Author's Note: A beautiful ending to an exceptional series. These are simply a few additional scenes throughout the final season I've imagined up. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: BoJack Horseman © Raphael Bob-Waksberg
It's strange to think how a relationship can simultaneously change yet still carry on as it always has in the same instant. It happens when a person shows you a completely new side to themselves that splits your heart open at the seams, moving you in a way you never truly experienced before but that you embrace with your entire being.
She has that feeling now, sitting in her office, listening as Judah confesses to her, in song, "I love you, Princess Carolyn."
It's the most beautiful thing she's ever heard—even if the ever is implied—this personal declaration of his innermost feelings, delivered as always in his eloquent, matter-of-fact cadence. His spoken lyrics melt into her heart, and she welcomes the tender feeling they bring forth as a gentle smile lifts the corners of her mouth. It's a feeling of reassurance, as deep and as smooth as the sound of his voice, almost as if a part of her has known all along and has simply been waiting for him to tell her.
Suddenly, she realizes there's no longer an incomplete sentence, a blinking cursor, waiting. "The future I want is" right here before her, with this man. This hardworking, logical, patient, reliable, handsome man who's not only the best assistant but the best partner she's had. He's the person she finally recognizes she's always needed. Up until now, she's always found it difficult when it came to admitting she needs people, since all she's ever known her entire life is being the one who takes care of others, who lights a fire in them whether they think they need it or not.
And they always do.
He strums his final notes on his guitar, and the lingering chords vibrate pleasantly all the way through her whiskers. The love she feels for him is palpable in that moment. He stares at her from where he sits on the couch, guitar in hand, soulful gaze unwavering, sincere. For the first time since she's known him, she sees herself the way he must have always seen her, in all the qualities he admires most about her: a dedicated manager, a relentless go-getter, a compassionate friend, a loving mother, a beautiful person.
For the next hour, she works diligently, while he assists her, the way each of them always has done and will continue to do. When eleven o'clock comes, she rises from her chair and takes her purse. He shuts his guitar case and silently follows her, closing the door behind him.
Only after they're back at her apartment, and Princess Carolyn has tucked her sound-asleep daughter into her crib, does she turn to Judah, who sets down Ruthie's diaper bag. She brings a hand to his face, brushing aside a lock of his long, lovely hair he's left down, and without waiting a second longer, she steps forward with one heel and kisses him.
His hands come up to rest on the small of her back, and her heart flutters. She pulls away only to say, "I love you, too, Judah."
He clears his throat. "Yes, well. That was implied."
She chuckles and lets her fingers slide into his hair. The warmth in his eyes sets her soul ablaze.
"What a lovely engagement party," Maude says as she and Todd saunter into their apartment. "Even when Ruthie accidentally popped all of those balloons."
Todd flips on the light switch, tosses his keys into a bowl, which he still can't help but marvel at every now and then. He's always thought bowls were only meant for stuff like soup or cereal or cake batter, not apartment keys. It's fascinating.
"I'm just glad my favorite business partner's classic hijinks didn't ruin the celebration for the happy couple," he says. "Princess Carolyn and Judah are the second happiest couple I know." Maude turns her cheeks up in a grin, but Todd falters, turning to her. "Just so there's no confusion, the first happiest couple I know is us."
"Oh! I thought you meant you and your beanie," Maude says, and before he can respond she playfully tugs his yellow beanie down over his eyes. He gasps for a second before throwing his hands out in front of him and striding toward her while making monster sounds.
Maude laughs and finally pulls the beanie back up. He smiles at her, and she puts a hand to the back of her head.
"Hey, Todd?"
"Yes, Maude?"
She crosses to their kitchen and opens the fridge. "I was going to wait until tomorrow to surprise you, but…" She takes out a box she's hidden in the back of the fridge, while Todd sits down at their kitchen counter. "This is to celebrate us matching on All About That Ace a year ago." She lifts the box top to reveal a carrot-shaped cake with Happy Anniversary! written in frosting. "It's a chocolate cookie dough carrot cake. Little bit of everything we both love."
