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The first time he saw her, he decided that he loved her and that he was going to protect her from anything that tried to hurt her.
She had other ideas.
She was tiny, with skinny limbs and a long blonde ponytail down her back, and she knocked him on his ass like he wasn't twice her size. Dusting himself off and gazing after her retreating back, he told his best friend, "I'm going to marry her."
"That's gross," his friend said.
But he was determined, and once he had decided something, he very rarely admitted defeat. So his fate was decided at the age of nine.
As he grew up there were other girls, of course. But she was always there, a flicker at the edge of his vision that reminded him nothing less would suffice. He wouldn't settle for a girl half as fiery, half as beautiful, or any less than as brilliant as her. Once, in the eighth grade, her best friend Melissa had a party, one of the only parties he'd ever been to with girls there. At Melissa's urging they played a game of spin the bottle, which was mostly because Melissa was mooning over Brian McCall, but as she was younger than the rest of them he hadn't noticed her. She was hoping he'd be forced to kiss her. Personally, he'd been hoping for a kiss from the girl of his dreams, but both he and Melissa were disappointed, and had to kiss each other instead. She was nice, and she was pretty, and he liked her sense of humor, but somehow she never measured up. They went out for about a week, which by middle school standards was pretty serious, but they were both waiting for somebody else.
In high school she was brilliant and beautiful and perfect and everyone loved her, because why wouldn't they? But he couldn't get anywhere near her. She was nice to everybody and had time for no one. She and Melissa were still friends, but beyond that she mostly had a sea of admirers and occasional boyfriends, all of whom he hated. Mostly, it seemed lonely. He knew a thing or two about being lonely.
He asked her to prom. She said no.
They went to different colleges, on opposite sides of the country. She was in New York, studying theater, because she wanted to direct movies. He was at the University of California studying Criminal Justice. They didn't speak, because they didn't know each other anymore. Once, more than once, he considered just driving to New York and tracking her down, but thought better of it. He knew he should just let her go, but there was part of him, the stubborn part, that just didn't want to.
And then he graduated, and his dad got sick, and he moved back home, joined the force there. He took care of his dad until there was nothing he could do for him anymore, and he and his mom cried, and then his mom wouldn't stop crying, so he started taking care of her. His parents had been in love. Real love, the kind that made him so sure love was real. And without the love of her life, his mom stopped trying, and he had to try for both of them. And that was what was occupying all his thoughts when Melissa and Brian got engaged in a hurry, so he wasn't much aware of it until his invitation to the wedding arrived.
She was there.
Of course she was. She and Melissa had been best friends, once, even if they had grown apart, and she'd graduated as well, so she was free to come home for an old friend's wedding. Melissa looked beautiful, and the dress hid the slight curve to her stomach well, but at the reception he noticed she didn't drink any of the champagne. He did, however, and he was leaning against a wall with a glass in his hand when she leaned against the wall next to him. She was wearing a simple blue dress, and her long blonde hair curled over her shoulders.
"Haven't seen you in a long time," she said.
"Or you, I mean, I haven't... seen you either. Obviously." He cleared his throat, took another drink. "How've you been?"
"Fantastic," she said, shooting him a grin, and he fell in love with her smile all over again. "I'm moving back to town?"
"Oh, really?"
"Yep," she said, nodding. "I want to make movies, and California's the place to do it."
"But you're not moving to LA? I just mean, it seems like if you were looking into film making, you'd want to live in LA. Not that I want you to live in LA, I mean, I'm glad that you're moving back home, obviously, but I just mean..." he trailed off. "Sorry, I talk too much."
She laughed. "I like people who talk too much."
She didn't answer his question.
He kissed her that evening, after they'd sent Melissa and Brian off, and everyone was headed home. She said, "I guess I should get on the road," and he said, "Yeah, sure," and she smiled, and turned to leave, and then he caught hold of her, and spun her around, and planted one on her.
She laughed, but she didn't pull away, and he just stood there, kissing her, until uniformed servers politely kicked them out, and he had to let her go.
Nobody talked about it, but everyone knew when Melissa lost the baby. She came over to his house a couple of times, looking lost, like she couldn't remember what she was doing there. He thought maybe she just didn't want to be at home, where she couldn't forget. Eventually, though, something had to be done.
"Let me help you clear out the nursery," he said to her, one day, when she was sitting on his couch with a cup of coffee that had gone cold without her noticing. She visibly flinched. "You don't have to be there," he said. "I could get Brian to help."
