Disclaimer: I do not own Bones, but I am obsessed!
Author's Note: How great was last night's finale! I've already watched it twice. It is going to be a long summer. This is my first foray into Castle fanfic, but this one was just begging to be written. What went through the Captain's head on that last day?
The Last Day
It is a strange thing to wake up on a beautiful spring morning and know that it is your last day on Earth. Your wife is curled away from you on the bed, but as a ray of sunshine lands on her cheek, she moans her displeasure and turns to you. Her hand reaches for you and finds its place over your still beating heart. She doesn't know it yet, but it is the last time that she will feel that heart beat.
Yes, it is a strange thing to wake up on a beautiful spring morning and know that it is your last day on Earth.
You make your way downstairs and throw some whole-grain bread in the toaster. The bread that everyone in your family hates, but your wife continues to buy it because it is "heart-healthy" and she worries about your cholesterol levels. The red coils heat and you hold your hand over the slots of the toaster. The warmth feels nice for a moment, but then it becomes too much and you pull your hand away, running it under the cool water of the sink.
The chrome on the faucet sparkles in the light, you grumbled for months about the kitchen remodel, you didn't think it was worth the money. But you had caved, and this was the result. It all seems so silly now, bickering over tile choices and appliance brands. You glance around, it's a beautiful kitchen, one that the family rarely congregates in, but maybe after today, they will find comfort in the bright room.
You can hear your girls bounding around the hallway upstairs. They are still fighting over the bathroom mirror and sink. It's a daily spat in your home, and it is the last time that you will hear the argument. Something tightens in your chest. You can smell burning bread and turn back to the toaster. The bread is black and inedible, but you don't mind. It's not the first time that you have burned the toast, but it will be the last. You aren't very hungry anyway.
You watch as the girls and your wife come down for a hurried breakfast of granola bars and bananas. They don't even notice you except for a quick laugh at your expense over your inability to master the toaster. Before you know it, they are running back upstairs to grab their possessions. They are always running late. You have always been so punctual, forever waiting on your wife to finish applying her make-up, your oldest to hang up the phone, your youngest to grab the book on her nightstand. You once joked that they'd be late to their own funerals. Is it irony that you are going to arrive early to yours? Or is it just an unfortunate coincidence? The writer would know. The writer, sadly, will know.
You say good-bye to your girls. You tell them how proud you are of them. They look at you strangely. But you are their father, they always look at you a bit strangely, as if you are an alien in their house, not the man that gave them life. But you have assured them of your love. They will have one last memory of you, a good one. It will have to be enough.
You say good-bye to your wife. It is hard to keep your emotions under control. You don't want to worry her. You have spent your entire marriage trying not to worry her. She won't have to worry after today. A flicker of pain passes across your eyes, and for just an instant you think that your wife also knows. She knows you so well, that she must see the truth of you, the truth of your sins. But she says nothing and goes back to her normal day. It will be her last normal day for a long time, and your heart breaks. As much as you want to, you can't regret the choices that you are about to make. This day is when you will make your stand.
You close the door and can't help watching out of the living room window as the van drives away. They will be alright, they will survive. They are one of the reasons why you are doing this. You sigh once and grab your wallet and your house keys.
You walk to the small church a few blocks away. Your mama raised you right, and you spent many hours in a similar church as a boy. There were many Sundays as an adult when you didn't set your foot inside. You were too busy chasing down a lead, processing some dirt bag, but every Sunday you could be there, you were. You aren't quite sure why you are here now. You may be here to ask for forgiveness, or seek solace, have one last talk with the man upstairs, because you aren't sure that you will be joining him.
You have tried to repent on Earth for your sins, in your own mind it has never been enough, but you have tried. And the final judgement isn't yours to make. You were always a cop. All you can do is the collect the evidence and present the case. The final decision has always been in somebody else's hands. Surely, that is irony.
You glance at your watch. You have spent too long here already. You have so many other things to do, bigger things. Besides, the bible study group will be coming in soon. There should be no more witnesses to this day. You exit out of the church into the sunshine. Your burden does not feel lighter, but it is no heavier and that is a small enough miracle.
