Can You
A One-shot for now but I may add more chapters later on based roughly on season 7 when Booth finds out his father died. It's a bit morbid but seems appropriate.
When we were young I would wonder what would be so bad that It would make you drink, at ten years old I never knew. We just guessed it was us, that It was our fault, our fault that you would fall through the front door at god only knows what time our fault that you got drunk in the first place. We came to the conclusion that it was because you were angry and the booze was sedating that anger deep inside and it worked, it worked only for a while.
Then soon the anger could no longer be caged up, it needed to be unleashed and like a lion being let out of its cage for the first time, you set your eyes on us, we your children became your prey.
I lost count on how many nights I passed out from the beatings I endured trying to protect my brother, lost count on how many times our mother helplessly tried stopping you. What did we do so wrong that warrants what you put us through? Addmitently we weren't angels growing up but no one is, yet we seemed to be the only ones having to cover up bruises or making up another bull shit lie about how we got that black eye.
We would make up excuses why friends couldn't come over, like… my parents are out, I'm going over my grandfather's house, but the truth is we knew what was beyond that white picket fence it was no American dream that other people dream about, the beer bottles that would be lined up on the kitchen counter top, the empty liquor cabinet and its contents littered around what was known as your chair, the TV remote to your left and your one of many chosen bottles of the night at arm's length.
Those things could be cleaned away and no-one would know, but the man sitting in your chair could never be cleaned up, your far to gone not worthy of help a pathetic excuse of a man we were made to call dad.
So yeah thirteen years later and we find ourselves standing watching your coffin get lowered into the ground we're not here to mourn your loss no you're not worthy of our pity. We came to prove you're actually dead. I'm watching as the priest says his words like how you were a kind and caring father who would give anything to his children and all I'm thinking is lie lie and more lies loving father yeah right you showed more love to the bottle of scotch you kept by your side than you ever did us.
The priest finishes up his speech full of lies and the first shovel of dirt gets thrown. I see people watching us expecting us to look sad but all I can wonder is.
Can you see us?, we're not watching just waiting until your no longer visible to the world. Can you tell there's not a single tear in our eyes? Can you even tell we are your children? Or did you forget what we looked like? After all you spent most of our childhood drunk.
Do you know what we've become? The achievements we have achieved? The family we have built the grandchildren you will never be allowed to see you will never know their names, what they look like, what they will be when they grow up. Do you feel regret because of the things you have missed from the past and what you will miss in the future? Nah! Of course you don't, even when you were alive you never felt any regret, you never felt bad after you finished beating us close to our death, so why would you feel bad about now knowing someone's name.
As I'm walking away back to the car with my wife by my side carrying the child we created out of love I'm thinking about how different how much better my kid's lives are going to be, the unconditional love I feel and prove to my wife every day. I realise how even though we share blood we are nothing alike.
Like you used to say after you'd had a drink…. Game Over!