" 'To err is human'." Stephen knew Sarah meant her remarks as comfort and not as empty platitudes; still, the snippet of quotation he gave as answer sounded hollow, an unfit rejoinder to her earnest and inexpert attempts at consolation. If there was any disgust in it, it was all for himself, and not for her. It was of course just as pointlessly self-indulgent to speculate on easier paths not taken as it was to wish one exchanged for another. "How do you stand this?" How can you stand me?
...to forgive, divine. Sarah mouthed the words against his forehead and then pulled back to look at him. She knew he would not forgive himself easily for this thought or any of the other things he blamed himself for, but she would be here for him no matter what he did himself. She felt helpless, to a great extent, as she did want to ease this for him but she knew she could not truly - it was grief, there was no quick and permanent fix for it
( ... )
There were matters they did not talk about. This was one of them, and the most significant. Wine loosened the tongue, things said could not be unsaid, he would need to explain or else watch her worry about the many possibilities that might have been meant. And he would have to take great care not to misspeak. He was not at all sure he could manage this
( ... )
"You aren't an idiot," Sarah said fiercely though her tone was soft, tightening her fingers on his with a look just as fierce. He had told her he did not think of her while with River - yet another thing she had long ago accepted and really would have not have wanted changed. Just as she had his full attention when he was with her in those times, she wanted him to be the same with River. In a way, perhaps it was a desire to ease some small fraction of her guilt rather than anything good in herself desiring a balance for fairness' sake. None of it could have ever been fair
( ... )
She kissed his hand then and looked at him seriously. "You do understand how very much you mean to me, don't you?" she asked, and felt silly for the question but asked it just the same. "I would have gone through worse to have what I did, and I'd go through it again to keep what we have now. It's why I pushed and fussed when it wasn't wise, it's why I worry and it's why I want to do everything I can to make this... not easier, not bearable just... less," she flailed, at a loss for an appropriate word. "Everything that might have been hurtful or scary or any number of other things has been... worth it, for lack of a better term. For me... I'm not saying you do or should feel the same. It just has been for me."
Without turning his head, Stephen looked away. "There could have been another way. I could have tried to bargain with her." It was an ugly thought, and probably foolish. Later, when the last of the alcohol had left his system and he could think more clearly, he would remember the strong conviction to which Sarah had referred, and agree with his own former judgment: it had been wisest not to risk River's wrath, with Sarah's safety in the balance. In his present mood, he thought only that what was wise was not always what was right. The contradictions by which he had shaped and then rationalised his behavior now baffled him. He could not follow what had been his logic in the first place
( ... )
"You know better than I do if that would have been enough," Sarah said, and moved on from that issue. There was not more to say - he was in pain and she was not the type to make this about her by asking him if he would have been willing to take the chance with her safety by giving River the perfect opportunity to eliminate her when he could not protect her. She shivered slightly at the thought, though the air was chill around them as usual - it was a chill she was used to and hardly thought about normally with his own body heat to warm her... but now she was chilled.
She bristled a bit at the idea he needed to make amends to her in any way, that he was blaming himself for what she had said, what they had done. "You don't need to make amends to me," she said, tone tight with restrained agitation. "Dammit, there was only a train ride and airplane flight between here and Connecticut, I could have turned around and ran." Lies. Stubbornness in her posture and fire in her eyes, but what she had just spoken was a lie. She could not have
( ... )
"There is, though." He had caught her reluctance to name what she was, or had been. He knew her stubbornness for what it was, and knew he would never get her to agree with him openly on this point, but he was as stubborn, and he firmly believed he had wronged her. "We never discuss it, true. I'll not discuss it again if you wish me to keep silent. I'll not forget it, either, though." Not removing her hands from his face, he reached to draw her face to his for a kiss. "Nor will I repeat that slight if I can help it. What we did, we can justify or condemn by any number of arguments, but surely you must agree it was less than ideal and we both disliked concealing it." He wondered if this was why he had been so insistent, once River had been hospitalised, on appearing with Sarah in public, indiscreetly and unmistakably as a couple; some irrational overcorrection for the absolute secrecy he had insisted upon.
"Of course I don't wish you to keep silent," Sarah said, kissing him again lightly. "This is obviously important to you, so just because I agree doesn't mean you should stop. I'll agree with disliking concealing it and that it wasn't ideal because it's true for both of us, but I'm not agreeing with the rest," she continued firmly, shaking her head. "I don't want you to feel compelled to make up for that time as you seem to see it. I want you in the here and now
( ... )
"I love you too," he said, just as softly, and was quiet for a time. It was unusual for him to speak this much on such a topic. The drink had rather a lot to do with it, of course. Of this he was vaguely aware. Said awareness did not prevent a sudden perverse whim to drink more, merely prevented him from acting upon it. He missed his laudanum and Sarah's Dreamless Sleep Potion. Under the influence of their respective drugs, they could curl together and think of nothing at all.
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She bristled a bit at the idea he needed to make amends to her in any way, that he was blaming himself for what she had said, what they had done. "You don't need to make amends to me," she said, tone tight with restrained agitation. "Dammit, there was only a train ride and airplane flight between here and Connecticut, I could have turned around and ran." Lies. Stubbornness in her posture and fire in her eyes, but what she had just spoken was a lie. She could not have ( ... )
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He could not suggest returning to those drugs; she would take it as a rejection of the worst sort. She had chosen to give up her potion because it meant she could have time with him awake and aware. Still, the thought had a strong appeal.
"Things happen when we drink," he mumbled, inarticulate. " That time in that kitchen, for example."
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