aftermath [open post for housemates]

[illgotten]

Supper's nearly over by the time Mordred gets home, after the latest crackplot has worn off and he's finally gotten done whatever he was out doing. He elbows the front door open and slips inside, all windblown and lively. "Hi."

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[cywyllog]

Cywyllog glances up from her seat near the fire. "Yourself again, I see." Shorter, anyway.

[illgotten]

"I don't know. How can I know?"

His hand is still resting on her shoulder. He seems to remember it, then, and looks back at her, and though she can't see his expression, the hard tension leaves him. "Lady," he says, softer. "--Cywyllog. I don't mean -- I don't mean you."

[cywyllog]

"Really?" She looks up again, though still confused. "I do not understand, then."

[illgotten]

He looks away again, on that instant. "I mean it's not you, it's myself. I know-- I know what happened. What Melehan remembers. I don't want to know how it felt." His voice has gone hoarse, suppressing the tremor that tries to creep into it. "And if I ever hurt you, I don't want to remember that, either."

[cywyllog]

"Mordred," she all but whispers his name, lifting a hand to rest it gently against his cheek. She can't tell him he never hurt her, no matter how much she might want to right now, because he did. Just not in the way he thinks.

"It was never so terrible," at least that she can say honestly, "and there were good things, too, you know."

[illgotten]

He shuts his eyes, not quite leaning into the touch -- he won't allow himself that, no -- and tries to smile. "I didn't say my reasons were selfless--" But it doesn't come out quite steady, and he breaks off and pulls her toward him blindly, with no intent now but to hold onto her, for his own comfort or hers.

[cywyllog]

She'll save her surprise at this for later. For now, she slips her arms around him, leaning her head against his shoulder. It's almost too familiar and she's missed being this close to him...

She squeezes her eyes shut, but she doesn't let go.

[illgotten]

"I like you," her husband says, muffled by her hair, "dammit. I don't know why it's all such a muddle. I don't know how I get into these things."

[cywyllog]

"I do not think any of us do," she whispers in response, hugging him a little tighter. "It all just seems to happen."

[illgotten]

"Story of my life," he says, and laughs a little. "I'm just sorry you're stuck in it."

[cywyllog]

She gives a slight shrug. "It is where I belong."

[illgotten]

That doesn't make it any better, but it's a response he can understand. He smooths her hair gently. "So what did happen today? Apart from random temporary growth spurts that I didn't even get to appreciate?"

[cywyllog]

"I have no idea what caused it, but you were," she pauses here, searching for the right word, "colder. And you forgot me again."

[illgotten]

Mordred winces. "Christ. I didn't even touch anything. --I'm sorry."

[cywyllog]

She nods against his shoulder. "I know. It is all right."

"It could have been worse," she adds after a moment, in a lighter tone.

[illgotten]

He laughs again, easier this time. "I could have turned into a girl again. Or a frog."