Regrets
Summary: Some operatives are sent on missions that they don't return from. Joan's best friend was one of them. A fic in honor of International Day Of The Disappeared.
A/N: August 30 was International Day of the Disappeared, the day dedicated to those who are missing or separated from their families because of war or disasters. This story is a tribute to the disappeared, who, like Lara, Joan's friend, will never again see their family or friends.
Disclaimer: I don't own Covert Affairs.
Five Years Ago
Joan shot out of her chair. White with shock, she tried and failed to ask questions before sinking back down into her seat.
The intern who had brought her the news muttered something about paperwork and hastily exited her office. Joan hardly noticed. Her thoughts were all on Lara Terron. Her best friend.
The operative who wouldn't be coming home.
Hiding her face with her hands, the normally stern Joan broke into sobs. "Lara," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." Placing her face on her desk, she gave herself over to the tears.
Present Day
Ever since Lara's death, Joan had visited the Memorial Garden once a year on the anniversary of her last mission. The two had always loved coming there together just to talk, to admire the landscaping, and sometimes merely sip lattes. But after Lara died, Joan avoided the place. It held too many memories, from the day they'd met to their last argument.
The one Joan had never apologized for.
Today, however, Joan entered the garden without reluctance.
Carrying a bouquet of gladiolas, Lara's favourite flower, she sat down in the gravel by the pond. Leaning back against the bench and looking over at the miniature waterfall, Joan allowed herself to be calmed by the sounds of the water and birds.
Opening her eyes suddenly, Joan realized she had fallen asleep. But that was forgotten when she saw who was sitting across from her.
It wad Lara.
Smiling at Joan, she said, "Hello."
"Lara?" asked Joan, incredulous.
"The one and only." Moving over to sit by Joan, she whispered, "I'm sorry."
"What for?" Joan burst out. "It's my fault we got in that argument. I was the one who said I was the better officer, and wouldn't let you say anything before I stalked off. I'm the one who should be apologizing! It's my fault you died, Lara! If I hadn't said those things, you would still be alive. I committed the ultimate betrayal. And I never got to tell you I was sorry for what I said." Quietly, repentantly, she whispered, "I'm sorry, Lara. I'm sorry."
"Joan," Lara said quietly, "What you don't remember about our argument was that I baited you into saying those things. I was mad at you for some petty reason- a borrowed book, wasn't it?- and wanted to make you say that so I could prove I was better than you. And then, on the mission, I did something foolish. I went into a deserted building on my own, all because I wanted to prove what I'd tricking you into claiming was false. I was reckless. My death was my own fault, sweetie, not yours. Don't blame yourself for my own lack of judgement."
Joan was crying freely by then. Lara gently brushed away her friend's tears. She gave Joan a hug and stood up. "Your dream is drawing to a close," she said softly. "But remember, Joan, I'm dead. Don't be so concerned by those who have passed that you neglect those who still live." Her voice and form were both fading, Joan's dream cycle drawing to a close. "I love you, Joan."
"Love you, too," Joan mumbled as she awoke. Opening her eyes in the crisp fall afternoon, she knew she had been dreaming. But she also knew that her conversation with her friend wasn't just in her mind.
Lara was dead, but true friendships couldn't be broken by anything.
Not even death.