remaining visible eye. “You get yourself fed, washed, and rested too. You smell like a filthy animal.”

“Yes sir.”

“Now Frog, go say hi to the boys. They’ve missed ya,” Major D. said, pushing the frog towards the other Marines before he turned on his heel and marched away. “BECK! GET SOME FOOD IN THESE TWO!”

Kermit turned to the camera. “I should explain real quick that Major D. never really loses anything or actually accuses us of theft,” he said hastily, for the sake of Holt and the viewers alike. “But those fake interrogations are the best entertainment we’ve got around—“

“FROG!”

“Geraldson!”

Bob and Kermit exchanged something between a hug and a back-slap before Bob pulled himself back to stand at attention and salute. “Sir.”

Kermit scrunched his face. “Bob!”

“Sir,” the other Marines said as they hastily stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Bob and cheekily saluted the frog.

Kermit groaned. “Did you put them up to this?” he asked Bob.

“You’re up a rank now, sir,” Bob replied with a grin.

“Sheesh…”

“Frog hates bein’ called ‘sir,’” a freckled red-head explained to the camera with a wink.

“Well—hate is a strong word, but I’m not fond of it!” Kermit sighed and shook his head. “Guys, this is Pfc. John Holt—er—and with the camera, he’s also the at-home viewer.”

They chorused a mix of greetings for Holt and the viewer alike.

“Hey Frog? Does this mean we have to stop swearing?”

Kermit made a face. “Well, I’m sure the censors would appreciate it if you didn’t swear, Larsen.”

"Alright, men, clear out!" a big booming voice said as the man attached brandished his way past Kermit, Holt, and the smug line of Marines with two trays of food in his hands. "I have SPECIFIC orders to FEED these two, and you're all blocking the table!"

They laughed as Kermit and Holt found themselves being herded to the table after the big man. "Gee, I missed you too, Beck," the frog teased.

"Yeah, yeah, just eat," Beck muttered as he plopped the two trays down. "I'll bet you missed me. I've seen that crazed chef you got back home." He lightly slapped the frog's shoulder and tried to pretend he wasn't grinning.

"You've seen him. Try eating his food," Kermit chuckled, eagerly digging in. He glanced to his side. "Holt, put the camera down and eat."

"Yes sir." Holt made quick work of his food while the others discussed how the presence of the camera might change their day-to-day interactions. By the time they'd stopped laughing about limiting their swearing, Holt had the camera back in hand.

"So what's it like back home, Frog?" Larsen asked, folding his arms on the table. "Is it as bad as Geraldson says?"

"What, don't you trust me?" Bob said, feigning offense.

"I trust Frog more," Larsen said frankly, and he turned back to Kermit. "So?"

Kermit nodded and swallowed a bite of his food. "It's bad," he said. "That's the whole reason for this show—this whole channel. Try to get more support."

"It should work. I think it will," Bob said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"We're not askin' you, Bob," Emerson said, elbowing Geraldson in the ribs. "We know what you think."

Bob ruffled the freckled red-head's red head and sighed. "Alright, Frog. You tell 'em how much the home front thinks they know."

Kermit stabbed his fork at his food. "Well, let's start with the fact that they think the Child's Corps is only in Baghdad," he said quietly.

The men silently watched him chew and swallow his bite. “…You’re serious?” Emerson said quietly.

“Eddy, how many poker games do you have to win before you figure out Frog’s a terrible liar?” Bob was quiet, his arms folded across his chest.

Emerson sighed and rubbed his forehead. “So you’re telling me the American public honestly thinks that all these terrorists are taking the time and money to kidnap these kids, brainwash ‘em, and train ‘em, and not bother send ‘em any further than Baghdad?”

“I don’t think they realize the Child’s Corps is actually sent anywhere at all,” Bob said. “Unless anything’s changed in the past month—“ he glanced at Kermit to check, “—all they ever see is the outside of the CC ‘training facility,’ a.k.a. prison.”

“Except for when we tried to shut the facility down,” Kermit quietly continued. “Then they saw—the aftermath. On their side. Not ours. They call that the CCC—Child Corps Charge. To them, that’s all there is of the Child’s Corps.”

“No concept at all that they’re trained killers, like any other solider,” Bob said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t think they know about the brainwashing.”

“How would they?” Kermit said. “The only reason we know is from taking POWs, and as far as they’re concerned, those couldn’t possibly even exist, because the entire CC is holed up in one building we can’t break into.”

They were silent as all of this settled in. Kermit’s fork pushed around the food on his plate, but he’d lost his appetite somewhere in the conversation.

“Frog—lemme ask you something,” Larsen said, leaning forward on the table. “The whole idea behind this show is to inform the public so they’ll support us, right?”

Kermit nodded. “Pretty much.”

“And the main reason public support is down the crapper is that they think we’re shootin’ up cute little kids in Baghdad, right?”

