Disclaimer: None of them belong to me.
Set after "Pride Before The Fall". Beka's POV.
Promise
„I really know how to pick'em..."
„Hey! You've picked me, haven't you?"
Indeed I have, Dylan. Oh yes, I have, and from now on I'll never again forget it, I swear! Because, you see, I finally know now that from your very first, angry „Walk with me!" and to this very day you did not simply just order me by your side, but stuck yourself by me, with might, determination – and a lot more faith in me than anyone else I know ever came up with so far. You once said you owe me more than you can tell. I owe you, too, you know – I owe you for making me more alive and a lot more me than I would have thought possible. As I also owe you for knowing the answer to the incessant question you must have been asking yourself time and again: „Why do I put up with her?" I never knew how you do answer this question to yourself, I still don't know and frankly, I don't really care, because I simply know by now that you just always will. That's good enough for me.
And so I will go on day after day, waking up each morning as early as I can to meet with you as soon as possible, not willing to miss out on our very first dance of easy jokes and banter, when all is still a bit fragile, when the urgencies of the day, that take us off-beat and make dreams so difficult, have not shown up yet...
Even here, in this world that we still don't know, where we are still strangers and likely to remain so, and that we'll always watch more from far above than really from within, in this world that seems just about ready to sail away without actually knowing where it's sailing to, towards which new battles, towards which new horizons, which oddly dried out plains... Even here you manage to get me dancing in the rain, to wrestle a new, surprised smile out of me just when I start thinking that I've finally figured you out... Because even here you make the wolves retreat back into the darkness, you bring down all those much too eager guys, who can never cease shouting their ideas too loud to all those crowds too eager to start marching under their much too shiny banners... Even here you're not afraid to die for an idea, but reserve your right to decide for yourself which one is worth dying for...
I do promise, Dylan, that from now on I'll never again try to pull my hand out of yours, that I'll tell my head and my heart to hold on to you tightly, no matter which way the winds will try to blow us to. No matter how much things are changing and how much more they will continue to change: with you I'll always have... I already have a headstart on it all.
And later on, someday, when all struggles are over, we will just enjoy all those things too precious and too simple to even speak about: the taste and smell of oranges, the sound of children laughing, the sight of white skirts in the sun, gardens like the ones your father used to draw... and an endless time to do nothing but live.
And then you'll never have to ask yourself once more, when all of this will be turned upside down again. I will see to it that it won't happen again. Not to you, not to me, not to anyone of us. I promise you that much.
Because I have picked you, Dylan. And for this one time I know that I got it right.
