(no subject)
DATE: Day 77 (backdated)
CHARACTER(S): George Kirk for12minutes & Winona Kirk widowing
STATUS: Closed
SUMMARY: Dead!husband and Widowed!wife reunite to much angst and also a side of cuddles.
LOCATION: Hallways
He'd heard her name, her arrival, breaking across the vessel and in ever way he knew with his head he'd react, his heart had beaten him to. A ripple of excitement and fear and longing- anticipation, anxiety. Because he'd only just heard her voice, had only just told her how desperately he loved her and now, now she'd been brought here as well?
It would be too much to hope for, he knew, that they might be plucked from the same thread, the same tenuous, frayed, achingly short thread of time and everything the academy had taught him of sciences and probability whispered otherwise. An infinite number of possibilities, but they couldn't keep his heart from racing. Couldn't keep the man himself, from tearing down the halls to seek her out. "-Winona?"
She's rarely called by her first time, so when she looks around, she expects to see one of her cheekier engineering cadets - but instead there's her husband, her dead husband, unmistakably alive and nothing could have prepared her for this. Her face falls and she knows she hasn't felt the breath leave her like this in two years.
"George?"
His last memory of her was nothing more than a frantic calling for him from the other end of the com- paired with the sound of their newborn son crying out. Before that- before that her belly was full and her eyes bright and even with these differences in her now, in knowing- simply by the look of her that she is not the same woman he remembers- he can't help but think she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
"You're- you're really here."
She's incredulous to his shock at seeing her, when he has been dead for two years. But now he's just as alive as she remembers, every line of his face matching the photographs she keeps in her nightstand drawer. She hasn't cried for a good while - she's been counting the days, actually, but she can feel her lashes going sticky and wet and she has absolutely no idea why she's still standing still. Winona does exactly what she wishes she could've done on the day the Kelvin was destroyed: she throws her arms around him, hoping to god he doesn't disappear.
The moment the distance closes it's like a weight falls from his chest, or maybe that it settles there. He'd only just said goodbye, he'd only just told her how much he loved her- faced the end and whatever powers were out in the universe they found it fit to reunite them. Her arms wind around his neck and she smells like the sterility of space and the summer sun in Iowa- warm and soft against him and the sound that breaks out of his throat is a choked groan of relief.
"Winona- oh god..."
She feels more whole than she remembers feeling in a long time, but there's still a part of her that wants to hit him for all the months she's spent alone, being told by everyone of his heroism - as if she weren't there, as if she doesn't know, as if it wasn't just reopening the wound every time it started to scab over. She loves that he's so damn brave but she hates it too; she tries to yell at him but she just winds up whispering.
"Two years. You were gone for two years..."
He has to close his eyes against it, against the words and the familiar weight of her in his arms. There's no doubt in his mind that he'll have to go right back to the Kelvin, right back to the impact and that he really has no idea when this borrowed time might come to an end. But part of him wants so badly to believe that they could make this go on forever. That they could keep their fractured, too grown little family together on this base for the rest of their lives and he swallows against the naivety of it. Keeps the thought lodged so deep he won't speak of it.
"I know honey."
Its a whisper of relief and regret, but what he feels more, he can't be sure.
"Two seconds for me, two years for you- god. Winona I wanted to stay with you-"
She knows George is a sensible man, and the grim, distasteful haze she feels obscuring her happiness - he feels it too. Whatever life she has here will be comparatively brief, and she'll be dealing with the consequences of so many actions she hasn't yet taken. Right now, arms around him but holding onto her own wrists, as if locking him there, she can try to forget most of that. Winona favours forgetting.
"I know." She blinks away any last tears and forces the shakes out of her breath. God damn it, she does know, and sometimes, when she's had too much to drink, she wishes she'd have died with him. Forehead to his chest, she closes her eyes and tries to come up with something else to say. "You can stay now."
He can feel her steadying herself, more than he needs to see it. The soft shudder of breath in her chest and the slope of her shoulders, the movement of her fingers against him. In that moment it doesn't matter that two years have passed between them, because Winona still fits into his arms the way she did when they were married- and his hand lifts to thread fingers through gold spun hair. He can feel the rise and fall of her chest against his own, the steady beating of her heart, and George buries his face in her hair. Exhales slow.
"Yeah. I can."
