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“The human animal is so remarkably delicate.”
Kevin remembers when Raymond had said that to him. They were watching a documentary on the Plague of Justinian (Raymond may not have been one for televised documentaries, but he agreed to watch it with his husband, never wanting to admit that the topic piqued his interest).
Kevin had sat with that remark for a moment before asking for clarification.
“We evolved over hundreds of millions of years to walk, talk, build, have sentience… attributes that no other animal in any kingdom has truly accomplished. And yet, we are so easy to kill. Other animals have protective shells or venom or poison to ward off enemies. Humans do not have that luxury.”
It was an incredibly morbid statement, one that Kevin had been happy to let go once the program ended and they both went to bed.
But now, how many years later, he can’t help but be reminded of that incredibly brief conversation.
Raymond is so, so pale.
In all the years he’d known him, Kevin would never have described his husband as anything other than a pillar of strength and a beacon of courage. But this is a version of Raymond that Kevin has never seen, and, frankly, it scared him.
This only developed over a few days, maybe a week or two. The days have blurred together so much that Kevin can’t tell you the last time he showered, let alone how long Raymond has been ill.
So delicate, indeed.
As Kevin sits by his husband’s side, he feels something bubble up within himself. How could this be the end?
Raymond had been tried and tested his entire career in the NYPD. He was a black, openly gay detective at a time when the ‘old guard’ saw only that instead of his quick wit and incredible knack for solving cases. He was constantly embroiled in a chess match with saboteur Madeline Wuntch, who frequently did everything in her power to see him humiliated and flying below his station. Raymond even spent half a year in witness protection hiding from a mobster who wanted him and Jake dead (and was even almost successful in parts of his plan).
But this is what takes down the mighty Raymond Holt? Some stupid little sickness?
Kevin is brought back to himself by Raymond gently taking his hand with a soft squeeze. “I am still here,” he whispers. “You have not lost me yet.”
Kevin manages a weak smile. “I know.”
Raymond’s eyes slip shut, and Kevin can’t feel his feet for a moment until he sees that his husband just fell back asleep.
Kevin remains by the bedside for a bit, still not quite trusting himself to stand yet. Once he does, he gently extracts his hand from Raymond’s and exits the room.
He gives a shaking sigh and rests his forehead against the wall. Kevin knows that Raymond doesn’t want their family to see him like this, but they deserve the chance to say goodbye.
And so does Raymond.
Kevin ducks into his office and closes the door. He stares at the phone on his desk for too long before he manages to pick it up. He keeps the numbers of everyone from the squad in a neat series of post-its, and opts to call the person most likely to pick up.
A pit of dread settles in Kevin’s stomach as he listens to the dial tones. The tone suddenly cuts out, there’s a beat of silence, then- “hello?”
“Hi- hi Jake. This is Dr. Kevin Cozner.” He has no clue how he’s keeping his voice steady.
“Oh, hi Kevin!” Jake says cheerfully. “I’m actually glad you called. Amy said that Holt hasn’t been at work in a few days. How’s he doing?”
Kevin clears his throat. “That’s actually what I’m calling about. He is unwell. Very unwell.”
“That’s awful,” Jake sighs. “Is there anything we can do? Mac and I can come over and bring some soup, or… whatever it is that Holt likes when he’s sick.”
Kevin can tell that his attempt at subtly didn’t quite reach him.
“Jake,” Kevin says quietly, seriously. “He isn’t going to make it. I’m calling everyone from the squad to come over and say goodbye.”
Jake is silent on the other end of the line. “Holt’s dying?” He finally manages, barely above a whisper.
“He doesn’t have long,” Kevin affirms softly.
Kevin can tell how much his husband has rubbed off on Jake by his response. He coughs and inhales deeply before speaking again, much more sure of himself now. “I know Amy is at the precinct today working on something with Terry. I’ll go get them and Charles. Can you call Gina and Rosa?”
The maturity of his response almost makes Kevin smile. “Yes, that sounds good. I will see you all later.”
“Bye, Kev.”
Jake gets the nickname in just before Kevin hangs up.
Kevin takes a moment to compose himself before dialing Gina’s number. All he can do is hope she picks up.
Jake walks into the 99th precinct with his son at his side. Mac is happily holding his father’s hand and carrying his favorite stuffed lion.
(Jake had to keep his tears in check when Mac wanted to bring Lion on this impromptu trip - Holt gave the boy that lion on his first birthday.
