She crawled out of the tent on her hands and knees, gritting her teeth.  The ground was hard packed dirt, and the air smelled clean and fresh. It was dark, and they were under a brilliant desert night sky.

"Oh, Ichabod.  Look."

The evening had passed quietly, with no more talk of promises or commitment, or anything of consequence, really.

She'd tried to fall asleep, but only succeeded in dozing lightly off and on.  Every time he shifted or exhaled too sharply, she'd found herself wide awake.  Hypervigilance, she thought.  Her mind was fixated on the thought that she might miss saying goodbye. He wouldn't dare sneak out on her.  He was a bastard sometimes, but he wasn't exactly heartless.

Well, most of the time.

When the first light of dawn hit the windows, she was already awake, listening to the sound of his breathing.  She debated getting up and laying out his suit for him, but that would mean leaving the warmth of the bed.

'Love?  It's time.'

She knows he's anxious to get back.  A part of her understands, remembering how hard it was those first few days and weeks in Fenchurch, waiting to wake up from the nightmare.  At least he has the option to go home.

He was supposed to nip down for another bottle of wine.  But he wasn't back yet, and she'd fallen asleep on the couch while she waited.

When she woke up, she heard the faint patter of raindrops against the window.  There was a presence in the room with her, one she recognised instantaneously. 

She was alone.  There was a shadow of a figure in the reflection in the window.  Dark clouds mirrored her shift in mood, and she could see the outline of his uniform coat as clear as crystal.  She never thought she'd see this visage of him again. She thought, somehow, she'd laid him to rest.  Again, she was wrong.

His smooth face was impassive, his one good eye so young.  She just looked at him, and thought her heart was breaking right then and there.  He'd been called back to Fenchurch, without taking her ring, without so much as a kiss.  And the only way she knew was the reflection of his ghost, half his face a dark, gaping wound.

He was gone, and this was all the goodbye she was going to get.

She blinked and the ghost was gone.  And she felt her knees give way.

She sat on the floor, tears streaming down her face, staring at her hands, her useless bloody hands.  She didn't know how long she sat there, but eventually she collected herself and set about straightening the room.  She knew he'd have to go back some time, she just always thought she'd know ahead of time.  This is probably for the best, she thinks.  A quick break, and when he comes back, because he is coming back, she'll be all the more happy to see him.

She's chewing on her lip, sitting at the table making a list, when she hears the door open.

Shaz!

Gene told me of your arrival this morning, and I am so glad you're hear.  We're in room 6620, and if we're not in, we're around the bar somewhere.  Please stop by, or leave a message, letting us know where you can be found. We've so much to talk about, and I promise, it'll be over a bottle of really good plonk.

I look forward to seeing you again.

~Alex

She slept, and dreamt of fields of verdant green shrouded by the grey English sky.  A bell tolled in the distance, and in the mist, she could see ranks of her fellow officers, solemn in their black dress uniforms.  In their midst, six figures carried something heavy on their shoulders.  She can see the line of the casket, but it takes a moment for her to register what it is.  

There's a hole in the ground, clean edges, the mound of earth beside the grave covered with faux turf to hide the truth of it.  She can smell lilies and her favourite, white roses.  Evan has his arm around Mols shoulders, and her face looks so still.  She's been crying, Alex can tell.  But she's put a brave face on.

He's right, she knows.  She's strong, and resourceful.  She's going to be all right.  She is.

But it doesn't keep her from missing her daughter.  And it hurts.  Like nothing she's ever experienced.  A part of her knows she should look away, but she can't.  She watches as they lower the casket into the ground, listens as the pipes play, a haunting melody that puts voice to the ache in her heart.  It feels like a final goodbye, and she struggles to stay there as long as she can.

But there's another reality she belongs to now, softly snoring in bed next to her.  She opens her eyes, feeling the tears on her cheeks, and drinks in the sight of him.  His hair is mussed, and when he's asleep, she can see the outlines of that young man's face beneath the surface.  She thinks of Betty, and gently brushes a lock of his hair back from his face, tucking it behind his ear.

Betty knows what it's like to lose a child.  Two of them, even.  God, she hopes this place will afford her the chance to meet the woman again.  Anything is possible, here, isn't it?

Aren't they both proof of that?

[ cont'd from here ]

She dreams, fitfully. The same anguish plays itself out on her face, and at one point, she calls out. His name, desperate and pleading, as if willing him back from the edge of some precipice.