Winona's mind never really stops working; at times like these, she wishes it would. She wonders if he's wearing his wedding ring - of course he is - and guilt strikes her hard in the gut. She's not wearing her own, hasn't for a year. Once it finally came off she knew she could never put it back on... and now she misses it. Now it has meaning again.
She takes a breath and raises her head, looking at him, seeing him so close. Trying to commit every single imperfection to memory.
"I don't think I did too well without you."
While it has never been in his wife's nature to stop thinking, for George it is just the opposite. He's had more than enough time to rationalize, to make his peace with that they're both destined to live through- and in the face of all of that, he chooses to ignore it. Fingers run through her hair before his palm covers the back of her neck, rests their foreheads together. He'd expected the grief and the guilt, but finds he isn't surprised that the anger never comes. No jealousy, simply a tangle of joy and sorrow and his voice is little more than a whisper. He's not sure what he's come to terms with, but he knows he has.
"I don't blame you. For anything. You took care of yourself, and our son. Nothing else matters."
No one's touched her with the same tenderness as George, not before her him or after. She leans into it just like she used to, some way to feel closer.
"I don't think I did, though. He's not... He doesn't look happy."
What she means is she didn't make him happy - her duty as a mother, and she didn't fulfill it. Maybe she'll drink too much, marry the wrong man, but she can't envision herself no longer caring. It scares her that that's what it seems is going to happen.
His head shakes, the faintest of all gestures but there nonetheless. He's reluctant at best, to tear himself away from her and George leans in to press a kiss to her forehead. Tender and warm. The tone of her voice is a feeling that resonates in him, after all- how many times had he thought the same thing? How many times did he question his choices? But his hand falls, fingers around Winona's jaw to lift her chin and catch her gaze.
"Winona you listen to me honey. Whatever you do, you're gonna do because you love him, and because it's what you have to do."
His voice softens just then, in time with his gaze, and the pad of his thumb smooths over her cheek in a way he's done a hundred times but just now, feels like the first.
"You're a good wife, and a good mother."
He's so goddamn good - better than she deserves, is what she used to think and what she's thinking now. He believes in her so much it makes her want to be like him, and it hurts even more when she realizes she just isn't. she shirks away from his touch and instantly regrets it.
"I'm not like you, I'm not selfless. He doesn't look at me like a mother, he looks at me like a stranger." She's getting more and more upset with herself, starting to feel suffocated in George's embrace. "I thought I was doing all right..."
It's the flicker of hurt across her features and the way she half pulls away that has his stomach sinking. It's his signal to let her go, because Winona has always been something wild and has always done everything in her own time and season. Even if he doesn't always agree with it, it's who she is, and it's the reason he fell in love with her to begin with. His hands move, the embrace lowers, and George rests the weight of his palms on her arms. Just enough to make his presence known, just enough for her to push away if the need should arise.
"You're not supposed to be me Winona. You're supposed to be you. This beautiful, determined, spitfire woman and I can promise you that even if I don't know him- you're still his mother."
The weight leaves his shoulders and his chin dips to catch her gaze. While he's always been the more emotional of the two, George knows his place. She's shutting down, and he'll be right there to hold her up.
"I don't know what happened- happens, between you two. But I do know that you're an impossible mystery most of the time. Maybe, there's just some parts of you he doesn't know- and parts of him that you need to know too."
She never has understood how he knows exactly what she needs to hear, how - even if he can't fix things permanently - he can pull her back together so quickly. Another thing she envies and admires, but that she's not meant to have. It's why he's there: her other half, her counterpoint. Things she didn't know she was missing until she met him.
The weight of his presence is no longer oppressive; her breath feels smooth and cool. She's grounded again, taking one of his hands and holding it in both of hers, to her chest. Sure enough, there's the ring. Just Starfleet Academy rings they used as substitutes for wedding bands - a band she no longer wears.
"I don't know how to fix twenty-five years of mistakes."
She's impossibly strong, he thinks. For everything she's done in her past, for everything he'll force her to do alone, and George has always been in incredible awe of her for it. Like a phoenix to come out ablaze from something that would have conquered a lesser human being- a quality he's seen, that he can only hope she passed on to their sons. That strength, that force of will, that indomitable spirit.
Her fingers lace around his hand and instead of attention drawn like hers, to the wedding band, he's enchanted by how delicate she looks. How something so graceful, so fragile looking can have so much tenacity. He couldn't begin to count the number of times she's brought him back, hefted him back to his feet. When she looks at him, gaze wavering the way it does, he can't tell what is stronger- the sinking of his heart, or the protective swell in his chest.