Todd stares at the cake, at the orange frosting, admiring how bright it is, just like her. "This is the best thing ever. I love it. I… I love you."
Maude slides her hand out toward him across the counter. He meets her halfway, cups his fingers over hers. A year since he met her, and it's been the greatest year of his life. It seemed like a miracle when her face popped up on his phone, and now, he can't imagine life without her. Every day they show each other how much they love one another without the need to express it with physical intimacy. It's in the looks they share, the way he makes her laugh by doing a silly dance, the way she surprises him with a note she's tucked into his pocket, the way they can talk about anything in the entire world and it all makes sense.
"I'm just so grateful for that horse man who told me about the app," she says, and Todd's smile slips slightly with a realization.
"Wait. Horse man… As in, my…" His what? Ex-roommate? Old friend? He drops the thought. "I remember you mentioning that on our first date, but I always assumed you meant a man with a hoarse voice."
"No, it was that horse guy, the one who used to be on TV."
"Huh," Todd says, drifting in thought, and as if thinking out loud now, he adds, "That was… really nice of him. I wish I could find a way to thank him somehow."
"I'm sure you will when the time is right," Maude says.
She retrieves a knife from the kitchen drawer and starts to cut a slice of the cake. Todd absentmindedly watches.
"Hey, Maude?"
"Yes, Todd?"
She pauses and looks up at him, and he sits there a moment, taking in her loving smile as she patiently waits.
"I've been thinking… What if we started a podcast together?"
Her ears perk up, and her nose twitches in excitement. "Ooh, our own podcast! I love that idea. Like radio, except it's just talking."
"Exactly! We could talk about our life as a couple and give advice. And we could call it… Talking with Maude and Todd."
"Hmm, what about… The Maude and Todd Pod Squad?"
"That's even better! It's like poetry."
Maude giggles, and Todd smiles again. He accepts the plate she hands him with a piece of cake, and he hums his approval as he takes a bite, savoring its delicious taste. Yes, he'll definitely have to find a way to thank him somehow.
She can't remember the last time she's gotten a good night's sleep. Turns out dead silence is far more difficult to fall asleep to than the ceaseless, rhythmic sound of her roommate's light snoring. Just one more final and she can go home, put this whole school year behind her.
She throws the blankets off her body and sits up, instinctively reaching for her phone. 2:18 AM. She cradles it in both hands and stares down at the screen, which casts a pale blue glow across her tired eyes. For several minutes she just sits there, a low sigh escaping her, filling the silence in the small dorm. She looks around in the darkness, scanning the half-packed boxes. Maybe she could pack up more of her stuff, but her limbs feel too heavy to move. Her eyes land on her desk. Maybe she could go over her study cards for her last final again, but there'd be no point being this exhausted. Besides, she already knows the material inside and out.
Her thumb idly presses down on her phone. She considers calling her boyfriend, but he's home in New Mexico, and she wouldn't want to wake him up and trouble him when there's really nothing for her to even trouble him about. She just can't sleep, and talking to him wouldn't help that. What would he say, anyway? After all, insomnia is just part of the college experience.
She considers calling home just to hear one of her dads. At least two of them are probably still up, watching late-night TV. They'd tell her how much they couldn't wait to see her, momentarily take her mind off of her… loneliness.
She opens her contacts, scrolls down. A certain name catches her eye, and she pauses on it, though a pang of guilt immediately strikes her. How selfish of her to suddenly want to call her and hear her voice instead of her dads' voices. She thinks back to when she first met her, the nervousness she initially felt, the rush of tenderness that took its place when she hugged her for the first time.
Then, as quickly as she gets swept up in the warm memory, an instinctive sadness creeps in at the reminder of how she'd even come into contact with her in the first place. She doesn't think about him much anymore, but it definitely didn't help when the news broke about his indictment for breaking and entering, and all she saw and heard, buzzing around campus, circulating on social media, was information about his personal struggles and his court case all leading up to his prison sentence.
She remembers the jarring, inexplicable guilt that had run cold through her veins, but she couldn't pinpoint why. Her boyfriend assured her it was for the best, and at the time, she merely nodded, her heart numb. It wasn't that she missed him. She knows cutting him out of her life was the right decision. Maybe he was never meant to be in her life to begin with.
