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.

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.