"No you couldn't," she said. "He won't talk about it."
"Fine," he said. "Who then?"
He should have known who Melissa would call.
They cleared out the room together, painted over the cheery yellow walls, brought everything in boxes to the Goodwill, and then he held her while she cried, and then she picked herself up, dusted herself off, and took Melissa out drinking.
They called at two in the morning, too drunk to drive home, and he brought them to his house, knowing nothing would wake his mother, not even two very drunk women crying and laughing all over each other, until he finally tucked them into his bed, and slept on the couch.
She cooked him breakfast, better breakfast than he'd ever been able to manage on his own.
"Melissa went home," she said. "But she says thank you, too."
"Let me take you out to dinner."
She smiled at him, a little sadly. "You don't want me."
"All the evidence says otherwise."
"You just don't know me very well yet." She laughed. "I'm damaged goods."
"Not to me."
He took her to dinner.
His mother died, and she was there for him, and she held his hand during the funeral, and drove him home, and she slept in his bed with him that night.
And lots of nights after.
Sometimes they fought about stupid things. She broke things, he got quiet. He was always quieter when he was angry, or hurt. Surly, his mother called him. She got loud.
"You're so stupid!" she screamed. "Why can't you see this is never going to work, this, this thing? We're exactly wrong for each other, we always have been. Just because you had a stupid crush on me in high school-."
"I loved you."
She stopped. "What?"
"It wasn't a stupid crush," he said, mouth thin. "I loved you. Still do."
"Oh," she said, and she sat down, and cried.
"Oh, god," he said, and he sat down with her, wrapping his arms around her thin shoulders. "What? What is it?"
"I love you too," she sobbed.
"Good?" he said, confusion lacing his voice.
"I don't know when that happened," she said, still heaving sobs. "I wasn't supposed to fall in love with you. When did I fall in love with you?"
"No idea," he said. "But you know when I fell in love with you?"
She hiccuped a laugh. "When I turned fourteen and got breasts?"
"No," he said, wiping a tear off her cheek. "When we were nine years old, and I tried to take care of you, and you knocked me in the dirt and said, 'I can take care of myself'."
"Well," she said, looking at him. "I can."
"I know you can," he said. "But you don't have to."
"No?"
"No. We can take care of each other." He made a face reached into his pocket. "I was sort of saving this, I mean, I had this big plan and everything, but... here."
She took the box tentatively, opened it. "Really?" she said.
"Really."
They were married in a year, and within the next, she was pregnant. So was Melissa, again, and although they somewhat lost contact with her, in a small town, everyone knows everything about everyone.
They both had boys.
"I understand it's a weird name," she said. "But it was my father's name, and it's tradition, and it would be really, really, fantastic if you would say you were okay with this." She clasped her hands together, as if in prayer, and made her eyes into big, brown orbs he couldn't say no to.
"Okay," he said.
"Really?"
"Really," he said. "I love you. I just want you to be happy."
He had, too.
And they had been.
The last time he saw her, her thin limbs even thinner than usual, he knew that he loved her, but he also knew he couldn't protect her, and this time, she couldn't protect herself, either.
"When we were nine years old," he said quietly, holding her hand. "And that damn Chris Argent wouldn't stop pulling your ponytail, I thought I'd do anything to stop you from being hurt."
"Oh, honey," she said, her hand in his hair. "I know you would."
"I don't know what I'm gonna do without you."
"You'll be fine," she said. "You were always fine without me."
"I was never fine without you."
"Yeah, you were," she said, eyes damp. "You were always better than I was, always stronger. You've gotta be strong now."
"You don't think I know how strong you've been? You can't keep secrets from me, I know you too well." His eyes burned, and he bent his head to kiss the hand he held in his own. Her skin was papery, and she felt frail. She'd always been small, but he'd never seen her weak.
"I love you," she said.
"I love you too," he said, looking up at her. "I've always loved you."
"I know," she said. "I've loved you just as long. I've never stopped. I never will."
"You're..." He took a deep breath, swallowed. "You're the only woman in the world, Sarah. The best woman I've ever met. The best damn person I've ever met."
"I love you, too, John," she said, and took her hand from his. "Ready?"
"No," he said defiantly.
"Good," she said. "It might hurt my ego if you were."
He stood by her grave. He refused to acknowledge that he was standing by her grave. His son wouldn't get out of the car, but maybe that was best. He needed to say goodbye, and he didn't know how he could do it without breaking his son's heart all over again.
But in the end, there wasn't much left to say.