Final Farewell
As par for the course – still own nothing nor have I received an invitation to the World of Wolf. The characters are his; the 'rambling' is mine. Thanks to the small group of encouragers who suggested I should post this.
Jack McCoy sat in the hospital room and stared at the tubes that gave the man in the bed life, or what little was left of it. The most recent conversation between father and son went just the way Jack knew it would. And the thing was, despite what any of his family members said, Jack knew he deserved it.
He listened to the humming of the machines and watched the morphine drip. The man who had instilled fear in him, had pushed him as hard as he could, breaking bones and dreams along the way….That man was in his final moments. As much as Jack had wished for that day of death to come, right now, it scared him to death.
Jack focused on the large hands that had once held him as a child; the large hands he sat in as a child when he played darts; the large hands that didn't hesitate to crush….
He felt his eyes water up as the memories blurred together, making sense in a nonsense kind of way. How many times had Jack tried to escape those hands, had ran to those hands? How many times did Jack deliberately step in between that hand set to strike and the intended target?
Jack knew the other man was as monstrous as they came, but then again, who would scare the beasts that went bump in the night now? For every dozen times harsh words cut him down, there would be an occasion or two of praise that wasn't forced or faked.
Absentmindedly, Jack wiped away a few tears from his face.
"Are you crying, boy?"
Jack startled at the gruff voice from the seemingly lifeless body. "No, sir," he said softly.
"Better not be," John McCoy said. "Damn mama's boy."
Jack said nothing as he took the other man's hand and held it in his.
"You weak, Johnnie?" he asked as he glared up at Jack.
The son shook his head as he whispered, "No, sir." He expected his father to grip his hand tightly to test him. Instead, the grip was little more than what he felt from his little girl, Becky, when she was in a playful mood.
After a long silence, Jack felt the hand go limp in his, the machines settling to a steady, flat-lined hum. Resting his head over John's heart, hearing and feeling nothing, then and only then did Jack completely break down and cry….for his father.