In which everything is a gift, and a curse
The thing about the Sword of Damocles is that, if you're smart, you can step out of the way.
Trouble is... then it hits someone else.
Welcome to the end.
There's a lot I need to say here. A lot. But the truth is, it all boils down to two things: to my Tony, and to my Rebecca.
For reasons of chronology, Tony first. My brain hasn't quite finished processing the part where he survived, even though I knew in my heart that he was going to, that they - even they - wouldn't bring him back just to kill him like that. Not a character second only to Jack Bauer himself in terms of plot development and moral investment. Even so, the entirety of the shootout at the safehouse left me breathless and terrified. Every time one of Tony's minions went down, I was sure it was him. Sure that was it. Sure that the spectre of Facestabgate had come to claim its final blood. And - much like the opening ten minutes of 7x24 - I didn't get a word written down in my notes because I couldn't look away from the screen. I couldn't look away as they stormed the house, as the minions went down, as Tony and Eric were suddenly thrown into a hand-to-hand fight that was brutal and breathless and hurt with an old, familiar weight. And then Tony got his arm broken (ouch, ouch, ouch, but far from the worst thing that's happened to the poor guy) and Biker Chick burst back in with a gun and everything froze.
And then the freaking phone rang, THANK THE SPIRITS, and it was John, and he told Tony what was going on.
And Tony let Eric go.
It was far from redemption, but at the same time it soothed something deep inside. A wound that will never heal, but doesn't have to hurt so damn hard.
And, for Tony, that was that. By his own admission, he couldn't go on - not with a broken arm - though I love that he said he would have done otherwise. And so my boy is back in the wind, alive, and out there. And if this is the end... well. It's an end I can live with.
So a moment, please, for Tony Almeida; the only one of my seventeen primaries to simultaneously hold the titles of Honoured Fallen, Series Survivor, and Series Active all at the same time.
I missed you, my boy. And I still do.
...
Now. Rebecca.
I have suspected since very early on that I was going to lose her. I was desperate for it to not be the case; desperate to keep her as long as possible. My wonderful, hard-as-nails, utilitarian-to-the-core Rebecca. But even from early on, it was a high risk, and once the whole subplot about Naseri's daughter came to light... it was inevitable. Didn't stop me hoping, though. Didn't stop me hoping until she flatlined, and...
...
...I'm getting ahead of myself. It's the shock. I can't be properly sad because my Tony lived. I can't be properly happy because my Rebecca died.
This show does that to me a lot.
I love - in a twisted way - that all this ended with Naseri himself getting Gaines'd. The sequence where they got him on the phone, and made the deal, and then he went out and killed all of Melted Terrorist's guys rather than murdering Rebecca... ouch. And then the deal was set up, and we got that wonderful, agonising moment of admission from Rebecca to Naseri about what happened to Ara. "It wasn't my country. It was me."
...
It hurts, OK?
...
And then Tom and Keith LEFT THE OFFICE IN A CHOPPER which caused me NO END OF ALARM but actually turned out to be fine. And we got that achingly lovely little scene where Eric and Ara were talking about trees, right before he put her in the chopper and sent her off to the Jordanian Embassy. I must say, I appreciated the repeated mentions of the fact that her mother was being brought in, because it was obvious where things were going for her father.
And then the weird prisoner exchange, with Ara on the phone going to safety, and then Naseri preparing to release Rebecca.
BUT MELTED TERRORIST WAS NOT DEAD, AND NASERI DID NOT THINK TO CHECK THE FLOOR FOR GUNS. BAD. BAD NINJA TERRORIST.
A burst of gunfire, Naseri is down, Bin-Khalid is down, and Rebecca saves Eric's life... and takes a bullet in the process. I thought she was dead there and then, but no, she survived long enough for an agonisingly meaningful conversation with Eric in the ambulance on the way to the hospital (right after we got that glorious scene where Andy was in CTU making all the traffic lights go green so they didn't get held up, BE STILL MY HEART).
But. Oh God. Eric and Rebecca. All that talk of "the thing inside you", that all the people like them have. The thing that is a gift, and a curse. The thing that has driven Rebecca and Eric all this way, and which will no doubt haunt Eric's every step for the rest of his life. However long that is.
They get to the hospital. Rebecca is conscious. John turns up. They call to each other. John gives Eric a manly shoulder-grip, which silently promises us so much potential with our new Jack and David.
And then Rebecca crashes. And they can't save her.
Silent clock.
...
And it hurt. It hurt because that thing inside her, the one that has led so many other beloved characters to their deaths, took her too. I adored her from the word go. And one season, one short season, was far less than Rebecca Ingram deserved. Because, you see, Eric Carter wasn't the only one who could do this.
She could, too.
...
