A/N: I have not posted/updated in FIVE MONTHS. Holy guacamole. Where the heck did the time go? I have a really good excuse though (Yeah, yeah, Kit, sure you do. Everybody has an excuse.) Seriously though. So what is my excuse you might be wondering? Where have I been these past few months? Well, as of this past Thursday, I am a high school graduate of the class of 2012. WHOOP WHOOP! *does happy dance* And it has been incredible: I can't believe I'm done (not done done, because there is still college, but, like, done.) It is so surreal. So anyway, that's what I've been up to. And, not to brag or anything, but I didn't just graduate, I graduated tenth in a class of 496. Bam . . . Okay, moving on: About that season finale: I liked it. I mean, I was totally freaking out over Ducky, but McCallum reupped his contract, so, I'm not too worried. But I really liked the overall episode. I'm not crazy about the whole psychotic revenge killing spree thing, but I thought this past season was up to par (Season 7 will always be my favorite, just saying). And I am curious to see what happens in the Season 10 (Season 10!) premier. That being said, this is my summer fic (Yeah, yeah, because last summer's worked out so well, right?) and I will finish it. Even if it kills me. Here's the Kit version of what happened the last few minutes before that final phoof, and what unfolds (in my mind, at least) beyond . . . And as always, much love, keep the peace, and until next time, Kit!
DISCLAIMER: I am a high school graduate. Period.
"Okay," she says, sitting back, soft fingers tracing the side of his face tenderly. "Let me put something on and then we'll go take care of this," she motions around the suite, encompassing the generous number of wrapped presents and gift bags.
"I'll talk to your parents," he offers shyly and she smiles as she crouches down to unzip her suitcase.
"Don't worry about my parents," she soothes, "I can handle them."
"Do you think they'll be disappointed? In me?" he asks quietly, and her heart aches for this sweet, wonderful man."
"Of course not!" she says, completely turning back around to meet his eyes. "They love you." And she waits until he smiles at her before she returns to the Great Suitcase Excavation and the intrepid search for her elusive t-shirt.
She's only successful in locating a pair of shorts, and so she leans back on her heels and calls over her shoulder, "Hey, Jimmy?"
"Could you look in the bathroom for my button-down? It should be right by the door."
"Yeah, one moment . . ." and she hears him get up and move into the in suite bathroom, flicking the light switch as he goes. She sighs and glances out the large bay window, watching the grey-green water roll onto the shore. The sand is undisturbed from last night's rain, and it's almost as if they are on an uncharted island, all by themselves, far away from civilization. And it would be romantic, she thinks, if they weren't about to call off the wedding, which, really doesn't matter that much to her anyway, but she's dreading telling her mother. She watches a lone figure stroll up the beach, slowly coming into focus out of the mist that lingers at the water's edge. Her lips curve upwards in a fond smile because the good doctor would already be donning his tuxedo.
She sighs because she doesn't want to have to tell him the news, either, though she's sure he will understand. She loves Jimmy, adores him, and she loves his surrogate family, of course, but there is something about the wizened medical examiner that just puts her at ease . . . He's taking a phone call, now, pausing and looking out at the immense ocean, at the grey-green water that is churning almost hostilely.
And she's only vaguely aware of Jimmy asking, "Hey, Bree, is it this white one?" because she's suddenly on her feet, and her heart is suddenly in her throat, and she's gasping past the fear that's suddenly squeezing her . . .
"Oh my God, Jimmy! Dr. Mallard!"