missingthekeep | Item Post [for Meredith]

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Item Post [for Meredith]

Sean sleeps well these days. Not heavily, and not nearly as soundly on the nights he spends alone, but better than he's slept in what feels like years, certainly. Which is what he chalks it up to when it takes him a few minutes to come to as he rolls over in the night and slips his arm underneath his pillow, finding a piece of thin, hard plastic there for him to wrap his hand around. Eventually, the fact that something's not quite right with that manages to filter through to him and he sits up abruptly, trying not to wake Meredith in the process.

It's too dark to see, but he's got that sinking feeling in his stomach that lets him know something's wrong, and he decides to duck out, see if he can get a better look outside. Scrounging around on the floor for a second in the gloom, he manages to find a pair of jeans to pull on before he sneaks out, as quietly as can, and lets his eyes adjust to the moonlight and the dim glow from a light down the path.

Of all the things to randomly turn up, he never would have expected the damn disk he'd been sent to Germany after, but somehow, he's not surprised in the slightest when he recognizes it, flipping the slim case over in his hands. The only question left is why it's there. It's not like the ring, it's nothing personal or of any value to anyone, especially here where it's worth less than the materials it's made out of. He should just chuck it off into the trees somewhere and go back to bed, back where he's wanted, forget about it the way he's been doing for months. And yet...

Sighing, he scrubs a hand over his face and searches for a spot to sit down, leaning against his hut. Take a second to process it and then get on with his life, he can do that. Never mind the way it seems to remind him that, on those nights where he's all alone with his thoughts, this life can feel like one big lie. "Mission accomplished, boyo," he mutters under his breath, tapping his nails against it. All the hell he'd been through before coming to the island, all for this. Fat lot of good it does him now.

None of it was ever about the mission, anyway.

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It's not like she's been a saint herself. Meredith's hurt a lot of people in her time, both intentionally and otherwise, and she's taken her troubles out on everyone else, lashed out when she shouldn't have. She's made mistakes and she's trying hard to see it like that, but it's not the same, not really. Looking down at the ground between them, she just sits there, not knowing what to say or think or feel, everything inside her painfully heavy. What is she supposed to say? She wants to believe he wouldn't really have done it if he'd been allowed to go on with it, but the hard fact is, she honestly doesn't know. He seems so sure of it and all that guilt isn't proof he's wrong.

She shakes her head, tiny, sharp, contained movements as she hunches forward against herself, trying to say something and not knowing what. "Just —" Stopping again, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. He knows that's not a reason, he already said so. Even so, she can't just sit here, wondering, and it's too late to turn back now. "A teenage girl," she says, a little strangled. "So what stopped you? Why didn't you do it?"

Sean's long since stopped thinking of Romanova as a girl of her years, mostly out of necessity and knowledge of what she's all capable of. He'd very nearly stopped thinking of her as human for a while, but Meredith's reaction puts the scope of his actions into stunning clarity. The knowledge that he may have actually killed an innocent man while he was at it doesn't help any, and though he's heard enough from Wolverine to know that he didn't wind up going through with it either way, that wasn't actually him. Not yet, anyway.

He can't do this. He doesn't know why he ever thought he could. 'It had to happen eventually' just isn't reason enough, and he wants to get up and run, wants her to get up and run from this. Except for the part where he is genuinely afraid of what's going to become of him if he loses her. If nothing else, that's what keeps him there, bare back to the wall.

Gritting his teeth, he looks over at her against his better judgment and holds his breath. If this is it, the one thing that ends everything, then there's nothing he can do about it beyond facing it head on. "I met you."

It doesn't add up. Meredith remembers that day and the state he was in, and something in her says she would have known, like that makes any sense at all, like she can look at someone and just tell if they're about to commit a murder. That doesn't seem right either. It's not a word that should have anything to do with him.

Looking over her shoulder at him, she waits to see if something changes, waits for disgust or fear to hit, but all she really wants is for him to hold her until this fixes itself or she finds some way to put it right. "So when you showed up here," she says, "when I was treating you... you were... But you didn't do it. You didn't kill her." The intention was there, though, and she's not entirely sure how to reconcile herself to that. The more she thinks about it, the less she believes he could have done it, but her mind's still spinning to keep up. "Was that what happened to your throat?" She has to tighten her hands into fists to keep from reaching out to trace her fingers over where the burn once was.

