"63% of American families are considered dysfunctional...Know what that means? We're the majority!"

[bibliothekara]

My coworker M, today, about library procedures: " [Polyethelene] Strappin' ain't easy, but it's necessary."
Me: "Like pimpin'."
M: "Exactly. My strap hand is strong."

(Some days I love my job.)

I've been rewatching my Titus DVDs. My favorite sitcom of all time, mostly because of a lovely Aristotlean confluence of dysfunction.  I.E., It premiered the

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"The Chaperone" (2/2)

[bibliothekara]

It was a pleasant house. Or rather, it would have had the capacity to be pleasant, had he been there at any other time.

Haley had been terrified at first. But not for herself.

"You're...you're who I think you are."

YES.

"No no no no. Please, please tell you're not here for him too."

HIM?

"For Jack, for my son."

She had turned angry then.

"I won't let him do it, I won't let you do it. I won't let you take him."

I STAY, BUT NOT FOR JACK.

This seemed to give her instant peace.

"Aaron's coming?"

HE IS OUTSIDE THE HOUSE.

As if to punctuate Death's sentence, a door slammed.

Haley looked over, looked him straight in the eye. Death found it slightly unnerving.

"You promise? You're not lying to me?"

I HAVE NO REASON TO.

Haley had started to fade by then. She looked upwards.

"Jack...Jack, baby, I love you." She paused. "I love you, Aaron."

As Haley faded completely, the silence was broken by the sound of gunshots from the second floor.

IT HAS STARTED, THEN.

He waited in the dining room. The feeling was becoming depressingly familiar.

And he watched. After the apartment, he had known. He had known, in the way that came with the job, that this could only have two possible outcomes. This is what the life-timers had meant.

The young man...Morgan...arrived. And Death mused that if Aaron had truly been able to see him, that night, he was blind to his presence now.

Aaron was not who he had come for.

"Oh, a scythe and a cape. Nice. Cliche, but nice."

Death turned to the other occupant of the room. Whose appearance seemed not too much the worse for wear. The healthy ego of the sociopath tended to enable that.

MR. FOYET.

"You know me."

I KNOW EVERYBODY.

"But you're familiar with my work."

UNFORTUNATELY, YES.

George looked towards the body on the floor.

"Wow. Didn't think old Hotch had it in him. Guess we're really more alike than I thought, huh?"

He smirked.

THAT DOES NOT SEEM TO BE THE CASE, NO. FOR YOU SEE, GEORGE, I *KNOW* HIM ABOUT AS WELL AS I *KNOW* YOU.

Foyet seemed unperturbed by this revelation.

"But the world has both of us...or at least it did. And it still goes round and round."

YOU ARE CORRECT IN THAT.

"So, what you send me off to the fiery pit, now?"

WHERE YOU GO DEPENDS ENTIRELY ON YOU. I AM ONLY...A CHAPERONE, OF SORTS.

Foyet's smile broadened. "Well, then send me on my merry way."

Death did not take pride in his work, as such. But he might have been said to take some extra relish in wielding the scythe at this particular moment.

As the "whoosh" was silenced, and the blue light faded, Death looked towards the front door.

Hotch had Jack in his arms, walking out surrounded by his team members.

He paused at the threshhold, looking towards the patch of carpet where Death stood. And then he moved on.

MAY IT BE A LONG TIME UNTIL I SEE YOU AGAIN, MY FRIEND.

*fin*