"You can't be anything but what you are Winn, and that's more than good enough. Just talk to him. Talk to him, and take your time."
She hates feeling weak - which she feels almost no less often than the day after his death. It leaves her short-tempered and churlish. But George has a way of drawing out her strengths. She remembers how, when she was with him, she never really felt helpless. She wants so badly to depend on him now, knowing it won't solve anything - knowing if she leans on him too much, when he's gone again she'll be unable to stand on her own.
"We talked... I'm not sure he believed me, and I can't make everything better with one conversation, but I'll be here a while."
She places a hand to his cheek. His skin is warm and smooth, and she can almost feel the reality of this so very unbelievable moment resonating. Her fingers ghost over his ear, into his hair, toying and adjusting lightly. Old habit. "I hope you will be too."
Don't leave me.
It's as simple as that. The way she can waver on the brink of despair, the edge of defeat and bring herself back with only her own strength. It's when he looks at her, feels her fingertips brushing the wisps of his hair that he feels like a boy again. The way he'd felt the very first time he laid eyes on her- utter adoration, and it's something that hasn't faded at all. But the words make sense, when he stops to think about it. After all- he'd only spoken to his son- a day ago and gotten a similar reaction. Disbelief. Confusion. The impossible silence stretched between them. Whatever would unfold in their history was something he wouldn't be able to control- but...
But to see the corner of Winona's mouth curve up like that gives him hope. She would never commit to something so negative, there's too much fight left in her. It would be nothing short of a sin for him not to do the same.
"You're right. We can't change what's in your past, his past. But we can give who we are now, and hope that it's enough."
His own mouth lifts in response, just a fraction, before lips press to her forehead. "I promise you, I'll do everything in my power to stay by your side. Every day I can."
Winona doesn't think it is enough, not really, not yet. She thinks she should be more - more of a mother. Know how to do all these things, know what every cry and mutter means. She still feels lost sometimes, when it's just her and her son, and she's been on Earth a little too long. She starts to doubt and wonder and get frustrated, knowing George should be there to lift up his son and make him smile.
That seems a harder thing to do than ever before. Jim looked at her... not with the brightness that so illuminated his young eyes back home.
She leans into him again, content to stay there and never move.
"It's funny, I don't know what to do now. Are we dating? Are we married? I'm a little different than I was two years ago." She hopes she's close enough to the woman he fell in love with. She'd like to be that woman again.
It makes sense that she would come to think of it first. So very much the Winona he had always known- ever thoughtful, always turning the next page and the next, planning ahead and guiding the way for those she would lead on. For him. But she's right, and he can't miss the shadows that chase across her eyes, the darkness that creeps into her expression. She is different from the woman he'd left behind, in ways he can't yet comprehend, but when she settles against him this way, he has a hard time telling the difference. So instead of trying to say what would be right, George does what he has always done, and tells her what he feels.
"I'd say... that's up to you now."
It's the most honest thing he can say in the end, and his palm lifts, cradles the curve of her cheek. In that moment, the shadows don't matter. She's Winona, and he's George, and even with the night in her gaze, he loves her.
"I know it sounds unfair, but it's true. It's only been- minutes for me yes, but I think even if it'd been an eternity, it wouldn't change. Still, we'll be here awhile I think. Plenty of time for us to figure that out, don't you think?"
There is time, though she's not sure how much. She doesn't want to draw any of this out - it's too painful - but it is something she has to think about. The important part she already knows: she wants to be with George. There's no refuting that, hasn't been since the moment she saw him. But she feels there's something she has to prove before she can call herself his wife again. Some distortion in her silhouette, memories of alcohol and the niggling longing she feels for it now, that she has to purge from herself first. "I need some time, but I want to be around you."
Perhaps not every moment of every day - she can't cling, it won't be healthy for either of them. But she wants to be with him. He reminds her of who she is.
He doesn't understand completely, that much he's sure of. Because Winona is a complicated woman and George will never be one to invade her privacy, to push her before she's ready. Instead, he'll settle for what he does know, and that's simply that she wants him nearby and needs time to focus, and he is both willing and able to give her both. To give her anything. How many times he'd promised to bring the stars down for her he can't even venture a guess. His hand lowers at last and when fingers brush he feels like a child, for the way his heart leaps to his throat.
