Sarah did not even wait for the bath to finish filling before sliding in, using the sound of running water to disguise a heaving sigh before she ducked her face into the water. She had to believe that the only think that mattered was she had believed in the force of his protectiveness then, whoever it was, and that he still had it now - or, in lack of that belief, try to cling to the delusion that pain had made what he said come out wrong, that regret and guilt were more powerful forces drunk than sober. Or she could just feel pathetic about washing her face far longer than necessary.
It was a few minutes before Stephen reappeared, now dressed in his standard worn jeans and one of the strange T-shirts he had picked up at the wizarding equivalent of a thrift store ("they are all still serviceable"). He leaned against the frame of the bathroom doorway and said nothing, but watched Sarah with an inscrutable expression.
Peering over the edge of the washcloth in her hands, Sarah said nothing as well, simply noted the expression and then ducked her head completely under the water. When she emerged a moment later, she pushed her hair back and reached for the shampoo, then looked at him again as she turned off the water, never very good herself at expressions that were impossible to decipher.
"Unless you prefer standing in the doorway, you might as well come sit," she said, pointing to the edge of the tub before working the shampoo into her hair. Despite how she felt and despite having had to mask a betraying wetness in her eyes with the cover of water, she had no more desire to have him out of the room than she did in distancing herself when she had the ability to walk out of the room.
"If I sit I shall get wet again, which rather defeats the purpose of having dressed," he pointed out, not unkindly. He did come in, though, and leaned against the counter, facing the tub and Sarah.
"The side of the tub isn't wet and I had no intention of splashing you," Sarah said and shrugged, slender fingers working through her hair. She looked up at him, noting which shirt he had chosen and then looked down as she reached the parts of her hair she could see, giving the task more attention than it really did require. Tangles were dispatched with in a way that might have been far fiercer than normal, but she said nothing as she continued.
"Unless you dried it, the side does usually become somewhat damp from the shower curtain," he pointed out. Showers were not an early 19th-century fixture, and he still treated them with interest and care. He refrained from remarking that it looked as though she had a mind to pull her hair out. His socks were wet; he had stepped in a puddle.
It was not his way to bring up something uncomfortable. He wanted to be near her, and so he stayed, but he had nothing to say, nothing formed in his mind to say aloud at least.
"The part where I was sitting is dry, that's what I meant," Sarah said, still focused on her hair. She wanted him near as well and would have been the one to bring up what they had been discussing further, but she was not certain what to say now that he had left the room previously with no further comment on what she had last said. What was she supposed to do, cling to him and beg him to take back the parts she did not like just because she was unable to accept it? She nearly said something about the things she herself had said last night, even looked up at him to say so, but shook her head and looked down again. Even if she did say something, tried to explain what she said had been old hurt roused by anger and not how she felt now unless events and action that had caused that hurt would be returning, she knew it would do no good
( ... )
His eyes caught that movement of her lip and he wanted to kiss her suddenly. Now was not the time; he remained where he was. "You were never safe. Did I ever say you were? Did I say you were, last night? What I said was that I thought I could have bargained." And he stopped there, because the terms under which he thought he might, possibly, have been able to protect both his conscience and her safety would not be terms that allowed them to see one another, let alone develop what they had now. In essence, he saw now, what he had proposed was to sacrifice the present state of their bond for the sake of his own peace of mind. It was a cruel bargain to suggest, let alone to profess a willingness to enact
( ... )
Water to rinse out her hair forgotten, Sarah listened, shaking her head. "You said she wouldn't have troubled me if you had stayed in one place, something you were..." She moved in the water, trailing off, as she did not even want to think about him willing, while sober and in the light of day, to trade all of this. She focused elsewhere for the moment before pushing her hair back out of her face and looking at him.
"From the very beginning you were so certain the best course of action for my safety was exactly what we did," she said, posture stiff. "All along you said that and now you've looked back and changed your mind? Despite trying to let it go last night thinking you were just hurting and thinking you'd wake up and go back to your original opinion, now this morning it's 'the truth
( ... )
He turned away then, back to Sarah, but that meant the bathroom mirror was in front of him now; Sarah could easily have seen the pain in his face. Eyes downcast, picking out a pattern in the marble grain of the counter, he spoke haltingly.
"What we did was the best thing for your safety, yes. I still believe that. It was the surest way to keep you safe, barring my keeping away from you entirely of my own volition, which I could not manage." A sigh. "I would have given anything to keep you safe, and you know it." From the very beginning he had felt a fierce protectiveness of her, surprising in its strength given he hardly knew her. "I suppose it weighs more heavily on me than I had allowed myself to realise."
