Who Will Count The Stars?
"Oh, come on, Leo, look at the stars!"
"It's Leonard."
"Don't be such a sourpuss." Allison rolled over next to him, her golden hair splayed out beneath her and a smile playing across her perfect lips. "Just look at them."
Leonard continued to stare at her, more interested in her beauty than that of the night sky, but she grabbed his hand. "Look with me."
He sighed and turned his eyes upward. His girlfriend snuggled closer on the blanket, clinging warmly to him as she gazed up at the twinkling lights, their brightness reflected in her sweet eyes.
"I wonder how many there are."
"Well, the universe is continually expanding, and we can barely even begin to see all the stars from Earth, but of those that we can see, excluding the planets of course, there are approximately—"
"Wow. You really know how to ruin something good, don't you?"
His head snapped towards her, afraid that she might be serious. But instead of a frown, all he saw was that playful smile, brightening her features and softening her words.
"Heh. Yeah, I guess I do. Sorry." He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, turning to look back up at the stars.
"You have absolutely no sense of wonder," she smirked, and the two laid there for a few minutes, utterly content.
"But, if you are gonna be that way," Allison began suddenly, a mischievous tone to her voice as she turned on her side, propping her head up with one arm as she stared fondly at him, "Then I'll tell you what. If you really want to know, I'll count them for you. When I go up into space, every time I see a new star, every planet I land on, I'll count it for you, okay? That way you'll know."
Leonard smiled. "Sounds like a plan."
Allison rolled back onto her back, grinning at the stars.
"Sounds like."
There was nothing left to bury. The planet she had died on had been glassed, everything on the surface burnt out of existence. All they ever got was a letter from the UNSC.
"I regret to inform you that Allison Church has been killed in action," it read, and proceeded to relate the few details that were deemed insignificant enough to be released. Leonard crushed the letter in his hand as soon as he read those words, unable to bring himself to read the rest. It didn't matter. She was gone, and that's all there was to it.
Their daughter didn't understand, and it took everything Leonard had left to explain to her that her mother wasn't coming back this time. When it finally hit, the little girl cried for hours. Leonard stayed with her until she cried herself to sleep, but his mind was elsewhere. He pulled the covers over her frail, shivering form and slowly left the room, flicking off the light switch and letting his feet carry him to his office.
He sat down at his desk and turned on his computer, his actions mechanical and mindless. Once it was on, he quickly swept the mouse over to the e-mail icon. He paused, his heartbeat seeming to slow in his chest. She was gone. There wouldn't be a message from her today.
He pushed away from the desk and made to get up, but sat back down and turned back to the computer. He needed proof. And he needed to see her.
The mouse clicked open his inbox. Empty. His heart sank, all hope crushed as he moved to the folder he had saved all of her messages to. He spent hours reading through them, watching the videos she would send of herself and her squad mates, the one he took of her before she left, the recordings of her reading stories to help their daughter sleep, everything.
By the time he had finished, his eyes hurt from the light and the tears. He took off his glasses, wiped them, and cleaned his eyes before putting them back on. A few more moments were spent staring at the screen before he sighed and moved the cursor to the exit button. Then the computer dinged.
"New Message: Allison" flashed on the top of his screen, and he removed his glasses again and rubbed his eyes. There was something in his inbox. He clicked back to his e-mails, finding the newest one. His eyes widened at the sender's address, then he noticed the time. It was sent the morning before she died. She was still gone.
Leonard paused, desperate to read her final words but afraid of what they might be. He got up, paced around the office twice, then sat down. He could not ignore it, and he needed her with him. It might just be a message, but in his mind it was enough.
He opened the message, and a laugh immediately erupted from his lips, followed by a sick feeling somewhere in his gut.
"+1 more, Leo. That makes 61 stars and 34 planets!"
He leaned back in his chair, looking out of the nearby window and up at the night sky, the same they had gazed at all those years ago, the same that she had gone up into, and the same that had taken her from him.
Who would count the stars, now?