This simple touch, this quiet, reassuring contact- the connecting point between them, he'd been willing to sign away. Never thought he'd have again. The nod comes before he realizes he's done it, distracted by how symmetry as their fingers realign and he knows with perfect certainty in that moment, that no number of years could ever rob them of this.
"Winona." And her name comes out a murmur. A prayer.
"I'm not going anywhere."
To think, their plan had been so simple. Their lives. She looks back on their time spent together with a bottle in her hand and hates herself for not appreciating every moment, taking things for granted - but now she remembers how she felt, how he made her feel. How even when she was angry at him, she was grateful for that emotional link. Her dreams of their family, owning a farm with their boys... they're out of reach now, but she's still closer than she was before.
Her fingers lace through his almost cautiously. She believes he'll do everything to keep his promise, but she's still scared that if she squeezes too hard he'll disappear.
"I need someplace to stay. Maybe close to you? Not the same cabin just yet, but..."
Her hand fits in the curve of his palm, the creases of his fingers like it was meant to- and at the thought he nearly smiles. He's always been the sentimental type and bless her, but Winona has never seemed to mind much. she lets him dote and he gives her space and they maintain the delicate polarity between them. A waltz to which the steps have been long since memorized and the places within them both where neither ends but instead, they both continue and continue and continue. The flutter of her pulse is warm, a brush of contact to the smooth of her wrist and George thinks of a bird's wings.
His gaze lifts and blue eyes turn towards the door, to the passage beyond- before they resettle on her profile. A careful study of sun kissed skin and petal soft lips. The dusted rose of her cheeks and long line of her jaw.
"Of course. We were given room assignments, I saw, when we arrived, so you'll have a place for yourself. I'll show you the way."
She can't help it - she laughs a little at his wording, at the irony and coincidence and fate and science of it all. Sometimes she believes in luck and sometimes she doesn't; mostly, Winona believes in the things that suit her at the time. But if anything were to permanently convince her of destiny, of a real plan for every person, threads that braid and fray... it would be this, and him.
She squeezes his hand, reassuring them both, and leans her head on his shoulder briefly, almost playfully.
"Bet you will."
CHARACTER(S): George Kirk for12minutes & Winona Kirk widowing
STATUS: Closed
SUMMARY: Dead!husband and Widowed!wife reunite to much angst and also a side of cuddles.
LOCATION: Hallways
He'd heard her name, her arrival, breaking across the vessel and in ever way he knew with his head he'd react, his heart had beaten him to. A ripple of excitement and fear and longing- anticipation, anxiety. Because he'd only just heard her voice, had only just told her how desperately he loved her and now, now she'd been brought here as well?
It would be too much to hope for, he knew, that they might be plucked from the same thread, the same tenuous, frayed, achingly short thread of time and everything the academy had taught him of sciences and probability whispered otherwise. An infinite number of possibilities, but they couldn't keep his heart from racing. Couldn't keep the man himself, from tearing down the halls to seek her out. "-Winona?"
She's rarely called by her first time, so when she looks around, she expects to see one of her cheekier engineering cadets - but instead there's her husband, her dead husband, unmistakably alive and nothing could have prepared her for this. Her face falls and she knows she hasn't felt the breath leave her like this in two years.
"George?"
His last memory of her was nothing more than a frantic calling for him from the other end of the com- paired with the sound of their newborn son crying out. Before that- before that her belly was full and her eyes bright and even with these differences in her now, in knowing- simply by the look of her that she is not the same woman he remembers- he can't help but think she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
"You're- you're really here."
She's incredulous to his shock at seeing her, when he has been dead for two years. But now he's just as alive as she remembers, every line of his face matching the photographs she keeps in her nightstand drawer. She hasn't cried for a good while - she's been counting the days, actually, but she can feel her lashes going sticky and wet and she has absolutely no idea why she's still standing still. Winona does exactly what she wishes she could've done on the day the Kelvin was destroyed: she throws her arms around him, hoping to god he doesn't disappear.
The moment the distance closes it's like a weight falls from his chest, or maybe that it settles there. He'd only just said goodbye, he'd only just told her how much he loved her- faced the end and whatever powers were out in the universe they found it fit to reunite them. Her arms wind around his neck and she smells like the sterility of space and the summer sun in Iowa- warm and soft against him and the sound that breaks out of his throat is a choked groan of relief.
