(no subject)
Sawyer lies awake in bed beside Delia thinking about Death.
No, not about suicide or anything. That was Death with a capital "D".
He's going over the conversation in his head. There should have been more anger and yelling things like "Why did you take them? I was only eight!"... but there wasn't. In fact, on the spectrum of conversations he's had in the bar, that one was one of the more civil. Why?
I am what I am.
In the end, he supposes that's the root of it, why he can't blame her for his parents' death any more than he can blame Eris for the man who caused it all. They are what they are, and that's all there is to it.
Sawyer groans slightly and rolls over to try and get some sleep. He's doesn't want to show up looking haggard for dinner at Claire's tomorrow... and at that thought, the sound of Delia's rhythmic shallow breaths beside him makes him feel a little guilty. He quickly shoves that out of his mind, though; she knows what he is, and he's not obligated to her.
Still...
No, not about suicide or anything. That was Death with a capital "D".
He's going over the conversation in his head. There should have been more anger and yelling things like "Why did you take them? I was only eight!"... but there wasn't. In fact, on the spectrum of conversations he's had in the bar, that one was one of the more civil. Why?
I am what I am.
In the end, he supposes that's the root of it, why he can't blame her for his parents' death any more than he can blame Eris for the man who caused it all. They are what they are, and that's all there is to it.
Sawyer groans slightly and rolls over to try and get some sleep. He's doesn't want to show up looking haggard for dinner at Claire's tomorrow... and at that thought, the sound of Delia's rhythmic shallow breaths beside him makes him feel a little guilty. He quickly shoves that out of his mind, though; she knows what he is, and he's not obligated to her.
Still...