“I never had much use for toys myself, but a boy needs a guardian. And what better guardian than a lion?” )
During the elevator ride up to the bullpen, Jake is restless. He absentmindedly obliges Mac’s request for ‘uppies’ and settles his son on his hip just as the door opens.
He can see Amy and Terry in the captain’s office, but he has to get Charles first.
That isn’t hard to do. Charles had been returning to his desk from the copy room when he sees Jake.
“Jakey!” He says brightly. “And Mac!”
Mac reaches his arms out for his uncle, who wraps both his honorary nephew and best friend in a hug.
“What are you guys doing here?” Charles asks. He gasps. “Are you coming back?!”
Jake manages a weak laugh. “No, Charles. Nothing like that. It’s- uh- I really need to talk to you. And Amy and Terry. It’s important.”
Charles raises his eyebrows. “Is everything okay?”
Jake sighs. “No, just come with me.” He sets off on a brisk march across the bullpen towards the captain’s office, Charles hot on his heels.
Without hesitation or regard for what Amy and Terry may be discussing, Jake opens the door, surprising them both.
“Jake?” Amy asks. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m happy to see you, but we’re in the middle of a meeting,” Terry adds.
“Charles, shut the door,” Jake instructs. “Your meeting can wait.”
“Jake, what-”
“Look, I’m sorry for barging in, but this is too important.”
Amy is immediately on her feet, instinctively looking over Mac for injury. “What’s wrong?”
Jake swallows around the heavy lump in his throat and glances between Terry, Amy, and Charles. “Kevin called me,” he says softly. “He says that Holt is really sick. He… he doesn't think he’s going to make it, so he wants us all to come and say our goodbyes.”
The only sound in the room is the slight whistling coming from the vent. “What?” Terry finally asks.
“I know,” Jake sighs. “I still haven’t quite processed it myself. But I told Kevin I’d gather you guys and we’d go to their house. He’s calling Rosa and Gina.”
“Let’s go,” Amy says, decorum forgotten.
Amy and Charles end up squeezing into the backseat of Jake’s car with Mac’s car seat between them, Terry riding shotgun as they head for Holt’s house.
They pull to a stop along the curb and stare at the building. It may be mid-afternoon, but it is December in New York and it’s already starting to get dark. And the house looks dark too.
Everyone climbs out of the car, Amy with Mac on her hip. With an almost collective breath, they all head inside.
Kevin greets them on the stairwell and brings them upstairs. Rosa and Gina are already in the bedroom, with Gina trying to cheer up the former captain with gossip about one of the production assistants on her latest commercial shoot. But Holt can barely sit up now, let alone get in a sassy quip about the man’s incompetence.
Jake almost feels nauseous at seeing Holt like this. So… frail. So weak.
And weak is a word he would never even consider using to describe Holt. But now it seems to be the only one that fits.
Mac squirms in Amy’s arms, wanting “papa.” She glances to Holt, who gives a subtle nod. Amy sets her son on the bed and he immediately clambers to Holt’s side, cuddling against the ailing man.
“Lion say hi,” Mac whispers to Holt. “I love you,” he adds, equally quietly.
“I love you too,” Holt manages, voice hoarse and barely there. “I love all of you. I’m sorry you all have to see me like this. It’s… a bit embarrassing.”
He catches Jake’s eye, and they both give the smallest smiles. Jake knows that Holt is lying - his tell has been so obvious since Jake figured it out. He’s glad to be surrounded by family in his clearly final hours.
Terry helps Kevin bring chairs and stools into the bedroom so they can all sit and talk together. Everyone tells a story about their time together at the precinct.
Jake recounts his and Holt’s final conversation when they both were moving on to bigger and better things. Amy smiles as she tells everyone about the mentoring marathon she and Holt went on when they though the precinct was being shut down. Terry credits Holt with helping him overcome his fears of being a lieutenant and now a captain. Charles shares how much Nikolaj looks up to his “Grandpa Holt.”
Before she speaks, Rosa pulls off her jacket and adjusts her shirt to show her left bicep.
Every time someone steps up and says who they are, the world becomes a better, more interesting place.
Words that only she heard Holt say are tattooed on her arm in a neat, sharp print. “This is the best and nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” she says gruffly, clearly trying to keep her emotions at bay. “I’m proud to have had you as a captain.”
“You actually made work somewhat tolerable,” Gina says aloofly. At Holt’s look, with one eyebrow just slightly raised, she sighs. “You made me proud to be part of the nine-nine.”
