“Conn,” She whispered, but there was only the faintest shade of disapproval in her voice. She’d moved the tiniest bit closest to him, letting her fingers touch his in a measure of comfort. It was strange, to be thrown back into the present world after living a year of her life with no other human than Connor. Decisions about every aspect of life had been left up to the two of them. They had learned to rely only on themselves. There were other people now, people other than Connor. Decisions could fall onto Lester’s shoulder, Becker’s – Matt, who she hardly knew, could have a say in what she did in the next five minutes.
She wasn’t ready for that just yet. It was a major adjustment she wasn’t yet sure how to process. Things that they’d known – people they loved – were gone. Abby was no stranger to death. None of them were. But it was different to see the evidence for yourself, to know, than to come back after a year and suddenly be told that one of your dearest friends was no longer going to walk in through the door.
Abby swallowed and pushed dirty hair back from her face. “He’s right, Becker.” The words were soft, almost caught in her throat. “You can’t blame yourself. This isn’t your fault.” The zoologist wanted to reach out and touch his hand, maybe throw her arms around him for the second time that day, but it wasn’t her place and if current observations were anything to go by, Danny had that under control.
”I’m really sorry.”
Her eyes filled with tears she had no intentions of shedding. A year in the Cretaceous and she hadn’t let Connor see her cry – not once. She’d waited to let despair rip through her when he was gone, the brief moments they were separate. She took moments in the small lake they’d had, washing up, to let the tears overflow and the grief crush her. Because no matter what she’d believed, she hadn’t been able to let Connor see just how much she knew they wouldn’t be going back. Not until the very last days, the days when she’d hardly been able to hold it in anymore.
”Me too.”
“Becker,” She murmured, voice just as soft as his. There was a hint of admonishment in her voice, just enough to let him know that she didn’t approve of his guilt.
”Me too.”
Blue eyes flickered closed for just an instant, a second that she saw every moment of the past year fly across closed lids. “You never gave up on us.” She said with a swell of gratitude. “You didn’t … forget about us.” Her voice cracked on the word and her eyes went to the ceiling in an attempt to compose herself. “Thank you.”