"Winona- oh god..."
She feels more whole than she remembers feeling in a long time, but there's still a part of her that wants to hit him for all the months she's spent alone, being told by everyone of his heroism - as if she weren't there, as if she doesn't know, as if it wasn't just reopening the wound every time it started to scab over. She loves that he's so damn brave but she hates it too; she tries to yell at him but she just winds up whispering.
"Two years. You were gone for two years..."
He has to close his eyes against it, against the words and the familiar weight of her in his arms. There's no doubt in his mind that he'll have to go right back to the Kelvin, right back to the impact and that he really has no idea when this borrowed time might come to an end. But part of him wants so badly to believe that they could make this go on forever. That they could keep their fractured, too grown little family together on this base for the rest of their lives and he swallows against the naivety of it. Keeps the thought lodged so deep he won't speak of it.
"I know honey."
Its a whisper of relief and regret, but what he feels more, he can't be sure.
"Two seconds for me, two years for you- god. Winona I wanted to stay with you-"
She knows George is a sensible man, and the grim, distasteful haze she feels obscuring her happiness - he feels it too. Whatever life she has here will be comparatively brief, and she'll be dealing with the consequences of so many actions she hasn't yet taken. Right now, arms around him but holding onto her own wrists, as if locking him there, she can try to forget most of that. Winona favours forgetting.
"I know." She blinks away any last tears and forces the shakes out of her breath. God damn it, she does know, and sometimes, when she's had too much to drink, she wishes she'd have died with him. Forehead to his chest, she closes her eyes and tries to come up with something else to say. "You can stay now."
He can feel her steadying herself, more than he needs to see it. The soft shudder of breath in her chest and the slope of her shoulders, the movement of her fingers against him. In that moment it doesn't matter that two years have passed between them, because Winona still fits into his arms the way she did when they were married- and his hand lifts to thread fingers through gold spun hair. He can feel the rise and fall of her chest against his own, the steady beating of her heart, and George buries his face in her hair. Exhales slow.
"Yeah. I can."
Winona's mind never really stops working; at times like these, she wishes it would. She wonders if he's wearing his wedding ring - of course he is - and guilt strikes her hard in the gut. She's not wearing her own, hasn't for a year. Once it finally came off she knew she could never put it back on... and now she misses it. Now it has meaning again.
She takes a breath and raises her head, looking at him, seeing him so close. Trying to commit every single imperfection to memory.
"I don't think I did too well without you."
While it has never been in his wife's nature to stop thinking, for George it is just the opposite. He's had more than enough time to rationalize, to make his peace with that they're both destined to live through- and in the face of all of that, he chooses to ignore it. Fingers run through her hair before his palm covers the back of her neck, rests their foreheads together. He'd expected the grief and the guilt, but finds he isn't surprised that the anger never comes. No jealousy, simply a tangle of joy and sorrow and his voice is little more than a whisper. He's not sure what he's come to terms with, but he knows he has.
"I don't blame you. For anything. You took care of yourself, and our son. Nothing else matters."
No one's touched her with the same tenderness as George, not before her him or after. She leans into it just like she used to, some way to feel closer.
"I don't think I did, though. He's not... He doesn't look happy."
What she means is she didn't make him happy - her duty as a mother, and she didn't fulfill it. Maybe she'll drink too much, marry the wrong man, but she can't envision herself no longer caring. It scares her that that's what it seems is going to happen.
His head shakes, the faintest of all gestures but there nonetheless. He's reluctant at best, to tear himself away from her and George leans in to press a kiss to her forehead. Tender and warm. The tone of her voice is a feeling that resonates in him, after all- how many times had he thought the same thing? How many times did he question his choices? But his hand falls, fingers around Winona's jaw to lift her chin and catch her gaze.
"Winona you listen to me honey. Whatever you do, you're gonna do because you love him, and because it's what you have to do."
His voice softens just then, in time with his gaze, and the pad of his thumb smooths over her cheek in a way he's done a hundred times but just now, feels like the first.
"You're a good wife, and a good mother."
He's so goddamn good - better than she deserves, is what she used to think and what she's thinking now. He believes in her so much it makes her want to be like him, and it hurts even more when she realizes she just isn't. she shirks away from his touch and instantly regrets it.
