6, Elegy for the Dead
His comms go down exactly three seconds before the compound he's at blows. It's a huge explosion, beautiful in a morbid way – she can see the flames even from her position, almost a mile away.
Trip has to hold her down, or she'd run there, right into the fire, because even if she can't save him, it's still better to die with him than to live without him. He holds her until she falls to her knees, sobbing and crying and pleading and shouting. He holds her until the last fragment of her strength leaves her and she goes limp in his arms. Then he picks her up and brings her home.
She can't sleep. It's been hours, hours she's spent lying in his bunk, enveloped in his sheets, inhaling in his scent, and she's completely exhausted, but she just can't sleep.
Because there's no way he survived that explosion.
And she just can't rest in a world where he doesn't exist.
Finally, she slips into some strange half-state: she's not awake; she's not asleep. She sees the world around herself, but it's muted, far away.
Maybe that's why she doesn't move when the bunk door opens.
Her visitor doesn't say a word as he enters the tiny room, only sits down on the edge of the bed, slips his arms under her, and pulls her body up and against his, until her head is cradled in the nook of his neck.
She only realizes it's Grant when he presses a kiss to her forehead.
She pulls away a little, feeling slightly dizzy, and looks into his eyes. She can barely believe what she's seeing – his face is battered, yes, and covered in soot, and he smells of ashes and smoke, but he's there, and he's alive.
"It's you," she breaths. "I thought you were dead."
He just shakes his head slightly.
"I told you I'd never leave you alone."
She kisses him. And then, she can finally sleep.
