He had never once said the words “I love you.” Not as a child, not as a teenager, not even the time when he had actually thought it. The woman... Melody, his memory supplied in a whisper, Melody. He had loved her, he realized now that he was dying, he had loved her passionately. But never once had he thought to say the words.

*The Past*

He laid there, the narrow cot that they were assigned starting to bug the hell out of him. It was bad enough that it barely fit him, but having the tall black woman shoving at him to try and get her space wasn’t helping. “Hey,” she said, leaning over him. “You are takin’ up too much space.”

“I’m bigger than you are,” he told her, deliberately moving so he was taking more space.

“It doesn’t matter, you’ve got a mission to go on, don’t you?” she demanded, poking him in the side. “Little boys should never be late for their appointments.”

He looked at her, his eyes narrowing darkly. “There is NOTHING little about me,” he growled, rolling so she was beneath him. She was so damn beautiful to him, he thought, reaching up to touch her cheek--her oval face and large, golden eyes, her full, perfectly shaped lips. “Old ladies shouldn’t mock their--“

What? Part time lovers? Boy toys? There it was, wasn’t it? That line that had been drawn before their very first kiss. The eighteen year old boy had known exactly what he would be before it ever happened. She was in her mid twenties, he was barely out of training. Who knew how many others she had wrestled in bed like this, how many others she had looked up at with a teasing little smile.

“Clint?” she said. “Clint, they’re sending me to another outpost.”

He went still before he stood, heading for the closet naked to get his things. “When?” he asked blandly. He wouldn’t look back at her, he admitted. He couldn’t.

“Today.”

“And you just thought to tell me now?” he said, turning on her. She was curled up in the middle of the cot, her long legs hugged to her chest, her chin resting on her knees. For a second his heart broke at the sight of her like that. “That’s fine,” he went on. “It’s not as if this was anything serious.”

There was a flicker of hurt that crossed her face before she nodded. “Yeah,” she agreed. “It was just... fun.”

He got dressed. And he walked out of the room without ever looking back.

A month later he found himself handed a folded piece of paper, his name written across it in very familiar handwriting. “Wh--what--“ he said, looking at the young girl that had delivered it to him.

“She had this,” the girl said quietly. “She said that if she died... she wanted it sent to you.” She turned and walked away, leaving him holding the paper with slightly trembling hands that he would never admit to having.

Slowly he unfolded it, each movement burdened by the knowledge that she was gone. A month after their last words, their last kisses--

Dear Clint,

I hope this letter finds you well. I--I have reached my new outpost and things are--they’re good. It isn’t the same, of course, I don’t suppose any outpost ever is--

Clint, I miss you. I tell myself every day that I should call you, that I should write, but I can’t. Any moment I’m sure I’m going to die, and you don’t need that, not when you’re still so young. For you it really wasn’t serious, I know that. It’s for the best. But for me, I--thank you. You gave me a memory that keeps me going every day. I just wish that... I wish that I had told you sooner.

I loved you, you know.
Melody

Slowly he folded the sheet back up. He stared down at it, wishing he had never gotten it, but at the same time--

He slipped the paper into his pocket. He wanted to burn it, or throw it away, but he couldn’t. Instead he headed into the outpost, his face not showing the turmoil that was in his mind. His thoughts were laden with memories that he had shoved aside, forced himself to forget about. All of them were back now as if they had just happened. Each touch, each laugh, each word...

*The Present*

He wanted to see her again. Maybe... maybe, finally, now he could. Slowly the world faded away completely, leaving only a bright light, beckoning him forward.

“Clint.”