It's nearly impossible to keep his eyes on her and not flinch away, but somehow Sean manages, taking a deep but stilted breath as he gives a tiny nod. She's never going to look at him the same way again, but maybe that's how it should be. It's what he deserves, certainly. Really, it's a wonder that he got away with so much for so long. "Got hit with the business end of a weapon worn 'round a wrist e'en skinnier'n yers," he says, disgusted with himself but also resigned to it.

Meredith closes her eyes at that, but somehow it's a relief, just knowing the girl was armed, that she was fighting. It's still horrifying, but it helps that he's not the only one who was playing for keeps, even if she still hates thinking of him hurt. With him looking at her, it's so hard to think about this clearly, so hard not to say she needs to go, she needs time to think about this. She doesn't need time, at least, not somewhere else, not alone. There's really only one thing she wants to ask and she's not sure if the answer will change anything anyway. "Would you really have done it?" she asks. "If you hadn't met me instead?"

Sean swallows thickly as he lets that sink in. Sure, he knows he would have supposedly been stopped somehow, but that's not what she's asking. She's asking a question that he's asked himself countless times over the past year of his life, although he's not sure when the answer changed all the way from 'of course' to 'God, I hope not'. He figures he can guess what answer she's looking for, but he's dug his grave this night with nothing but honesty, he can't just stop now. Sighing, he tips his head down a bit, still keeping his eyes trained on her, trying to read her through all these conflicting emotions. "I don't know," he says, quiet and drawn out, his throat feeling tight.

There's still part of her that doesn't entirely believe this is real. It's so quiet, just night noises, all so distant and not a part of this, that they could be the only people here. In a way, Meredith thinks, he was right, because this was there all along and she never knew, she never guessed, but she's not sure that actually means the same thing he thinks it does. The thing is, when something goes wrong, he's the one she runs to now. Something's gone wrong, so she reaches over, holding onto his wrist, in desperate need of something to keep her anchored. Whatever he's done or not done, maybe it just hasn't sunk in yet, but that's still him. Maybe that's what decides for her, even when she's not quite conscious of having made a decision, still unsettled and a little lost. "I don't know either," she says. "But I know you. I know you. And I'm not leaving."

His breath stuck in his throat, Sean can only nod, looking down at her hand on his wrist with a stunned expression, like he can't trust his other senses. There's a part of him that expected this, that somehow knew she'd work this out, or at least try to, but it was so drowned out by his every rational thought and impulse that it hardly counted for anything. But then, there's nothing rational about the way they feel, either. Barely a moment passes before he drops the disk and reaches out to put his hand over hers, an automatic, needy reaction.

"I was a different person after I lost her," he whispers, quiet and desperate, as much to himself as to Meredith. He doesn't know what to say to a vow like that, a gesture of such love on her part, and he immediately starts trying to justify it somehow, needing to convince them both that she's making the right choice. "I knew it was wrong, I jus' didnae care anymore, an' now... oh, God."

In a way, Meredith has to work backwards to what she's done, knowing she's made a choice without knowing how to articulate why she's made it, even to herself. All she knows for sure is that she's right and that it's a relief so deep it's almost painful when he touches her. Swallowing hard, she nods, more a show of attention than agreement, though she understands. The way he sounds now, the things he's saying, make her heart ache and they're exactly why she's still here.

"I know," she says softly, though mostly what she knows is she can't begin to know. She's lost a lot in her life and she's been hurt by love, but never like that, and if sometimes it makes her wonder how there can still be enough love left in him for her with the way he so clearly feels about his wife, it also makes it just a little clearer how he could get where he was. "But you're here now. We're here. You were different then, but you're different now, too. I don't know if you would have done it, but I know you wouldn't now. I know you."

Even now, all Sean has to do is think about the prospect of losing her to doubt that he's really changed all that much, but she believes otherwise, and that's enough. He trusts her implicitly, and it's impossible right now for him to see the things she says as anything other than the pure, unadorned truth.

"Ye know me," he echoes, eyes closing for just a second before he looks back up, and the fleeting ghost of a smile that flits across his features is barely recognizable as such underneath all the layers of guilt, pain, and stress. For the first time since he's known her, though, he believes it, and he never thought he'd be so relieved for that to be the case. "Ye know me, an' ye still..." he trails off with a tiny shake of his head, unable to finish. Maybe life's not fair, but at least now he knows it's possible for that to work out in a his favour, even if just the once.