Sarah saw it clearly enough even with the way she was turned and she blinked, eyes burning again with held-back dampness. That what he was saying was a relief was dampened at her upset over bringing on that look. "Stephen, I..." She let out a frustrated growl at being effectively stuck in the bathtub with shampoo in her hair, unable to go to him and the time to get unsudsy and dried off too long for her. She settled by moving until she was certain he could see her as well as she could see him in the mirror.
"I should have just asked to begin with rather than assuming," she said softly, eyes on his reflection. "I already know that other self forced your hand in every way in the beginning, including protecting me, I just... was afraid, couldn't bear to think that now that you were looking back, you wouldn't have protected me in that, despite protecting me in other ways. I meant it when I said that's the one thing I never doubted before this
( ... )
Stephen shook his head. "I do not think you understand what I meant. I doubt now I can even begin to explain it. I had been thinking I could have ensured your safety and allowed River her due as well, by permitting her to --" In the light of day (figuratively; the dungeon of course admitted no natural light), the idea took on a monstrous cast.
"You would have had to know her," he said, finally.
Sarah sighed, slumping down in the water though she continued looking at the mirror. He was right, to even begin to understand she would have had to know River and that was impossible, as she would not ask him outright to tell her, knowing his reservation at sharing things about her unless they were on his terms and knowing that even were River still here, there would be no way Sarah could have ever known her. His dead wife was a puzzle Sarah would never put together in the least, even from what she had known or could try to guess or would be told.
She also had no desire to hear the details of his 'one place' idea from last night. Her focus now was on the concept of what that idea would mean. She knew she should stop and should not take it so personally, but she was. "So you thought it, but sober do you still want it?" she asked quietly. "Even with what that would mean?" Unasked, yet every bit what that question meant: Would you still give this up? As soon as it was out, she shook her head. "Nevermind, don't answer that."
Stephen sighed heavily. "I am but human, dear heart. What I want sober and what I want drunk are all one: to have everything all at once and give up nothing. I hate the thought of missing what you are to me now. I cannot but hate the truth of my deception, too, a willful and purposeful deception. I would that there had been a way to be honest with her about it, and still have kept you. And that is what started all this, that casual remark about divination. If I could have prevented the dilemma, I would have done so." More softly: "But not by giving you up, honey, at all." Was it a choice? If so, was there any validity to it, being made in hindsight and in the absence of any real tension, River being gone? Who could say? Certainly Stephen could not.
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"Unless you prefer standing in the doorway, you might as well come sit," she said, pointing to the edge of the tub before working the shampoo into her hair. Despite how she felt and despite having had to mask a betraying wetness in her eyes with the cover of water, she had no more desire to have him out of the room than she did in distancing herself when she had the ability to walk out of the room.
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It was not his way to bring up something uncomfortable. He wanted to be near her, and so he stayed, but he had nothing to say, nothing formed in his mind to say aloud at least.
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"From the very beginning you were so certain the best course of action for my safety was exactly what we did," she said, posture stiff. "All along you said that and now you've looked back and changed your mind? Despite trying to let it go last night thinking you were just hurting and thinking you'd wake up and go back to your original opinion, now this morning it's 'the truth ( ... )
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"What we did was the best thing for your safety, yes. I still believe that. It was the surest way to keep you safe, barring my keeping away from you entirely of my own volition, which I could not manage." A sigh. "I would have given anything to keep you safe, and you know it." From the very beginning he had felt a fierce protectiveness of her, surprising in its strength given he hardly knew her. "I suppose it weighs more heavily on me than I had allowed myself to realise."
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"I should have just asked to begin with rather than assuming," she said softly, eyes on his reflection. "I already know that other self forced your hand in every way in the beginning, including protecting me, I just... was afraid, couldn't bear to think that now that you were looking back, you wouldn't have protected me in that, despite protecting me in other ways. I meant it when I said that's the one thing I never doubted before this ( ... )
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"You would have had to know her," he said, finally.
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She also had no desire to hear the details of his 'one place' idea from last night. Her focus now was on the concept of what that idea would mean. She knew she should stop and should not take it so personally, but she was. "So you thought it, but sober do you still want it?" she asked quietly. "Even with what that would mean?" Unasked, yet every bit what that question meant: Would you still give this up? As soon as it was out, she shook her head. "Nevermind, don't answer that."
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