"I'm not like you, I'm not selfless. He doesn't look at me like a mother, he looks at me like a stranger." She's getting more and more upset with herself, starting to feel suffocated in George's embrace. "I thought I was doing all right..."
It's the flicker of hurt across her features and the way she half pulls away that has his stomach sinking. It's his signal to let her go, because Winona has always been something wild and has always done everything in her own time and season. Even if he doesn't always agree with it, it's who she is, and it's the reason he fell in love with her to begin with. His hands move, the embrace lowers, and George rests the weight of his palms on her arms. Just enough to make his presence known, just enough for her to push away if the need should arise.
"You're not supposed to be me Winona. You're supposed to be you. This beautiful, determined, spitfire woman and I can promise you that even if I don't know him- you're still his mother."
The weight leaves his shoulders and his chin dips to catch her gaze. While he's always been the more emotional of the two, George knows his place. She's shutting down, and he'll be right there to hold her up.
"I don't know what happened- happens, between you two. But I do know that you're an impossible mystery most of the time. Maybe, there's just some parts of you he doesn't know- and parts of him that you need to know too."
She never has understood how he knows exactly what she needs to hear, how - even if he can't fix things permanently - he can pull her back together so quickly. Another thing she envies and admires, but that she's not meant to have. It's why he's there: her other half, her counterpoint. Things she didn't know she was missing until she met him.
The weight of his presence is no longer oppressive; her breath feels smooth and cool. She's grounded again, taking one of his hands and holding it in both of hers, to her chest. Sure enough, there's the ring. Just Starfleet Academy rings they used as substitutes for wedding bands - a band she no longer wears.
"I don't know how to fix twenty-five years of mistakes."
She's impossibly strong, he thinks. For everything she's done in her past, for everything he'll force her to do alone, and George has always been in incredible awe of her for it. Like a phoenix to come out ablaze from something that would have conquered a lesser human being- a quality he's seen, that he can only hope she passed on to their sons. That strength, that force of will, that indomitable spirit.
Her fingers lace around his hand and instead of attention drawn like hers, to the wedding band, he's enchanted by how delicate she looks. How something so graceful, so fragile looking can have so much tenacity. He couldn't begin to count the number of times she's brought him back, hefted him back to his feet. When she looks at him, gaze wavering the way it does, he can't tell what is stronger- the sinking of his heart, or the protective swell in his chest.
"You can't be anything but what you are Winn, and that's more than good enough. Just talk to him. Talk to him, and take your time."
She hates feeling weak - which she feels almost no less often than the day after his death. It leaves her short-tempered and churlish. But George has a way of drawing out her strengths. She remembers how, when she was with him, she never really felt helpless. She wants so badly to depend on him now, knowing it won't solve anything - knowing if she leans on him too much, when he's gone again she'll be unable to stand on her own.
"We talked... I'm not sure he believed me, and I can't make everything better with one conversation, but I'll be here a while."
She places a hand to his cheek. His skin is warm and smooth, and she can almost feel the reality of this so very unbelievable moment resonating. Her fingers ghost over his ear, into his hair, toying and adjusting lightly. Old habit. "I hope you will be too."
Don't leave me.
It's as simple as that. The way she can waver on the brink of despair, the edge of defeat and bring herself back with only her own strength. It's when he looks at her, feels her fingertips brushing the wisps of his hair that he feels like a boy again. The way he'd felt the very first time he laid eyes on her- utter adoration, and it's something that hasn't faded at all. But the words make sense, when he stops to think about it. After all- he'd only spoken to his son- a day ago and gotten a similar reaction. Disbelief. Confusion. The impossible silence stretched between them. Whatever would unfold in their history was something he wouldn't be able to control- but...
But to see the corner of Winona's mouth curve up like that gives him hope. She would never commit to something so negative, there's too much fight left in her. It would be nothing short of a sin for him not to do the same.
"You're right. We can't change what's in your past, his past. But we can give who we are now, and hope that it's enough."
His own mouth lifts in response, just a fraction, before lips press to her forehead. "I promise you, I'll do everything in my power to stay by your side. Every day I can."
Winona doesn't think it is enough, not really, not yet. She thinks she should be more - more of a mother. Know how to do all these things, know what every cry and mutter means. She still feels lost sometimes, when it's just her and her son, and she's been on Earth a little too long. She starts to doubt and wonder and get frustrated, knowing George should be there to lift up his son and make him smile.
