Work Text:
Title: As Shadows Fall
Rating: PG
Characters: H. Finch/J. Reese
NOTES: I felt in a somber mood this evening, thanks to Edgar...my emo plot-bunny who's been listening to 'Iris' by The Goo Goo Dolls all day. Here's the result of that, coupled with the baleful stares he's been fixing me with from his corner.
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The sun settled behind the man-made peaks of the skyscrapers, leaving the city behind as night crept in. The cemetery was to all appearances deserted; the gates had been closed and locked to discourage nocturnal vandals. Here and there a bat could be seen, erratically circling the old-fashioned lamp posts on their eternal hunt for moths.
Only when full darkness had fallen did a sleek, black Town Car appear along the main paved path. It's perfectly tuned engine was muted, almost as if in deference to the surroundings it traversed. The car stopped next to a small but very tasteful mausoleum.
Its driver got out and opened the passenger side rear door, waiting in respectful silence for his rider to emerge. A hand settled itself on the handle of the door; blue veins clearly visible beneath the parchment white skin stretched over sinew and bones. A second hand, gripping the silver top of an ebony cane appeared; steadying the walking stick against the pavement before both limbs levered the body they belonged to out of the automobile.
The driver made no attempt to assist his employer, knowing from past experience that such an offer would be harshly rebuffed; possibly even result in his dismissal. The younger man looked off into the distance.
The passenger stood for a moment, making certain of his balance before moving away from the vehicle. His gait was uneven and his silver hair glinted in the yellowish light coming from the sodium vapor lamps. With great deliberation, the man limped across the grass towards the mausoleum. Night had turned the luxuriant turf from its normal hue of emerald green to a dull, oppressive gray. The monument of marble and fine granite almost glowed in contrast.
At last the elderly man reached the wrought iron grate that protected the heavy oak door from defacement. Reaching into his trouser pocket, he pulled out a set of keys and opened the padlock; releasing the chain and pushing the gate to one side. Selecting a second key, he made short work of the lock on the door and stepped inside.
Closing the door behind him, the man flipped a switch on the wall. The inner room of the crypt was bathed in a cool, white light. It reflected off the lenses of the visitor's glasses, hiding the fact that he was blinking rapidly to adjust his eyes to the sudden illumination. Once acclimated, the man limped over to a stone bench in the centre of the space. Before sitting down, he pulled a platinum lighter from his coat and lit the twin votives on each side of a wall tomb. The red glass cups cast crimson shadows along the back wall of the mausoleum as the candle flames danced within them.
The man stared at the bronze plaque on the tomb's face, reaching out to rest a palm against the engraved surface. The metal was cool beneath his hand and he closed his eyes as quiet grief welled up within him. So many years it had been since....Over two decades now and yet it feels as if it happened just yesterday.
The old man pulled his hand back and sat down on the stone bench, stretching his injured leg out to ease the constant ache within its joints.
"Hello my friend. I'm still here and no-one is more surprised than I at that fact." Thin lips twisted into an ironic smile. "I wonder what you'd make of me now? I've changed a bit since you last saw me."
He sighed, folding both hands over the cane. "You're wondering about things, I'm sure. I have some good news for you, to start. Snow's dead...Alzheimer's of all things."
A raised index finger pointed at the plaque. "Now, now....don't be uncharitable. I find it just as fitting as you do and yet I wouldn't wish that slow death on anyone, even him."
"Mr. and Mrs. Fusco are doing well. His marrying Carter was a good thing for them both. They're in an assisted living facility now but both Mickey and Taylor are diligent in their visits. Would you believe they both have children of their own?"
“I go see them as often as I can and yes, before you even ask I am funding their care. We owe them that much at least.”
“I miss you so much...you were the last person I truly let myself get close to.” The quiet voice faltered, catching on the words as the visitor fought back tears. “Every morning I wake up and curse the fact that I’ve got to live another day without you.”
The cane thumped on the granite floor of the crypt; the sharp click echoing off the walls. “Don’t lecture me! I’m not going to do anything stupid. My consolation in all this is that I think I’ll get to see you again when the time comes.....Dear God, I hope so.”
The man pulled a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and wiped the moisture from his eyes. “I’m just so tired....I send others out to deal with what I can but it never has been the same....not like it was.”
He stood up slowly, settling his feet beneath him before attempting to move. The last thing he needed was to court a broken hip. He would end things himself rather than waste away in a bed somewhere, unable to get up on his own.
He made his way back to the car and eased himself into the backseat. He stared out the window one last time; fixing the mausoleum in his mind yet again. It would be another year before he returned; on the anniversary of his friend’s death. You weren't supposed to go first...I was. It was always supposed to be me.
His driver closed the door and then settled behind the wheel awaiting instructions.
“Back to the house please, Mr. Dickson.”
“Very good, Mr. Reese.”