All the things he's said, Meredith can handle, though even now, she hasn't fully wrapped her mind around what she's been told. It's this she doesn't want, unnerved by the idea that he thinks she should be with someone other than him. So she gets a little how he must have felt, believing she thinks he's better than he is. Maybe that's just how this works, though. Maybe they just have to see for each other what they can't see for themselves.

"Don't tell me I deserve better again," she says, shaking her head at him as she turns her hand, threading her fingers through his as best as she's able. She can't bear to be made into some kind of saint just for being in love. It doesn't make her special or noble, it makes her scared and needy and maybe a little stupid, and right now, she's okay with that. "I don't want better, I want you. Whatever you did or didn't do, I want you. That's not changing."

The question's there on the tip of his tongue, easily read on his face even as he manages to bite it back: how? As much as he wants to question her about it, thank her for everything, he knows that that's not how it works. She didn't choose to feel this way any more than he did. Maybe she deserves better and maybe he'll always think that, but it doesn't matter because he's what she wants. He can be the man she needs, he knows it.

"Okay," he finally says as he grips her hand tighter, accepting that if not necessarily agreeing with it. "That's nae... Okay."

"Okay." Again it occurs to Meredith that she should just say it, tell him she loves him, but it's just about the only thing she's said throughout this conversation anyway. Turning a little to face him better, she reaches across to rest her other hand on his cheek, just for a moment before she draws it back again. "You're not going to tell me to leave you again?" she asks warily, just to be sure. "Because I can only take so much in one night." The only way she's leaving right now is if he tells her to, and it's pretty obvious even to her that that just isn't going to happen.

It's such a simple touch and yet it hits Sean right down to his core, if only because a couple minutes earlier, he'd half convinced himself that he'd never feel it again. "No," he says firmly, as if it didn't feel like the most obvious thing in the world. Honestly, after the way he's treated her tonight, it's probably a perfectly legitimate question. "E'en if I tried, I need ye too much. It's been a hell of a night." Instinctively, he reaches out for her, his free hand at her shoulder, but there's something hesitant about the motion. Like he expects her to flinch away from him or something daft like that.

Instead Meredith moves closer still, leaning her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. He needs her. It's not a surprise, nothing she didn't know, but even her certainty of that is comforting. He needs her and she's sure no one else ever has. If they have, it wasn't like this, she didn't need them this much in return. It's still frightening sometimes, the intensity of this, how ready she is to accept anything if it means he'll stay, but she can't care about that right now. Burying her face against his skin, she nods. "I need you, too," she says, "so no trying. Just... talk to me from now on. If you need me, let me be here for you. You always are for me."

Sean's too tired to even find reasons to disagree in his own head, so he just nods, blindly accepting as he holds her close, still staring off into the night but brought out of his thoughts by the feel of her, warm against him. The way they're supposed to be. "I will, I jus- I was so scared," he admits, and any verbal filter he might have is completely exhausted for the time being. Normally he'd worry about that, but there's nothing left to say. Nothing that he couldn't if he wanted to, she's made that clear. "I was so sure I'd lose ye, but I knew I couldnae keep it up an' I love ye so much it's..."

He sighs. Nothing left at all.

There's no reason at all Meredith should be surprised by that when she already knew, but logic's never had much to do with it. It's not as if they've made any secret of it, not like a man promises just anyone he'll always come back, but hearing it is different anyway and she takes a shallow, startled breath and closes her eyes a little tighter. "You won't lose me," she says, pulling back enough to see him. She's still overwhelmed by all of it and still awed by the way it warms her, looking at him, hearing that, but if he can brave it, so can she, though it makes no sense to her that she could scare anyone like that. "You're not going to. You couldn't. I love you, okay? I'm not going anywhere."

Sean doesn't feel any different having said it, having heard her say it, but it still feels unspeakably good, if overwhelming. The last time he fell in love, he was a teenager, and this is so completely different, it's astounding. Even this far into things, it all seems so new with Meredith that he doesn't know how to handle it all. And alright, promises made can only go so far, he knows all too well that life can get in the way of even the best laid plans, but right now, he honestly doesn't care. She's not leaving him of her own volition anytime soon, maybe never, and that's enough. Because she loves him. Whoever the hell he is, she loves him.

"Ach, I cannae be the one ta cry again," he says, eyes shut tight as he bows his head at the sudden pricking of tears, smiling in spite of himself. He never thought love was supposed to feel this heavy, but now he suspects it was always destined to be, given their pasts. He wouldn't want it any other way.