“You all were the best group of people I could have asked to work with,” he says quietly. “The nine-nine will always be my greatest pride. Not because of the cases we solved or because it is where I became a captain. Because I got to watch all of you become the best versions of yourselves.” He glances over to Kevin and takes his hand. “You all accepted me for who I am. For that, I will always be grateful.”
He takes one last look at his family, gathered around him, and at the little boy at his side. As cliché as it may be, there isn’t a dry eye in the room, his own included. He manages to sit up and pull Kevin close for one final, gentle kiss. He settles back down in the bed. “I love you all. Nine-nine.”
A chuckle flutters through the room. “Nine-nine,” everyone echoes back.
With a rare soft smile on his face, Holt closes his eyes and allows himself to relax.
“Raymond, Raymond, Raymond.”
He would recognize that condescending lilt anywhere. His eyes snap open and Madeline Wuntch is standing in front of him, hands in her pockets and a smug smirk on her face. He had rarely ever seen her wearing anything other than her uniform, hair tied in a perfect bun at the back of her head. Wherever they are, this Madeline is much more relaxed. Almost comfortable, with her hair down and wearing a heavy flannel and jeans. “Of course you would keep me waiting so long.”
Holt glances down at himself, no longer wearing his pajamas but a cozy sweater and corduroys. He feels just the slightest bit relieved that he didn’t show up to a meeting with his lifelong nemesis in his robe. He looks around. “Where am I?”
Wuntch shrugs. “The afterlife. Whatever you want to call it, really. Heaven, hell, the good place… but you’re dead now, Raymond. Just as dead as I am. But don’t look so down, this place is pretty nice.”
Everything around Wuntch’s figure comes into focus. They’re in a library. A gorgeous old library filled with every book he’s ever wanted to read and chairs that could not possibly look more comfortable.
“This is incredible,” he can’t help but muse aloud.
Wuntch looks intrigued. “What do you see?”
“What do you mean?”
“Everyone’s version of this place is different,” she says. “For a lot of people, it’s a sandy beach or a ridiculous mansion.”
“Let me guess,” Holt says, “yours is a police precinct where everyone bows to your every whim.”
“Very funny, Raymond. I’ve missed your wit. But mine is actually a farm in the countryside. It’s quiet, just me and all the animals.”
He didn’t think Madeline Wuntch could surprise him anymore, especially considering they’re both dead now, but that admission definitely catches him off-guard. “If we are being honest, then, mine is a gorgeous old library.”
Wuntch smiles. It’s real, albeit quite small. “Does this library of your have a chess set? I’ve been waiting for someone to play chess with since I’ve been here, but no luck.”
Holt looks over at a nearby table, and a perfectly pristine porcelain chess set is waiting for them.
The pair sit across from each other, and Wuntch makes the first move. They play in silence for a while, then the question that’s been burning in Holt’s mind finally breaks free.
“How do you deal with being dead?”
Wuntch has the bishop in her hand and is mid-motion when he speaks. She pauses momentarily before finishing the move and settling back in her chair. “It wasn’t too hard for me,” she admits quietly. “I didn’t have much that I missed. I didn’t have many friends, never married or had kids… work was my whole life.”
Holt sighs. “I miss them all. My friends.”
“Your family,” Wuntch corrects. At his slightly shocked expression, she rolls her eyes. “Please, Raymond. I’ve known you longer than anyone you left behind down there. They were your family. Peralta, Santiago, Diaz, Boyle, and Linetti were like the kids you never had. Jeffords was like a brother. And Kevin was your husband… that one is literal. You miss your family.”
It’s the most genuine Holt has ever heard her speak, especially to him.
“You held a special place in my life too,” he says honestly. “No one ever pushed me the way you did. You made me a better cop.”
“I suppose I can say the same about you,” she replies. “Our sparring matches were some of the most fun I had on the job.”
“Likewise,” Holt says, smiling softly.
“Maybe we can keep each other company, have more spars like we did down there,” Wuntch offers, almost shyly. “At least until your family comes.”
“I think I would like that.”
They are quiet for another long moment before Wuntch clears her throat. “It’s your turn.”
He picks up his rook and makes his next move.
Holt and Wuntch continue to play in silence until he sees her make one fatal move, allowing him to move his queen, then a pawn, then, finally, the knight.
“Checkmate.”
She sighs as she looks down at the board. With a small shake of her head, she collects the discarded pieces from the table and offers them back to him.
“Want to play again?”