AN: Saw a prompt and just had to write something. Edited because I like my version.
Margaret Ellen Sawyer.
When they call her name, she walks across the stage, looking directly at the principal and nowhere else. She doesn't wait for the photographer, doesn't strike a pose to be memorialized for years to come. It's graduation day – the most momentous occasion in her life to this point – and all she wants to do is get as far away from the event as possible. She had thought it would be okay, knowing that they wouldn't come to make a scene. But instead, the empty chairs that she knows are there only serve as a slap in the face, a reminder of everything she has lost.
She feels like an alien, sitting among all of the white, smiling faces, hearts and minds filled to the brim with happiness at the possibilities life presented. If only she could hold a fraction of that, then maybe, just for a little while, it would be better. But she can't, not here. Not in this auditorium, not in Blue Springs, not surrounded by families who loved and cared for their children. Each successive name and corresponding cheer jabs at her heart, twisting the knife just a little deeper, until she's numb. She's grateful as she feels it wash over her, taking away the pain. And if no one sees the single tear tracking its way down her face? All the better.
Margaret Ellen Sawyer.
The words boom out across the space, filling her at once with equal parts pride and dread. This was what she had worked for. The late nights, the early mornings, the hours spent pouring over books and research in a vain attempt to squeeze just a little more out of herself to achieve perfection. She hears the cheers in response – few though they were – from the friends she has made here, the little haven that she had carved out from the cruelty of reality. It's easier this time. She allows a moment of emotion, allows herself to look straight at the camera as the dean congratulates her. Because nothing, not even the people who were supposed to love her most turning their backs on her, is going to take away from this.
So she lets herself relax around the families, lets herself partake in their joy. The black gown and the cap throwing and the shifting of the tassel: she's got it all down. She takes photo, and has them taken of her, and she just is. She accepts congratulations and congratulates in return. The numbness is there, and the hole in the pit of her stomach, but today everything is bearable. And, later, much later, when it isn't, she finds that she can drown everything in alcohol. Because, after all, any good scientist knows that it's a solution!
Margaret Ellen Sawyer.
Graduation from the Academy is a group affair, and she's never been happier to be a member of a herd. Except that she's the honor recruit, so they have to call her up, single her out as the shining example of what every recruit should strive to be. Only, she isn't. Police officers are meant to fix things, and the only thing she can seem to fix is herself. Lately, she hasn't even been doing a good job of that. It had been stupid to invite them, but she had thought – no, hoped – that after all this time they could see it in themselves to be there and support her. She should have known better.
The angry letter had come only a few days ago, reminding her that they wanted no part in her life. That she was a wayward soul who could never be loved as long as she carried on her wanton path of destruction. That she was damaged goods. Which was how she found herself here, hungover with the eyes of three hundred people looking to her to deliver something profound. All she could do was stare straight ahead and babble some nonsense about serve and protect, taking care not to look at the seats that had been marked reserved specifically for her.
At least the pounding in her head drowned out her thoughts. It was hard to feel sorry for yourself when all of your energy is expended on making your smile reach your eyes and your back stay straight. When her colleagues introduce her to their families, she doesn't try to reciprocate. And when they raise their eyebrows, she redirects them, jokes with them, asks them about their kids or their lives. So no one questions it, and she goes on through the day until she collapses in her bed.
Margaret Ellen Sawyer.
The Deputy Commissioner barely has time to get the words out before the cheers erupt. She's encompassed in a sea of officers, decked out in their finest blues, and all she wants to do is find the source. The person in the room she knows with absolute certainty is there for her. Because despite everything her parents have said to her, she can be loved. The new family that she's made for herself proves that, and they never let her forget it.
When the ceremony is over, she finds her way to the back, picking up several pats on the back along the way. The chief of the Science Division, the Extranormal Affairs Liaison, her partner. All of them want to congratulate her on a promotion well earned. She stops and talks for a moment, just enough time to exchange platitudes and give her thanks, until each notices how eager she is to move on. Because there, standing in a corner, is the only person she has ever needed to cheer her on.
Their lips meet, and she swears that nothing has ever been as amazing as this kiss. No matter the heartache she has come to associate with her success, the let downs, or the wasted time spent trying to reconcile herself to something that will never change. Today, here, in this moment, everything else is forgotten.
"Congratulations, Sergeant Detective Margaret Ellen Sawyer."
Her name has never sounded so sweet as from the mouth of Alex Danvers, and damn, if she isn't going to spend the rest of her life listening for it.