Then we got the now-inevitable twelve-hour flash-forward, to that gutwrenching scene of John with Rebecca's body. (God but Jimmy Smits is magnificent.) And then Henry turned up, and oh, I didn't get nearly enough notes written about that scene because it hurt too much, far too much, but it was so good. And, for once, Henry Donovan was right. "This country needs you." It does, John. More than ever. It does. And now, twelve episodes later, seeing John face some agonising truths, some deep losses - and not, in fact, ever turning out to be evil! - I can only hope to see so much more for him. Plus, that moment when he found out Donald Simms had shot himself, and calmly told the truth but not the whole truth to the FBI guy... yes. Oh yes. It's started. It's inside him too, now.
Final cutover to CTU. Keith is nice to Andy. I remain willing to entertain the notion of liking Keith one day. Andy FAILS to have a final scene with Tom, which is REASON ENOUGH ON ITS OWN to give me another season because THERE HASN'T BEEN ANY WALL-KISSING YET. Although that is technically a Season Two thing, so, you know...
And we end on Eric and Nicole, and - in a pleasingly surprising move - she does not leave him. For a moment I thought he would try to leave her, but no. They act like adults. They will work at this.
They will probably pay for it, too. But we end on a moment of apprehension, and of hope, and after everything else... that has to mean something.
Big damn clock.
And what comes next? Honestly, I don't know. There's been no official word either way on whether Legacy is being picked up for a second season. I hope with all my heart that it is, because this season has been so good, and it has so much potential, and so much room to grow, and I need to see more of these characters who I am coming to love in the same way I loved their earlier counterparts. I want to know what's next for Andy and Tom. I want so much more plot and development for Mariana. I want to see if Keith turns into someone I can love. I want to see where John's moral journey leads him, and I want so very badly to watch Eric Carter continue to grow into a man who would make Jack Bauer proud. And who might, even, meet him one day.
Plus there's the part where my beloved Tony IS STILL ALIVE, and I desperately want more plot, and more resolution, where he's concerned. Of course. I mean, have you met me?!
Until then, I have this: a season finale that drove a familiar blade into my heart, but never into my face, at the end of a season that reminded me precisely why I gave this show fifteen years of my life.
And why I'll give it fifteen more, if only they ask.
Bravo, light of my fandom life. Bravo.
And you're raising these twenty-four voices
With twenty-four hearts
With all of my symphonies
In twenty-four parts
But I want to be one today
Centred and true
I'm singing, Spirit, take me up in arms with you
You're raising the dead in me...
Trouble is... then it hits someone else.
Welcome to the end.
There's a lot I need to say here. A lot. But the truth is, it all boils down to two things: to my Tony, and to my Rebecca.
For reasons of chronology, Tony first. My brain hasn't quite finished processing the part where he survived, even though I knew in my heart that he was going to, that they - even they - wouldn't bring him back just to kill him like that. Not a character second only to Jack Bauer himself in terms of plot development and moral investment. Even so, the entirety of the shootout at the safehouse left me breathless and terrified. Every time one of Tony's minions went down, I was sure it was him. Sure that was it. Sure that the spectre of Facestabgate had come to claim its final blood. And - much like the opening ten minutes of 7x24 - I didn't get a word written down in my notes because I couldn't look away from the screen. I couldn't look away as they stormed the house, as the minions went down, as Tony and Eric were suddenly thrown into a hand-to-hand fight that was brutal and breathless and hurt with an old, familiar weight. And then Tony got his arm broken (ouch, ouch, ouch, but far from the worst thing that's happened to the poor guy) and Biker Chick burst back in with a gun and everything froze.
And then the freaking phone rang, THANK THE SPIRITS, and it was John, and he told Tony what was going on.
And Tony let Eric go.
It was far from redemption, but at the same time it soothed something deep inside. A wound that will never heal, but doesn't have to hurt so damn hard.
And, for Tony, that was that. By his own admission, he couldn't go on - not with a broken arm - though I love that he said he would have done otherwise. And so my boy is back in the wind, alive, and out there. And if this is the end... well. It's an end I can live with.
So a moment, please, for Tony Almeida; the only one of my seventeen primaries to simultaneously hold the titles of Honoured Fallen, Series Survivor, and Series Active all at the same time.
I missed you, my boy. And I still do.
...
Now. Rebecca.
I have suspected since very early on that I was going to lose her. I was desperate for it to not be the case; desperate to keep her as long as possible. My wonderful, hard-as-nails, utilitarian-to-the-core Rebecca. But even from early on, it was a high risk, and once the whole subplot about Naseri's daughter came to light... it was inevitable. Didn't stop me hoping, though. Didn't stop me hoping until she flatlined, and...
...
...I'm getting ahead of myself. It's the shock. I can't be properly sad because my Tony lived. I can't be properly happy because my Rebecca died.
