"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.
The second part, though, he had not told her to her recollection - at least not to this degree. It was important to keep focus, though, that he meant wanting physically, not needing emotionally. It had been uneven then because she had adored him, been devoted to him and missed him in ways more than just physical. It had taken much longer for him to follow with those emotions.
"And what purpose would it have served, to tell her and not have put it on the board for me to see?" she asked softly, knowing what she said next would smack of 'I told you so', but she would try to soften it. "You know why you didn't tell her when I mentioned telling her, I know you haven't forgotten the reason." She could not imagine River - because she could never see herself doing it - having left him had she known of Sarah and the memories, but Sarah knew River would have come after her and that was one thing she had never been truly prepared to deal with. In a way, before she knew of River's decline, she had lived in denial that such a meeting would ever come over all her time at Hogwarts. She had believed Stephen would protect her, even as she had feared leaving the grounds to risk being vulnerable.
While it was important to her that he was talking, she still did not know what all of this had to do with what she could 'stand.' It was all things in the past, what they had worked through the best they could at the time or they had just dealt with even if it had not been the best.
"I thought about you too," she said, bringing their joined hands to her cheek, trying to sort through all of this and likely missing the mark. "All the time, but not always in the way you thought about me. But I know you know that, that it was different for both of us for a long time. It still doesn't mean I look at it as something I had to stand - I didn't have to stand it then at all, I could have cried and clung and begged... but that's not me. But that was also then, in the past. So I still don't understand what exactly you are asking me, why the present tense and not the past... unless this is like when you asked me how I dealt with the memories - not quite a question so much as maybe advice? I don't have any more answers for you now than I did then."
She felt as though she was missing something here she should see, or that she just did not have all the parts necessary to see what motivated this. Maybe it was just about talking out loud? She honestly was not certain.
"Do you remember the first time I came to your office, that migraine I had? I had them... often from my sorting until that day in your office, no matter how mild or forceful the attack of memories. That was the last one I had, that day." She paused and sighed, struggling to make a point. "I can't explain it, but I do know that day was when I realized I wasn't alone anymore. No matter how far apart our time was and no matter how difficult things were, I knew I wasn't alone - that's how I 'stood it' then."
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.
"I could have offered to stay in one place always." He did not register how horrifying this must sound. To him, at this moment, it seemed preferable to have allowed himself to be placed under the equivalent of house arrest, limited to office and quarters and laboratory with River controlling his comings and goings, than to have incurred the guilt that weighed on him now. "She only cared about what was hers, she'd not have troubled with you then." Maybe.
His eyes found Sarah's face again, reading the worry in it. "What I was trying to ask -- I do not think I expected or wanted an answer, really -- I wondered how you could bear it. I remember very well what you thought of yourself because of me, because I had made you my mistress, and that was my doing and none of yours. You had wanted to tell her from the beginning, or wanted me to tell her, and I gainsaid it; and now we may never make amends for it, to her; which means I can never make amends for it to you, either."
"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 left even if leaving had been the wisest and best option. "You didn't make me your..." she caught on the word, hating it now despite its truth, the word feeling in ways as ugly to her as 'whore', "I was right there making the decision along with you. I didn't think what I did about myself because of anything you did, I thought it because I was drunk, and because of me alone. My own guilt, a myriad of ridiculous morals and values that didn't even fit into what the hell we were going through, but not you. Nothing you did ever made me feel like I was anything like that. You didn't make me and don't even try to prove your point by using age and experience as proof, because I won't buy it. I chose that, even if I was prompted to it by the memories. And forget what I originally said, what the hell did I know anyhow then? I said that before I even knew why I should keep quiet."
She took a deep breath and then another. This was ridiculous to argue a point she had just finally convinced herself of, even to try to make this all make sense. He was in pain, they had just recently been drinking and possibly had dealt with bits of the memory-selves in their earlier inebriated lovemaking - hardly the time for rationality. Another deep breath. She had to be there for him, this was his pain.... it was only hers because she hurt for him and felt all of her own guilt.
"My point is, Stephen," she said, tone again soft, look somewhat apologetic for her agitation, "you have nothing to make amends to me for, at all, ever." She worked her fingers free from his grasp and held both sides of his face, fingers gentle. "And I'm sorry you'll never be able to make amends for it to her." She was grappling with things here she did not have the experience to talk on - she had never lost someone at all close to her, so all she had was ideas. She also did not know River, but she could only see that River had to have loved him as much as he still loved her. "She loved you, and love makes us do surprising things. I know I don't need to tell you that, but I'm saying it anyway. I hate that you'll never know, that you'll never have that chance, but there's nothing I can do about that except be here for you. If it helps to talk about all of this, then we'll talk all night... as long as you understand there is no injury to me you have to make up for at all." Stubborn, defiant even right now, but still gentle.
"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."
What went unsaid was that if he every did repeat 'the slight' it would likely go unnoticed or not remarked upon. She felt all he had done was necessary and he had told her there would be things that hurt, like the radio broadcast did, and she had learned to not expect anything good and prepare for the worst. She would never see any of it as someway he had wronged her - and even if she had, what they had now well made up for it in her mind, and not because it was blissfully perfect but because it was real. They could be happy and still feel pain and guilt, the two opposites both had room to exist.
"I love you, Stephen," she said softly, one arm going around him again.