The frog shifted his weight. “Well—that is a good chunk of it, yeah.”

“So if we tell them that we have to shoot at these kids no matter where we fight,” Larsen said, his palms up as he spread his hands, “How is that going to gain support?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~​

Craig Rivers had never been one to put much faith into the weather report. He was more in favor of looking out the window and sticking an arm out the door to determine how warmly he needed to dress. He didn’t expect that to change, and so he didn’t pay attention to the weather report.

The latter part of that would have to change now.

“So how’s the weather, Stan?” the news anchor said.

The little green light on Craig’s camera turned on, meaning his was the one the viewers at home were now watching from, and Stan the Meteorologist started talking about warm fronts and cold fronts as he gestured in front of the green screen.

Operating the camera meant that Craig only saw the green screen, with no handy little graphics, and so had no idea what Stan was pointing to. It made the whole thing rather entertaining.

But this wasn’t just any news-and-weather program. This was the local Memphis station of Military Television—MilTel, for short. That meant that when Stan was done rambling about what was supposedly in store for Memphis, he also had to give a quick overview of the upcoming weather wherever anyone was fighting in World War III—primarily the Middle East, but fighting had a way of spreading. Especially with the Navy involved, potential storms in the Indian Ocean were just as important as those in Baghdad.

Stan talked about numbers—temperatures, humidity, barometric pressure—whatever that was.

Craig stood behind the camera and tried to convince himself that this was enough for him to feel like he was actually doing something to help win this war.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~​

“The following program is graphic in nature and may not be suitable for all audiences. Viewer discretion is advised.” Kermit gave the line directly to the camera in a rather mild tone of voice, standing in front of a tent ‘wall’ that would give no indication of their location.

Holt pushed a button and lowered the camera. “Got it, sir.”

“Oh good. I guess we get to do that again at the end of every week.”

“Yes sir.” Holt sat down and hooked the camera up to a computer. “Seems a little strange.”

“I’m used to strange,” Kermit said with a shrug. “I suppose how I look when I say it could be an indication of what kind of week it’s been. That might help some viewers with their discretion… or something like that.”

“If it’s especially bad, you could add something then, sir,” Holt said quietly. “Not everyone listens to those ‘viewer discretion’ things.”

The frog nodded thoughtfully. “It’s supposed to air late enough that most kids should be in bed, but… I know Robin will watch, anyway. He might not be the only one.”

“People don’t always watch shows when they air anymore, sir. DVRs and online stuff…”

Kermit nodded. “That too.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~​

On Thursday night, the Muppets gathered in front of the television and tuned in to MilTel. It was past Robin’s bedtime, but of course he was allowed to watch. No one wanted to miss a chance to glimpse their beloved Frog.

They crowded on the couch and the chairs and the floor with bags and bowls and plates of popcorn and chips and comfort food, and after the first few cries of delight at seeing Kermit’s face and hearing Kermit’s voice, they fell strangely silent and hung on every word. For once, they only dared to talk during commercial breaks, even if it was only to ask someone to pass the food.

In Memphis, Craig had pulled a kitchen chair up close to the television in the den. Betty Sue crept forward and put a hand on his shoulder as they watched. Sally was working late and had called to assure them she was watching from her office. Their father was… out.

In New York, the adults of Sesame Street huddled around a small television in Hooper’s Store. All the kids were safely tucked away in bed.

Elsewhere in the city, Mrs. Geraldson sat alone on her couch with her phone in her hand, eyes fastened to the television. Dinner had been a chicken potpie—Bob’s favorite, especially when she added a little ground beef, like she had tonight. Even after their worst fights, the smell of it had always drawn him out of his room and straight to the kitchen table.

At once together and apart, they watched as Kermit advised viewer discretion and bid his final farewells to his friends, fiancé, and nephew. They watched as the Muppets said goodbye and sang as he walked away. They watched him take several kinds of transportation until he arrived at his unit’s current camp in an undisclosed location, where he was welcomed with a faux-interrogation and tried to explain to his fellow Marines how this show would raise support for the war.

They watched as he struggled to convince them that learning the full extent of the Child’s Corps would persuade the American public that this war desperately needed to be won.

They watched as, between commercials in the middle of the show, one lucky Marine got the camera all to himself to say hello to his loved ones back home in what promised to be a heartfelt weekly segment.

And while they watched, the protesters rallied and the terrorists planned.

 

[theprawncracker]

Two words define the author of this chapter...

E. VIL.

That is all.






...Not really. Honestly, could you imagine? Seriously, this is a fantastically written and beautifully moving piece of writing, as always, Halfington (yes, that's what I'm calling you now). I adore the guys in the unit and Kermit's personality around them juxtaposed against his personality with the Muppets is incredibly interesting and SO very well done. Unfortunately, it looks like Froggy has thrust himself into more than he can chew (no teeth, don't'cha know). I'd say I'm sure it'll all work out in the end... but this is a Lisa story.