God, as somebody that grew up in a largely jewish community, holocaust denial is like... so fucking weird.
Because I don’t remember a time in my life when I wasn’t terrified of swastika’s, including when I was so young that I didn’t even know what a swastika was.
Because it’s such a strangely specific feeling to be born in the wake of a tragedy so massive that you can still feel it’s reverberations and were born with a weird sense of survivors guilt that will shadow you forever
Because when we were younger and our parents refused to tell us exactly what the holocaust was, we would trade our grandparents horrific experiences like they were scary stories across the camp fire, repeating them over and over to ourselves and eachother so we could figure out what it all meant.
Because I’d see those books with grey photos of Auschtwitz prisoners on the cover and feel like they were looking straight fucking at me.
Because every single Yom HaShoah you’d hear grade school children get up and say “my grandmother was the only one left of her family” or “they barely got out before it started” or “they managed to hide in an attic for months on end” or “my great grandmother managed to jump off one of the trains with her daughter in her arms” or “my grandfather has numbers on his arms but he won’t talk about it” or “my great aunt was shot just before the liberation so she couldn’t get out,” like it was normal.
Because we were always taught to run if we were in a group of non-jews that started making nazi jokes, to laugh along and then take the fuck off to stay safe.
Because the question always lingered over our heads, “what if it happens again? what if it happens to us?”
.... and them some stupid fucking college age white trash dickhead stands up and says “it didn’t happen” or “it wasn’t that bad” and I just can’t... fathom that? Like how the fuck wasn’t this part of your life? How is this not etched into your bones?
And its because it’s not. Like people didn’t grow up with this shit, some people can afford to deny the holocaust and deny antisemitism because it won’t hurt them.
It’s just... fucking wild.
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okay. fuck. y’all know im sad nate died but i can’t stop thinking about his funeral yknow. about the people who show up to say goodbye.
obviously, there’s the team. there’s always the team. it doesn’t feel real that he’s gone, that nathan ford could fall to something as seemingly mundane as a heart attack. he brought them together. he was their family. and now he’s just--gone.
then there’s tara, and part of why she shows up is just to support sophie, but...nate was never really her friend, but he was her team, someone who she worked with for better or worse. for better, she thinks. she’s a grifter, not a bleeding heart, but...he showed her something new. which is rare. and like the crew, it’s hard to believe he’s really gone.
maggie--oh, god, maggie. maggie isn’t surprised, somehow, but it still cracks her heart open. she knows he’s with sam, that if there’s anywhere they go after the end then nate will find their son, but she also knows he didn’t want to leave sophie, or parker and hardison and eliot. she still loves him, even if it’s not in the same way. the gravestone is too bare, too empty for all that he meant to his people. to her.
linda and tonya, the nurse and her daughter from the cross my heart job, show up. joshua, who she’s kept in touch with, writes a letter to the man he remembers seeing in a window coming out of surgery, the man who fought for his heart. the letter is laid at the gravestone. linda thanks him for...everything, really.
cora mcrory, owner of mcrory’s bar, is crying when she comes. she’s older now, but she still remembers her “uncle nate” dropping everything to help her when she had no hope left, still remembers the odd hours he kept and the staff who asked only to receive a firm answer from her of, “he’s doing good.” and he was. even if nathan ford wasn’t a nice man, wasn’t even a good one sometimes, he did good in the world.
robert perry arrives with flowers. he’s not sure why--funerals are supposed to come with flowers, he thinks, which is stupid, he’s seen too damn many of them, but nate ford took him seriously and helped him and took down castleman and he has a life back because of that. and now the man who helped him get his life back is gone. it’s just...it feels hollow.
anne and jenny sanders come to honor the man who got justice for anne’s husband, jenny’s father. nate believed them. nate did what the courts, what the law couldn’t. jenny leaves a teddy bear at the gravesite.
a well-dressed, beautiful woman shows up, a vicious bullet scar visible in her shoulder. she waits for a long moment, before kneeling before the gravestone and murmuring, “ciao.” she leaves--she should not mourn, but she does, somehow.
sterling shows up to the funeral, but doesn’t say a word, hovers in the back. he comes back in the middle of the night a month later, traces the letters of his friend’s name. his enemy’s name. “goodbye, nate,” he says finally. “if anyone’s earned their eternal rest, i do suppose it’s you.
“thanks for making it interesting.”
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