Chapter 51 Completion

A/N: It is ironic and completely coincidental that my last chapter prompt is Completion. I chose War as the first because I had a soldier friend on my mind who's been through a rough patch, and Booth's military experiences struck a chord. I didn't peruse the list to see what words preceded or followed it. Now as I'm writing this last chapter, an elderly relative, age 94, is in the hospital. While her 'flight to glory' may not be imminent; after visiting her last night, I found myself thinking about Ralph Waite, whose demise (both real and TV) has been a recent sadness for many people. And that, of course, made me think of Pops. Ironic that the timing of fan fiction has mirrored that of life. And no, I don't, never did, and sadly, never will own Bones.

I'm borrowing a little from FaithinBones' and Penandra's Castor and Pollux here, as well as Dharmamonkey's Killing Two Birds.

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Henry Booth straightened up slowly and pressed his hand flat against the small of his back. Jackson Gibbs rose from his haunches, knees creaking, and did the same. Seeley Booth and Jethro Gibbs observed their two elderly relatives and grinned at each other wryly, as they brushed the brick dust from their pants and gloves. The four men stood back and admired their masonry repairs in Jackson Gibbs' backyard.

"Well, Jack, I'd say we fixed up your barbeque pit pretty much as good as new," Pops said to his twin brother. "That looks like a job well-done."

"Yup, it looks almost as good as the last time you and Margaret visited. Sure couldn't have done it without your help, Hank," responded Gibbs' dad. "I'm glad it's finished. I haven't been able to use it for several years and there's nothing I love better than a prime-grade grilled steak!"

"Oh, I don't know, Shrimp here built a barbeque pit for some British psychologist who worked for the FBI awhile back. The guy left to become a chef, and he invited us over for steaks. I got to see Seeley's brick work, and I gotta tell you, he did a bang-up job. You could'a just called him to come up from D.C. and he've had it done by Monday! But I'm glad you asked me to help out."

"Shrimp?" Gibbs mouthed silently to Booth, who shrugged sheepishly and grinned. "Like you didn't have any embarrassing nicknames as a kid?"

"Oh, yeah, but I'm not revealin' 'em here," Gibbs declared. "And so you know, I was named for my dad's best friend who was in the Army with him. They started the general store here in Stillwater together. He was a great guy and I looked up to him, but you try going through life with a name like 'Leroy Jethro'!"

"Now Son, don't you go running down your name! You were named after an honorable man, and that's nothing to sneeze at!" Jackson sputtered.

"I know, Dad, but I've gotten some funny looks when people hear my name. It's not exactly in the top ten most popular boys' names of all times."

"Well, what your namesake stood for is more important than what he was called!" Jackson declared.

"Okay, you two, that's enough, you sound like teenagers," Hank laughed. "Gibbs, I know your dad showed you how to cook, and my grandson's a pretty fair pitmaster. Who's going to get these steaks going on the grill? I'm getting hungry!"

"Booth, can you get the coals lit while I pull the steaks out of the fridge?" Gibbs asked. "By the way, why were you building a barbeque pit for an Englishman?"

Booth rolled his eyes. "I shot my gun at an ice cream truck's clown head decoration 'cause the idiot wouldn't shut off his raucous music so I could listen for a suspect's car. The FBI put me on modified duty and made me go through counseling to get my gun back. You can imagine how much I wanted to do that, but I had no choice. Gordon Gordon invited me to come to his house for the first session, and it was a lot more relaxed helping him build that grill than sitting in his office in my suit. He's a down-to- earth guy and it wasn't so bad. Actually I called him when I got back from Afghanistan and he helped me deal with some issues from that hellhole. Even Bones likes him and she despises psychology. I think you'd like him too."

"Me like a shrink? That'll be the day," muttered Gibbs. And speaking of strange names, what kind of a parent names their kid Gordon Gordon? Sounds like mumbo-jumbo."

"Well, the British use family names and surnames for their kids' given names, and he got stuck with a very long one. Said that's what he's always gone by. We'll see soon enough if you like him, because he's coming up for dinner with Bones and the Hodgins."

"Hmmm, my team ought to be getting here pretty soon, if they know what's good for them. Your Brit friend will probably hit it off with our M.E. Ducky. He's from Scotland."

"Ducky? These names just keep getting weirder and weirder. Our friends aren't the only ones, yours too." Booth said.

"Dr. Donald Mallard," Gibbs stated with a flourish of his hand and a formal air.

"Oh, now it makes sense," Booth replied.

"Will you two PLEASE quit yammerin' and get our steaks ready?" Jack and Hank demanded in unison.

"Guess we better get to it!" Gibbs said to Booth.

"You steaks, me charcoal…Got it!" Booth replied. "I'm glad we got them together for this, you know? No telling how long they've each got left down here. You had a good idea, inviting us to help repair the charcoal pit. Pops has never been one to sit still and I daresay your dad is the same. Kept them busy and let them remember stuff together. Might be their last time to see each other."

"Yeah, you never know. We ought to get them together more often, I think. I don't know what I'll do when that time comes, but I sure don't look forward to it," Gibbs said quietly.

"Me neither, Pops has been so much to me. It'll be rough. I'm kinda glad we got to know each other after all these years. Bones would say that anthropologically we can help each other through it because we've had parallel experiences, or something sciency like that."

"I'm looking forward to seeing her again…..I think that's them pulling in now. It's about time. Somebody else needs to entertain these two while we do the cooking."

A/N Postscript: This is my first foray into prose writing. The experience of producing a story daily for 50 days has been challenging, but the presence of a prompt word has been surprisingly helpful in sparking inspiration. Otherwise, I think I'd be waiting around for my muse/brain/imagination to concoct an idea. I've been touched and amazed by how many kind reviews I've received, and can't ever thank the folks who wrote them enough. They served as quite a great motivation to keep going. Not sure when the writing fairy will strike again, but keep an eye open, I'm not going anywhere.