You have five dollars in your pocket, change from some lunch either a week ago or a lifetime ago. You take it as a sign and wander into a small café on the corner. You have never had time to stop by here before, despite its location. You smile politely at the staff and buy yourself a large coffee and a bear-claw. It is an appropriate last meal for a cop. How many of these pastries have you eaten over the years? Too many to count really. The flaky crust is delicious, the coffee warm without any of the bitterness that you had usually associated with the brew. Yes, you made an excellent choice and you discard the paper wrappings and make your way home for the last time.
You let yourself in the back door. It is your normal routine, you don't want to vary it now. What is the point? You make your way straight to your den. It's not the man-cave you always wanted it to be, but it has worked for you. You resist the urge to straighten up the piles of paper that have collected. That would be too obvious of a clue. You don't want your family to know what you have done. Cleaning up your mess would set off alarm bells that you knew what was going to happen. You leave the burden of cleaning up your sloppy desk in favor of not leaving the burden of your sins. It is a far more crushing weight than some old papers.
You open your safe. You pull out the gun and the bullets. The metal warms quickly in your hands as you load the weapon and test its weight. Your wife always hated having guns in the house, especially when the girls were young. As far as you know, the girls have never even touched a weapon. You hope they will never have to. Will they be called to serve justice and seek answers like She is? Will they be haunted like She is? You hope not. You want it all to end with you. You want their happiness and are trying to ensure it now.
You remove the papers and photos from the bottom of the safe, the evidence that has kept you and others up at night for nearly two decades. You address the envelope and stuff it. You peel off the stamps and apply them to the upper corner. You add an extra stamp, you aren't sure how much postage it will really take to get this package where it needs to go. You hope that you are trusting it to the right person, that it will keep both of your families safe, the one here and one at the precinct.
You wish you could have said good-bye to the 12th. It was your second home with your second family. But time has run out. You didn't know when you left yesterday that it would be your last day there. In a life filled with regrets, is it possible that this is your biggest? But in your own way you said your farewell. You left the boys drinking beer, digging through old files. They will put it all together soon. You have taught them everything that you know. They are the best the City has to offer. They will survive your betrayal. They are brothers and they have each other.
You have two phone calls to make. You laugh to yourself over the first call. Who would have thought that the writer would be the one that you confide in now? He was your poker buddy, the joker, the shadow, and now the key. You have to protect her, one last time, and he is the only one who can help you. He is panicked on the phone, he has been trying to talk to Her all day, and She won't pick up. Part of that is your fault. You give him the barest of facts, but with them he can tell the whole story. He really is a gifted writer. And he will stand by you as you make your stand. It isn't the city's finest who will be making a stand with you, it's a crime novelist. But he is the chosen one because he loves her, and would also die to protect her. He's one brave sonuvabitch. You tell him what he needs to know and you hang up the phone, on your last day he will be there for you.
The second phone call is the hardest thing that you will do today. It is the one choice that you can't take back once you make it. It is a risk, using her as bait. But it is the only way. You cannot choose between your protegé and your family. You know how this evening will go, you know how it will end. She may sound suspicious on the phone, but you are her Captain and she will follow you, even into the dark. You gather your gun and your package, you will mail it on the way. It is amazing how quickly your last day goes as the sun sets and you drive towards the hangar.
Somewhere in the dark you know that he is waiting. He will be there for her when it all goes down. He will stand beside her. She arrives, confused and trying to stare down her fear. You call to her. You confess everything. She is upset, she cries, she begs. You see headlights approach. You are out of time. You woke up this morning knowing that it all ended today. But here you are, there is no more time. She is giving you her forgiveness, a last chance to change your mind. But his arms are now around her and he is pulling her away, all according to plan. You hope that she will forgive him, that they will find their way together. You were serious when you said that he was good for her. What you have done is going to damage them, you hope not forever. He closes the door, she is still kicking and screaming, but safe.
There is no more time. This is where you make your stand, your speech. Shots are fired. It is almost enough. And then it's your moment. Your final moment. You make it count.
The spark of your gun is your bright white light. You follow it, and the last words echoing in your mind are words of forgiveness. She forgave you. After all of these years, all of your sins, on this, your last day, you are forgiven. It is enough.