This show does that to me a lot.
I love - in a twisted way - that all this ended with Naseri himself getting Gaines'd. The sequence where they got him on the phone, and made the deal, and then he went out and killed all of Melted Terrorist's guys rather than murdering Rebecca... ouch. And then the deal was set up, and we got that wonderful, agonising moment of admission from Rebecca to Naseri about what happened to Ara. "It wasn't my country. It was me."
...
It hurts, OK?
...
And then Tom and Keith LEFT THE OFFICE IN A CHOPPER which caused me NO END OF ALARM but actually turned out to be fine. And we got that achingly lovely little scene where Eric and Ara were talking about trees, right before he put her in the chopper and sent her off to the Jordanian Embassy. I must say, I appreciated the repeated mentions of the fact that her mother was being brought in, because it was obvious where things were going for her father.
And then the weird prisoner exchange, with Ara on the phone going to safety, and then Naseri preparing to release Rebecca.
BUT MELTED TERRORIST WAS NOT DEAD, AND NASERI DID NOT THINK TO CHECK THE FLOOR FOR GUNS. BAD. BAD NINJA TERRORIST.
A burst of gunfire, Naseri is down, Bin-Khalid is down, and Rebecca saves Eric's life... and takes a bullet in the process. I thought she was dead there and then, but no, she survived long enough for an agonisingly meaningful conversation with Eric in the ambulance on the way to the hospital (right after we got that glorious scene where Andy was in CTU making all the traffic lights go green so they didn't get held up, BE STILL MY HEART).
But. Oh God. Eric and Rebecca. All that talk of "the thing inside you", that all the people like them have. The thing that is a gift, and a curse. The thing that has driven Rebecca and Eric all this way, and which will no doubt haunt Eric's every step for the rest of his life. However long that is.
They get to the hospital. Rebecca is conscious. John turns up. They call to each other. John gives Eric a manly shoulder-grip, which silently promises us so much potential with our new Jack and David.
And then Rebecca crashes. And they can't save her.
Silent clock.
...
And it hurt. It hurt because that thing inside her, the one that has led so many other beloved characters to their deaths, took her too. I adored her from the word go. And one season, one short season, was far less than Rebecca Ingram deserved. Because, you see, Eric Carter wasn't the only one who could do this.
She could, too.
...
Then we got the now-inevitable twelve-hour flash-forward, to that gutwrenching scene of John with Rebecca's body. (God but Jimmy Smits is magnificent.) And then Henry turned up, and oh, I didn't get nearly enough notes written about that scene because it hurt too much, far too much, but it was so good. And, for once, Henry Donovan was right. "This country needs you." It does, John. More than ever. It does. And now, twelve episodes later, seeing John face some agonising truths, some deep losses - and not, in fact, ever turning out to be evil! - I can only hope to see so much more for him. Plus, that moment when he found out Donald Simms had shot himself, and calmly told the truth but not the whole truth to the FBI guy... yes. Oh yes. It's started. It's inside him too, now.
Final cutover to CTU. Keith is nice to Andy. I remain willing to entertain the notion of liking Keith one day. Andy FAILS to have a final scene with Tom, which is REASON ENOUGH ON ITS OWN to give me another season because THERE HASN'T BEEN ANY WALL-KISSING YET. Although that is technically a Season Two thing, so, you know...
And we end on Eric and Nicole, and - in a pleasingly surprising move - she does not leave him. For a moment I thought he would try to leave her, but no. They act like adults. They will work at this.
They will probably pay for it, too. But we end on a moment of apprehension, and of hope, and after everything else... that has to mean something.
Big damn clock.
And what comes next? Honestly, I don't know. There's been no official word either way on whether Legacy is being picked up for a second season. I hope with all my heart that it is, because this season has been so good, and it has so much potential, and so much room to grow, and I need to see more of these characters who I am coming to love in the same way I loved their earlier counterparts. I want to know what's next for Andy and Tom. I want so much more plot and development for Mariana. I want to see if Keith turns into someone I can love. I want to see where John's moral journey leads him, and I want so very badly to watch Eric Carter continue to grow into a man who would make Jack Bauer proud. And who might, even, meet him one day.
Plus there's the part where my beloved Tony IS STILL ALIVE, and I desperately want more plot, and more resolution, where he's concerned. Of course. I mean, have you met me?!
Until then, I have this: a season finale that drove a familiar blade into my heart, but never into my face, at the end of a season that reminded me precisely why I gave this show fifteen years of my life.
And why I'll give it fifteen more, if only they ask.
Bravo, light of my fandom life. Bravo.
And you're raising these twenty-four voices
With twenty-four hearts
With all of my symphonies
In twenty-four parts
But I want to be one today
Centred and true
I'm singing, Spirit, take me up in arms with you
You're raising the dead in me...