Meredith laughs, inexpressibly fond, and lets go of his hand to wrap her arms around his neck. "No, don't," she says, "don't. Everything's okay." That might be stretching it, but there's no reason for tears even so, not now, even if the whole night seems sort of absurd and unbelievable to her. This time around, there's a kind of happy ending, but if anything, that just makes it stranger still.

She tilts her head up to kiss him, hand moving to his cheek again as she pulls back, unnerved by something that's only just occurred to her. "Everything's okay. Just, if something happens, if I do disappear or you go home... don't do anything stupid. Promise me you won't." She couldn't bear being the reason he goes through with it next time, and she can't hang all her hopes on the idea that he'll find her again, no matter how much she wants to.

Sean frowns, still blinking back tears, and while he's a little surprised, a little hurt, he gets it. Though he knows he should be doing everything in his power to stay in her good graces right now, he also can't fake anything. "It's nae the same," he says quietly, shaking his head, and while it's meant to be reassuring, he can't help but sound worried. On the one hand, there's no human element here. Repaying death for a death is one thing, but there's nowhere to shift the blame when it's the universe itself conspiring against you. The only person he could take things out on would be himself. But on the other hand, there's the thought that used to keep him up nights, the thought that made him consider ending all this a thousand times after it was already too late: if he loses her, it's going to be even worse this time. "Dinnae think about it."

"How am I supposed to do that?" Meredith tries as best she can, she really does, but it's impossible not to see the dangers all around them, the possibilities for irreparable damage. For once, she's glad it's not the same, too grateful for that to let herself use it as an excuse for doubt this time, but it doesn't make the worry stop. She's seen what love did to her mother, to him, what it's done to her; it's unrealistic not to be a little afraid of that and denial only accomplishes so much, only lasts so long. "I'm serious, Sean," she says, and she looks it, watching him closely, brushing her fingers over his cheek again. "Losing you would be bad enough without being scared something might happen to you before you come back to me."

None of that accounts for why he should care what would become of him if she's the one to go (he's already got the answer for that one anyway, and of course it's Theresa), but it's still apparently the right thing to say. It's enough to make Sean want to commit to the idea, anyway, for his own sake as much as for hers. It assumes they'll always have that sort of happy end waiting if they stick it out, even if life has done its level best to hammer home the fact that there's no such thing. It's fine, because whether she truly believes it or not, the look in her eyes right now soundly beats everything that's come before. "Okay," he says, just as serious, turning his head subtly toward her hand. "I promise. I'll keep it together. Fer you." It's a change of pace, but if she cares about what happens to him, then he'll have to as well. At least to some degree.

"Thank you," she says quietly, leaning against him again. What happens after all this comes crashing to an end isn't something Meredith likes to think about, but that doesn't mean she doesn't think about it anyway. It seems ludicrous that he could ever be taken from her, that it's out of their control, when they're both so stubbornly determined to stay this time, but that doesn't stop her from imagining the crushing misery of it, doesn't keep her from wondering if he'll remember her or if she'll lose every last trace of him. And maybe that would be better than the loss when she honestly doesn't know how she would bear it, but she doesn't want to be the one who forgets. If he can hold it together for her, it's something to remember, something to make her try and do the same. Promises don't always mean much, but she can choose to believe him anyway. "Now, no more crying. We're gonna be fine." At least for a little while, she has to believe, they'll be okay.

Fine. Knowing how these things work, knowing himself, even that much strikes Sean as something of a stretch, but he needs to believe it right now more than he ever has before. "Gotcha," he says, taking her words to heart, holding her and kissing her hair. It's official now, more than just talk that they're well and truly stuck with each other and not for the last time, he wonders how he got so lucky. His life turned a corner the day he met her, he needs to really stop trying to look back. "So," he adds, cautious but needy, "ye're truly alright wi' this?"

Meredith hesitates, not wanting to give him an answer that's pure cop-out and not really sure what that answer would be either. "I don't know," she says finally, because it only seems fair to be honest. "I think so. Yes. It's... I don't like it. Of course I don't. But I'm not going to hold you accountable for something you might have done either. And what you did do..." She stops, fumbling for the words to express what she feels, mixed up as that is. It's not like the fact that he makes her happy in any way makes up for what he did to the man he did it to, let alone to Theresa, but she gets to take it into account. "I can deal with it. If I were just here for the good, there'd be no point."

Edited 2010-02-23 09:23 (UTC)

Item Post [for Meredith]

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