That seems a harder thing to do than ever before. Jim looked at her... not with the brightness that so illuminated his young eyes back home.
She leans into him again, content to stay there and never move.
"It's funny, I don't know what to do now. Are we dating? Are we married? I'm a little different than I was two years ago." She hopes she's close enough to the woman he fell in love with. She'd like to be that woman again.
It makes sense that she would come to think of it first. So very much the Winona he had always known- ever thoughtful, always turning the next page and the next, planning ahead and guiding the way for those she would lead on. For him. But she's right, and he can't miss the shadows that chase across her eyes, the darkness that creeps into her expression. She is different from the woman he'd left behind, in ways he can't yet comprehend, but when she settles against him this way, he has a hard time telling the difference. So instead of trying to say what would be right, George does what he has always done, and tells her what he feels.
"I'd say... that's up to you now."
It's the most honest thing he can say in the end, and his palm lifts, cradles the curve of her cheek. In that moment, the shadows don't matter. She's Winona, and he's George, and even with the night in her gaze, he loves her.
"I know it sounds unfair, but it's true. It's only been- minutes for me yes, but I think even if it'd been an eternity, it wouldn't change. Still, we'll be here awhile I think. Plenty of time for us to figure that out, don't you think?"
There is time, though she's not sure how much. She doesn't want to draw any of this out - it's too painful - but it is something she has to think about. The important part she already knows: she wants to be with George. There's no refuting that, hasn't been since the moment she saw him. But she feels there's something she has to prove before she can call herself his wife again. Some distortion in her silhouette, memories of alcohol and the niggling longing she feels for it now, that she has to purge from herself first. "I need some time, but I want to be around you."
Perhaps not every moment of every day - she can't cling, it won't be healthy for either of them. But she wants to be with him. He reminds her of who she is.
He doesn't understand completely, that much he's sure of. Because Winona is a complicated woman and George will never be one to invade her privacy, to push her before she's ready. Instead, he'll settle for what he does know, and that's simply that she wants him nearby and needs time to focus, and he is both willing and able to give her both. To give her anything. How many times he'd promised to bring the stars down for her he can't even venture a guess. His hand lowers at last and when fingers brush he feels like a child, for the way his heart leaps to his throat.
This simple touch, this quiet, reassuring contact- the connecting point between them, he'd been willing to sign away. Never thought he'd have again. The nod comes before he realizes he's done it, distracted by how symmetry as their fingers realign and he knows with perfect certainty in that moment, that no number of years could ever rob them of this.
"Winona." And her name comes out a murmur. A prayer.
"I'm not going anywhere."
To think, their plan had been so simple. Their lives. She looks back on their time spent together with a bottle in her hand and hates herself for not appreciating every moment, taking things for granted - but now she remembers how she felt, how he made her feel. How even when she was angry at him, she was grateful for that emotional link. Her dreams of their family, owning a farm with their boys... they're out of reach now, but she's still closer than she was before.
Her fingers lace through his almost cautiously. She believes he'll do everything to keep his promise, but she's still scared that if she squeezes too hard he'll disappear.
"I need someplace to stay. Maybe close to you? Not the same cabin just yet, but..."
Her hand fits in the curve of his palm, the creases of his fingers like it was meant to- and at the thought he nearly smiles. He's always been the sentimental type and bless her, but Winona has never seemed to mind much. she lets him dote and he gives her space and they maintain the delicate polarity between them. A waltz to which the steps have been long since memorized and the places within them both where neither ends but instead, they both continue and continue and continue. The flutter of her pulse is warm, a brush of contact to the smooth of her wrist and George thinks of a bird's wings.
His gaze lifts and blue eyes turn towards the door, to the passage beyond- before they resettle on her profile. A careful study of sun kissed skin and petal soft lips. The dusted rose of her cheeks and long line of her jaw.
"Of course. We were given room assignments, I saw, when we arrived, so you'll have a place for yourself. I'll show you the way."
She can't help it - she laughs a little at his wording, at the irony and coincidence and fate and science of it all. Sometimes she believes in luck and sometimes she doesn't; mostly, Winona believes in the things that suit her at the time. But if anything were to permanently convince her of destiny, of a real plan for every person, threads that braid and fray... it would be this, and him.
She squeezes his hand, reassuring them both, and leans her head on his shoulder briefly, almost playfully.
"Bet you will."