I don't own them.
Set after Bunker Hill.
Forgiven
„It's not your fault, Beka."
She looked at him as if in trance. What was he talking about? Why did he even bother to say such bullshit? Of course it was her fault. And his. It was all their fault. They let him down, betrayed him, left him alone to fight the most important battle of his life on his own. And lose it.
„Of course it is my fault. And yours."
„I couldn't help it."
„It doesn't matter, Dylan. We still betrayed his trust."
„There wasn't anything we could have done differently. Elsbeth...
„I don't give shit about Elsbeth, the Nietzscheans, the Commonwealth or its allies. This was about Harper. You know, the little guy who's always there for us, who helps us time and again, fixes our ships, supports us, saves our lives even if it gets him infected by Magog..."
„I know, Beka, I know..."
„If you know, then just shut up and stop giving me this crap about..."
She didn't get to finish. He simply turned his back on her and marched out of Command, almost running. He was sorry. Felt guilty. Good! If only it would help lessen the pain she felt, the shame that engulfed her for having not fulfilled her promises to Harper. Because of them, because of their stupid priorities their friend had been forced once more to witness the downfall of his home-world, face again the horrors of his childhood – go through all the things she once had sworn to him and herself that she would spare him from.
Placed in front of the small monitor, she sadly contemplated the small, lost frame shown alone on Obs Deck, gazing out at the stars.. His shoulders, his head bent forward, her friend looked the very image of loneliness and despair. She felt an urge to join him, comfort him, run to him and take him in her arms, whispering kind words and holding him close to her, promising... Promising what? Some more lies?
Time seemed to be suspended, existing only so that there was something left to kill in wrath, the seconds dragging on. As she watched Harper's back, Beka felt herself and him almost plunging into chained down lives of uniform sorrow, felt grief emerging almost palpably from his frame, giving birth to mistrust, felt hot tears of a desperate ‚Never again!'-plea burning hot in her eyes, resisting the urge to replace her guilt by defiance. And then she saw his shoulders sagging forward, saw them shake in sobs and felt herself more at a loss than ever before in her life. It was their darkest hour – and whoever had said that shared grief is easier must have been an idiot... or a Nietzschean.
Dragging her feet, she slowly left Command and headed for Obs Deck. If their lives were not to become mere shadows she had to help him now, help herself... all of them to reinvent the dreams they once used to share.
Marching along through the corridors for once not deserted, but filled with people from the other Commonwealth-ships as well, she kept to herself, avoiding all eye contact, displaying an absent air like that of people crowding the avenues of large drifts like Pier Point, the air that seems to make oneself transparent. Averting her eyes from everyone she met, but most of all from those who came in pairs, looking as if they liked each other, as if they enjoyed the other's company. Whenever she met groups she felt her throat tightening, hearing incessantly a small voice running through her head, telling her ‚This is what you just lost! All this pleasant banter, the soft rush of laughter, the intimacy of trust.' From now on this would be something she'd have a right to enjoy only in her dreams.
And then she was on Obs Deck.
„Harper!"
He turned around, his face white, the eyes bleak and hollow.
„Beka!"
And the most amazing thing happened. He held out his hands, stretching his arms to her, the expression on his face showing only relief to see her. The pained eyes lit up as if warmed by some unknown fire, telling her that he thought her beautiful and that he had been waiting for no one else but her. They told her that they were meant to hold each other, his voice repeating her name forcing the hateful one she had heard in her head back away, disappear.
„Beka!"
It sounded soft like a caress, a tender word from an unknown language, meaning an infinity of things like 'friendship' and 'forever', a multitude of sweet, little made-up things for children, that children would not believe, yet she let the voice wave gently around her.
And then she was holding him, slowly realising that in fact it was him holding her. There was no blame, no reproach, his script for their friendship didn't allow them in, keeping all harsh feelings at bay.
"I'm so sorry, Seamus!"
"I know."
"Will you ever... can you forgive me?"
"I'm your friend, Beka."
So very, very simple, really.