Author's Note:
Happy Birthday Squabble! I would have gotten you Ben Mansfield, but since I couldn't, here is this instead :D Sorry for this fic gift being overly angsty, my stories always turn out darker than they're meant to. Anyways, I still hope you don't completely hate it, and of course that you have an amazing birthday!
Becker had been shot, stabbed, bitten…everything you could possibly think of. Painful injuries that had left scars marring his skin. They had hurt, some of them much more than others, but he now realized he had never felt true pain. Not until now. The aching and burning elicited by the wounds were paled in comparison to what he felt now. This was a white hot pain that no amount of pain medication could ever hope to cure. It flared every time he remembered her scream as the raptor drug her off.
"Becker!"
It rang out in his mind loud and clear as he stood amongst everyone in attendance at the funeral. Sarah's face danced behind his eyes, a cruel reminder of the beautiful, amazing woman he hadn't been able to save. Everything about her, from her long, raven black hair to her dark brown eyes, haunted him. He closed his eyes and tried with no success to focus on his surroundings. All of his life, he'd been taught to stay alert and remain calm. It was the simple way of a soldier. But now, he found himself unable to do so. He couldn't stop thinking of Sarah Page, who he'd loved and lost before he had time to really process either event. One moment he had found himself falling in love with her, the next he had found himself attending her funeral. The sun hit his eyes, and a memory drifted forwards.
"We should get going now," he said to Sarah.
They'd been called out to take care of an anomaly on the coast, and she had a dreamy, contented look in her eyes as she walked along the shore. They had already taken care of the anomaly but she was reluctant to leave. Though he would never voice it, he couldn't say he blamed her. The warmth of the sun was a nice change from being inside the ARC almost constantly. Still, his job was to keep the all in line, so right now he needed to get Sarah back to the ARC.
"Don't be such a stick in the mud, Hilary." He stiffened at the use of his first name.
"How do you know my name?" he asked in a harsh whisper, catching up to her.
"I read the files," she shrugged. "I was bored."
"Do not ever tell anyone that," he hissed. Normally he could keep his composure in any situation, but the use of his first name? Very touchy subject.
"Of course Hilary."
"Sarah," he said warningly.
"Becker," she replied in a mockery of his serious tone.
"Do not call me Hilary," he said, finding that he couldn't even be properly mad at her.
"Make me," she teased back.
He was surprised to feel an actual smile pulling at his lips, given that he didn't smile very often. Even more surprised was he when their hands found each other without even meaning to. Their fingers laced together as they walked back to the ARC truck, the light breeze picking her hair up and blowing it around her face in a sight he found entrancing. He felt like such a girl for thinking it, but as they walked hand in hand, he realized something.
For the first time in a long time, possibly before since he had started at the ARC, he was happy. Genuinely, truly…happy.
His eyes snapped open. The memory dissolved into the back of his mind, leaving a bitter-sweetness in it's wake. He looked down at his palm, and though it had been absent of Sarah's touch for a long time, he felt the loss more than ever. The sunlight warming his face reminded him all too vividly of the memory that had again receded into the chaotic tangle of his thoughts, no longer making itself known. And though the memory was not as vivid anymore, the image of Sarah with her long hair swept into her eyes by the soft ocean breeze seemed forever ingrained in his mind.
That evening, after the funeral was over and everyone had long since left, he stood before her grave. The sun was slowly setting, painting the horizon a bright palette of reds and oranges as it relinquished the sky to the moon until morning. For several moments, he stood there silently, barely even breathing. He had remained stony and detached throughout the funeral, but now all of those repressed emotions were rushing to the surface. Hating himself for the tears that prickled in the corners of his eyes, he sunk to his knees in front of the marble headstone.
"Sarah, you were the most amazing woman I had ever met…Smart, beautiful, witty…Everything I had ever wanted. And when it came down to when you needed me most, I failed you. I let you be killed. Now there's nothing I can do to change it," he said. He didn't believe in angels or sprits and knew she would never here the words he spoke, but he still felt an irrational need to voice them.
"You meant more to me than I was ever smart enough to tell you. I should have said all this before it was too late, and I'm sorry. Sorry for not telling you, sorrier for not saving you. I should have been there when you needed me and I wasn't."
As he continued, he found that it was impossible to prevent his voice from cracking due to the lump growing in his throat. He tried and failed to swallow it back, to keep from letting his well maintained façade of professionalism crumble. Instead, a tear slipped down his face as he whispered his final words to her.
"I love you, Sarah Page. I did, and I always will."
"And I want these words to make things right, but it's the wrongs that make the words come to life." -Fallout Boy