Heather took in the last batch of daily reports to Beck. He'd been doing better. He was understandably quiet and sad, but he wasn't ignoring it anymore. He'd even taken to putting his picture of them on his desk while he was working. It was getting awfully worn; she made a note to see if she could find any way to laminate it – a frame wouldn't fit in his helmet. She gave him a supportive smile as she laid the reports in his tray.
"Good night, major." She walked towards the door.
"Heather – " She stopped, turning back.
"Yes?" She noticed he seemed uncertain, hesitant to speak. Very atypical.
"I – does it ever get any easier?"
She looked at his face. His expression was nervous and vulnerable as he unconsciously touched the picture. She imagined he was seldom forced to ask for help. She chose her next words carefully.
"Well, you'll never stop missing them. But eventually it'll stop hurting quite so much."
"Eventually?"
"Yeah. It takes time. It only seems like forever."
He paused, eyes focused on a point only he could see. She waited.
"Heather, um, do you mind if I ask - ?"
"Car accident, freshman year of college. My parents were killed instantly; my sister - I wasn't able to get home in time to say goodbye."
"I'm sorry."
"I buried myself in my studies. I'd always been a good student, but I got straight A's for the first time ever. The only time I thought about them was in the dark of night, alone in bed." She saw recognition in Beck's eyes, and sensed he wanted to speak; she let him.
"Do the dreams ever stop?"
"No. But the nightmares do." She picked up where she left off. "When summer rolled around, I stayed at school, enrolling in courses that I thought would keep me busy. I thought I could keep it up. But, in the summer, things slow down whether or not you have classes; the campus is empty and quiet. I wasn't able to distract myself anymore."
"How'd you get through it?"
"My friend, she'd stayed over the summer too. I think she saw it coming."
"That's a good friend."
"She was." He raised an eyebrow at the past tense. "Chicago."
He nodded, reflecting on how so many conversations these days ended by naming a city. He made a decision.
"Would you like a drink?"
Two hours and several drinks later (drunken solely by Beck; Heather had taken one whiff and declined), they sat in his dark office, the last two people in the building.
"Valente lied to me. I should have known better. I was so stupid." Beck lamented, slurring slightly.
"No, not stupid. Just human, sir."
He snorted ruefully.
"I'm off duty, and you're listening to my drunken ramblings. Use my name."
"Ok…Edward."
"Ahh, better. It's been so long since I could respond to my own name." He took another sip of his drink.
"You're sure you don't want any?" he asked, gesturing at a point about three inches above the bottle.
"I'm sure." She reconsidered briefly. "On second thought, give me the bottle." He handed it to her, and she took it and locked it up, putting the key in her pocket.
"Hey!"
"You've had enough. I don't even think you can get back to base camp as it is."
"Sure I can." He protested, lurching to his feet.
"Riiiight. Why don't you crash here tonight? I'll get you some bedding." She looked at him attempting to move. "Sit down. I'll be right back."
The next morning, the staff arrived to find Beck's blinds closed. Any attempt to enter the office was intercepted by Heather. (She had gone home, after asking a discreet sentry to check in on him every so often, but had come back early.) The major finally emerged, clearly hung over but trying to act like he wasn't. The staff played along, understanding. (They were frankly surprised it hadn't happened the day he'd gotten the letter) There were grateful looks directed at Heather for looking out for him, for helping their CO when they couldn't.
Towards the end of the day, Heather walked in Beck's office without a word and placed the key on his desk. Before she could remove her hand, he covered it with his.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
He released her hand and she left the office.