Elegy
By Fewthistle

Author's Note: Written for the Memorial Day Challenge at the Livejournal Community T100.

For Jerry Orbach

Jack trudged up the slight incline of the hill, black asphalt cracked and slightly sticky under his feet. On either side of him, slabs of stone formed a haphazard pattern, broken here and there by a stocky cross or narrow obelisk. He could feel the sweat prickle along the edge of his hairline and the gentle tug as his shirt clung to the small of his back. In his hands he carried a small potted geranium.

He came around the corner of the drive, his steps faltering as he caught sight of the figure stooped and pulling a few stray weeds from in front of a slab of granite. She pressed an American flag a little deeper into the soft earth in front of the stone, looking up at the sound of footfalls.

“Hi,” he said quietly, his voice unnaturally loud amid the trill of birdcalls and the distant sound of traffic.

“Hi.”

The silence dragged out as they stood awkwardly together, neither looking at the other.

“Just thought that I would stop by,” Jack said finally, “I know that his daughter doesn't make it up here very often.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Serena stated softly. “He was a good man. Not many people you can say that about and really mean it.”

“No, there aren't,” Jack agreed, meeting the familiar blue of her eyes before focusing on the headstone, so solid and final against the green of the lawn.

They stood silently, both in quiet remembrance of a lost friend and colleague.

Jack watched as Serena slowly reached out a hand and gently laid something on the top of the stone. It wasn't the rock he expected, but a small square of blue.

“Pool chalk?” He chuckled, even as his mind registered the appropriateness of the gesture.

“He was very sweet and tried to teach me to play,” Serena murmured, her hand still resting tenderly on the headstone.

“I didn't know that,” Jack replied, trying to imagine his elegant former assistant in a smoky pool hall. “But then, there was a lot about you I didn't know.”

“I suppose there was,” she intoned softly, a sad smile just touching her lips. “I know that you probably never realized that you were a father figure to me. Lennie was in a way, too. But the difference was that the only time that Lennie looked at me with disappointment was when I missed a bank shot.

“I'll see you, Jack,” Serena turned, her fingers brushing along the rough stone of the marker, and began to walk along the cracked drive to her car.

Jack watched her go, finally sinking to sit on the shallow curb in front of the stone.

“Thank you for that, Briscoe. Thank you for that,” Jack whispered ruefully, his words of gratitude all but lost on the faint breeze that stirred the flag, but he knew Lennie heard.