"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.
The second part, though, he had not told her to her recollection - at least not to this degree. It was important to keep focus, though, that he meant wanting physically, not needing emotionally. It had been uneven then because she had adored him, been devoted to him and missed him in ways more than just physical. It had taken much longer for him to follow with those emotions.
"And what purpose would it have served, to tell her and not have put it on the board for me to see?" she asked softly, knowing what she said next would smack of 'I told you so', but she would try to soften it. "You know why you didn't tell her when I mentioned telling her, I know you haven't forgotten the reason." She could not imagine River - because she could never see herself doing it - having left him had she known of Sarah and the memories, but Sarah knew River would have come after her and that was one thing she had never been truly prepared to deal with. In a way, before she knew of River's decline, she had lived in denial that such a meeting would ever come over all her time at Hogwarts. She had believed Stephen would protect her, even as she had feared leaving the grounds to risk being vulnerable.
While it was important to her that he was talking, she still did not know what all of this had to do with what she could 'stand.' It was all things in the past, what they had worked through the best they could at the time or they had just dealt with even if it had not been the best.
"I thought about you too," she said, bringing their joined hands to her cheek, trying to sort through all of this and likely missing the mark. "All the time, but not always in the way you thought about me. But I know you know that, that it was different for both of us for a long time. It still doesn't mean I look at it as something I had to stand - I didn't have to stand it then at all, I could have cried and clung and begged... but that's not me. But that was also then, in the past. So I still don't understand what exactly you are asking me, why the present tense and not the past... unless this is like when you asked me how I dealt with the memories - not quite a question so much as maybe advice? I don't have any more answers for you now than I did then."
She felt as though she was missing something here she should see, or that she just did not have all the parts necessary to see what motivated this. Maybe it was just about talking out loud? She honestly was not certain.
"Do you remember the first time I came to your office, that migraine I had? I had them... often from my sorting until that day in your office, no matter how mild or forceful the attack of memories. That was the last one I had, that day." She paused and sighed, struggling to make a point. "I can't explain it, but I do know that day was when I realized I wasn't alone anymore. No matter how far apart our time was and no matter how difficult things were, I knew I wasn't alone - that's how I 'stood it' then."
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"I could have offered to stay in one place always." He did not register how horrifying this must sound. To him, at this moment, it seemed preferable to have allowed himself to be placed under the equivalent of house arrest, limited to office and quarters and laboratory with River controlling his comings and goings, than to have incurred the guilt that weighed on him now. "She only cared about what was hers, she'd not have troubled with you then." Maybe.
His eyes found Sarah's face again, reading the worry in it. "What I was trying to ask -- I do not think I expected or wanted an answer, really -- I wondered how you could bear it. I remember very well what you thought of yourself because of me, because I had made you my mistress, and that was my doing and none of yours. You had wanted to tell her from the beginning, or wanted me to tell her, and I gainsaid it; and now we may never make amends for it, to her; which means I can never make amends for it to you, either."
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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 left even if leaving had been the wisest and best option. "You didn't make me your..." she caught on the word, hating it now despite its truth, the word feeling in ways as ugly to her as 'whore', "I was right there making the decision along with you. I didn't think what I did about myself because of anything you did, I thought it because I was drunk, and because of me alone. My own guilt, a myriad of ridiculous morals and values that didn't even fit into what the hell we were going through, but not you. Nothing you did ever made me feel like I was anything like that. You didn't make me and don't even try to prove your point by using age and experience as proof, because I won't buy it. I chose that, even if I was prompted to it by the memories. And forget what I originally said, what the hell did I know anyhow then? I said that before I even knew why I should keep quiet."
She took a deep breath and then another. This was ridiculous to argue a point she had just finally convinced herself of, even to try to make this all make sense. He was in pain, they had just recently been drinking and possibly had dealt with bits of the memory-selves in their earlier inebriated lovemaking - hardly the time for rationality. Another deep breath. She had to be there for him, this was his pain.... it was only hers because she hurt for him and felt all of her own guilt.
"My point is, Stephen," she said, tone again soft, look somewhat apologetic for her agitation, "you have nothing to make amends to me for, at all, ever." She worked her fingers free from his grasp and held both sides of his face, fingers gentle. "And I'm sorry you'll never be able to make amends for it to her." She was grappling with things here she did not have the experience to talk on - she had never lost someone at all close to her, so all she had was ideas. She also did not know River, but she could only see that River had to have loved him as much as he still loved her. "She loved you, and love makes us do surprising things. I know I don't need to tell you that, but I'm saying it anyway. I hate that you'll never know, that you'll never have that chance, but there's nothing I can do about that except be here for you. If it helps to talk about all of this, then we'll talk all night... as long as you understand there is no injury to me you have to make up for at all." Stubborn, defiant even right now, but still gentle.
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What went unsaid was that if he every did repeat 'the slight' it would likely go unnoticed or not remarked upon. She felt all he had done was necessary and he had told her there would be things that hurt, like the radio broadcast did, and she had learned to not expect anything good and prepare for the worst. She would never see any of it as someway he had wronged her - and even if she had, what they had now well made up for it in her mind, and not because it was blissfully perfect but because it was real. They could be happy and still feel pain and guilt, the two opposites both had room to exist.
"I love you, Stephen," she said softly, one arm going around him again.
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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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