But then, a part of her knows that isn't true, either, as she reminds herself of the good he did bring her at one point in time. The anger she'd stubbornly clung to had slowly faded, and eventually there came a point where she didn't harbor any resentment, or bitterness, or even sympathy for him anymore. All that remained was a feeling of gratitude. After all, if it hadn't been for him, she never would have found…
Her thumb presses down on the name before she can stop herself. She brings the phone to her ear. It rings once, the sound somehow dragging out to her, when—
"Hello?"
She almost chickens out and hangs up, but the word slips out of her mouth, an impossibly small sound. "Hi."
"Hollyhock, hi!" The joyous surprise in her voice erases her nerves. "Gosh, it's almost two thirty in the morning in Connecticut, isn't it?"
"It is. I can't sleep. I figured I'd try calling you since it's only an hour earlier in Minneapolis, and I know you usually work late shifts at the hospital."
"Your timing couldn't be better. I'm on my break now." Then, her tone shifts to something more serious, a sense of urgency she can only surmise is that motherly instinct kicking in. "Is everything okay?"
"It is and it isn't," Hollyhock says, and she almost wants to groan at her ambiguous response. Maybe she's going through a late angsty-teenager phase. She wraps an arm around herself. "It's been a crazy year." There's silence on the other end, and it's like she can sense her hesitance, that she wants to ask her about it, but she doesn't want to pry. Not wanting to put her in that uncomfortable position, she changes the subject. "How's Hannah?"
"Oh, she's doing great." She can practically hear her beaming with motherly pride. "She keeps saying she's not ready for second grade to end because she'll miss her teacher so much. She got her best grades ever this year."
"That's amazing."
Another beat of unsure silence on the other end, but then she seems to make her decision when she says, "She actually… asked about you recently."
Her heart stills. She grips the phone tighter. "She did?"
"She said, 'Mommy, when is that pretty horse girl going to visit us again?'"
A bashful grin finds its way to her face before she can stop it. Pretty. "Tell her… I'm already planning a trip to come visit again once I get home from Wesleyan. And tell her… I can't wait to see her."
"I certainly will. She'll be so happy."
Her smile widens. She involuntarily lifts her hand to her face, pressing her fingers to the diamond point between her eyes, the one tangible connection she'll always have with him for the rest of her life. She used to resent it, but now…
"I'd better get to bed," she hears herself say.
"Of course. It was wonderful to hear from you. Give my best to your dads."
"I will."
"Okay. Goodnight, sweetheart."
Happy tears fill her eyes. "Goodnight, Henrietta."
It really is a nice night.
He's not just thinking that because he's been away for so long. He truly does feel it. And now, as he stares up at the night sky, vast and wide and clear and sparkling, for the first time in a very, very long time, he feels at peace. He's here. He's alive. Maybe that's all that matters.
Every now and then he can't help glancing over at Diane, but she never looks away from the twinkling sky. He finds himself wondering what she's thinking about, wondering if she knows what else he wants to say. And, yet, somehow, he doesn't have to wonder.
"You know, if we were on a TV show, or in a movie, or even a play, this would be the part in the story where I'd say something so painfully sappy it would make the audience collectively 'aww' to a downright grating degree."
"Oh, yeah? What would you say?"
"I'd say… how unbelievably lucky I am to know you. To have known you. And that, even if this is the last time we ever talk to each other, I'll always cherish you and our friendship and the time we shared together. I'll always be thankful that you never gave up on me, that you helped me realize that I can and should push myself to be better."
"Hmm. And what would I say?"
"You'd smirk, kind of shyly, and simply say… You're welcome. And then I'd end my sentimental speech by saying something I've always wished I could tell you, something I thought I was never capable of or deserving of, something that has ultimately taught me how to no longer be selfish, but humble and grateful and… happy. And then before I actually said it, I'd realize it's probably best to not say it all, but instead let it be implied, because audiences love that shit."
"They do."
He turns his eyes back to the sky in all of its serene beauty, letting the stars do the rest of the talking.