A fanfiction by: Mr.Trite
It had been four years.
Godot sighed as he looked up to the seemingly endless sky, a palette of blue wrapping itself around the Earth. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, cold from the last bits of winter that clung to the newly-born spring. Fluffy white clouds dotted the skyline, nearly disappearing amongst the pale, spiked locks of the prosecutor. A perfect day, just like he had been hoping for.
The perfectly mowed green grass weakened under Godot's shined black shoes, leaving little indents behind him as he walked up the hill. He should have known the site would be at a nice little place like this- After all, he had always been one to stand out in a crowd, a swan among geese. And with his good looks, hard work, and determination, was it that hard to believe?
It was time to face his fears, once and for all. Truth be told, Godot had been avoiding this in any way he could thing of- Paper work, emergency coffee runs, doctor appointments, anything. But like many a defense attorney (Even though he was no longer one himself), he knew one thing- The truth had to come out eventually, whether you liked it or not. There was just no form of preparation for what he had to do today. There was no way to keep himself from wincing as he looked down at the headstone, even though he had been trying to calm himself for about two hours now.
The gravestone sat motionless, a gray blot against the blue skyline. Crouching down, Godot ran his finger against his old friend's name, forever engraved into the rock like a life-changing memory. With each letter, he took a special amount of time, making sure he hit every curve and point, careful and precise. It was almost as if maybe, just maybe, he could resurrect the body and soul if he did this carefully, to erase the past and make sure it never happened.
No such luck.
Slowly removing his hand, the man sighed. From behind the metallic, silvery visor balanced on his face, Godot's eyes dimmed. This…This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. If he, Godot, the egocentric asshole, got a second chance, how could he not? It wasn't fair. Godot sighed again and leaned up against the gravestone, looking up to the sky, nearly as silent as the memorial itself. What do you say to a friend you haven't seen in four years? Finally, he found the words, head leaning up against the cool stone. "You know, I didn't really hate you, Neil."
Well, that came out seriously wrong. Godot shook his head, a sinking pit of realization dropping down into his stomach. Would Neil have even recognized him? "You probably don't know who I am, do you?" Godot asked the air, a smirk coming on to his face-The prosecutor leaned long ago that's all you had to do to make the pain look like it had disappeared. After all, that's probably what Neil was expecting. "That's a pretty funny thought, Neily-boy, considering we're- Well, we were- enemies in the courtroom. Diego Armando?" Godot twitched; he hadn't heard that name in ages. 'Yeah, that's me."
He was willing to bet that Neil was laughing at him. It had always been like that. Neil Marshall and Diego Armando. Often recognized as the Montague and Capulet of the courtroom, the two could almost always be found arguing, even outside of court. Of course, they never meant anything by it- Just playful banter. Godot knew that Neil had been a great guy.
"So, I bet you're wondering how everybody's been, huh? Well, you've missed out on quite a bit since you've been gone, Neily-boy. Here, let me fill you in…"
"You remember Lana Skye, right? Haha, stupid question- Of course you do. You were so hung up on that woman, it was like you were launched right into space every time she walked by you in the hallway, every time she accidentally bumped her arm into yours when she was striding past your desk, and every time she offered to go grab you a coffee. Well, after you died, she became Chief Prosecutor. It was a pretty bittersweet moment, considering everybody knew that you were next in line for that title. Anyway, it was all in vain- She was disbarred two years later, on counts of Criminal Contempt and Forgery of Evidence. But I'll tell you more about that later."
"While we're talking about Lana, let me tell you about little Ema. Well, I guess she's not so little anymore- She just turned twenty, and damn, she's turned into a fierce little Kitten, I'll give her that much. It's kind of weird, talking about her like that with you. After all, she was just fourteen when you last saw Ema, wasn't she? She's in therapy right now, trying to get over everything that's ever happened to her, including her parents and SL-9. But don't worry, Mr. Emergency Babysitter, she'll be just fine. She's going to be studying overseas in Japan soon, in forensics. I hope she brings back something good- I hear the Japanese have fabulous little dough cakes. Bet they'd taste good dunked in coffee."
"And I just know you're wondering about Jake. Hard to imagine he hasn't been up here in the last four years. You two were so close…Sure you weren't having make-out sessions in the evidence room? Haha, just kidding! But, I doubt he's told you everything, Neil. Like how after you died, he plummeted way down into the bottle, and had to force himself out, for your sake. Did he tell you how, for about a year after, he wouldn't even look at me? Even now, we haven't said as much as one hundred words to each other. He might not have been up here for a while, seeing as he's been trying to become a detective again. And let me tell you, I just know it's coming. Jake's too good of a guy to kick off of the force for good. After all, everything he did was for you."
"Well, I'm sure you know about Bruce Goodman by now, seeing as you're probably sitting up on some cloud in Heaven stringing an acoustic guitar- Sorry, but I just can't see you with a harp. He was one hell of a guy, you know. Always working. I bet you two are watching this now, laughing your heads off at the guy who just wasn't good enough to get up there the first time."
"Then there's Gant. Ugh, just saying his name makes me want to vomit. I don't know how much you know about what happened that night- The medical examiner said that you had been unconscious,- but he was the one that killed you that night, for the sake of his own credibility. If it wasn't for that monster…If it wasn't for that nasty son of a bitch, we wouldn't even be having this conversation. Hell, we'd probably be working on some case together- I'm a prosecutor now, after all. But, don't worry about that. All that matters is that well after you died, Damon was rightfully convicted for all of his crimes. Believe me, you weren't the only one. Gant was given the death penalty, and is probably rotting in the fiery, unforgiving pits of Hell. We…We got him for you, Neil."
"Well, then there's me, the fallen-yet-still-incredibly-sexy Diego Armando. Well…I guess it's Godot now. But don't worry- I'm still as incredibly sexy as I always was, even with this mask on my face. I'll admit it to you, Neil- I was pretty depressed after you died. For me, there was just no point in being a defense attorney anymore. That is, until she came into my life… Man, how corny does that sound? It's just that…Well, remember how I used to laugh at you because of how gaga you used to get over Lana? Boy, do I take that back. But your Lana? She's nothing compared to my Mia. She was everything to me, perfect in every way. I should have figured something bad was going to happen- Every since you died, that's just how things happened with me. A good thing happened, and a bad thing soon followed. Never vice-versa."
"After a certain case, I was poisoned- Dead as a doorknob. 'Luckily' enough for me, I was brought back to life six years later. But, what was the point? The Grim Reaper traded one soul for another. There I was, alive- Blind and white-haired, but alive- And my Mia? Dead. Murdered. Gone. I know she's up there with you, and let me tell you something, Neil…You better be taking damn good care of her, or you'll be answering to me when my time comes, Marshall."
Sighing, Godot picked himself off of the ground. "Well, I guess that's all I've got for you today, Marshall." he said, looking down at the gravestone at his feet, "You've missed a lot. And as for me? Well…I've missed you." Slowly, the prosecutor ran his hand over the flat, rounded top of the memorial and smiled a smile as sad as any rainy day. "Wait for me."