Disclaimer: I do not own the team. Title and quotes from Tennyson's In Memoriam.

Summary: Mourning is never linear. Gideon's death, viewed through an ongoing series of drabbles.

I'm relatively certain that this is in fact the end of Our Father's Dust. I've said that before, and due to the nature of the fic it was easy to pick up again when I felt like. But I think I've said all I have to say in this particular format, and besides, this one is 200 words, so that's got to make it special! Thanks very sincerely to all my reviewers, and I hope you guys have enjoyed what was really my first "conceptual" story.

Our Father's Dust

55

"And, moved thro' life of lower phase, / Result in man, be born and think,

And act and love, a closer link / Betwixt us and the crowning race"

Connie has cut her hair; she's wearing a blue blouse and modest heels. Dave can't wipe the stupid grin off his face as he gathers her up in his arms. It's so nice to see someone actually doing well.

They order lunch in an open air café, and Connie says again how glad she is that he's visiting while in Indianapolis. Dave sips his water and asks her to tell him more about becoming a paralegal. He can't remember the last time everything felt so peaceful and normal and sane.

Then she asks how he's been, and he opens his mouth to tell her: about Jason, about Emily. About how he hasn't been sleeping well for the past few months- no, years. About how he's been trying to go to church again, but the incense and the singing and the optimism make his head hurt.

He opens his mouth to tell her everything. But then Connie smiles, and the words die away.

There's a feeling in his chest like something breaking apart, but it doesn't hurt. Instead it feels almost like something inside him has cracked its cage.

"I've been thinking of writing a fiction book," Dave admits, and laughs.