missingthekeep | Christmas Eve [for Meredith]

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Christmas Eve [for Meredith]

Sean's so nervous, he thinks he might pass out. He was expecting to be nervous, of course, he was anxious as sin the last time he tried something as insane as this with the last woman to cross his path, but this... this really goes above and beyond. Fortunately, in the years since his last proposal of marriage, he's gotten a hell of a lot better at hiding how nervous he is, so the only outward show of it he allows is some fidgeting with the ring in his jacket pocket. It doesn't help much.

It's a good ring, he thinks. Fancy and pretty without overdoing it. He'll want something a little more personal than what he could scrounge from the Pond woman's stash for the final things, but as an engagement ring, it does nicely. Would that he were so confident about the rest of this, especially when he has every reason to be. This isn't about how lousy everything else in his life is right now, this is about him and Meredith, nothing else. And they're good. They're better than good, occasional hiccups aside. He wants this, she wants this, and they're great, they're solid. How could this possibly be the wrong thing to do, the wrong time to do it?

It isn't, he tells himself for the thirtieth time. Besides, it's already been weeks since she told him she was ready, that she was finally and fully ready to marry him. How much longer does he really have?

Right.

Right.

"Nice night, innit?" he asks with a smile, trying to keep up the charade that he dragged her out to the snow-covered beach for nothing more than a walk on Christmas Eve as long as he's able.

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Meredith keeps her mouth shut, nodding slowly once, until she can trust her voice to work right. It still feels like something gripping her heart, a sharp ache, and it's all too easy to jump at every imagined slight and self-perceived shortcoming. "Should we not talk?" she asks. "About... about this? I thought you wanted to or we should or — we don't have to. Or it can wait until it's less... like this."

"No, no, it's... I don't know," Sean says, repeating himself and feeling like a prize jerk in the process. "I think it's less 'bout wantin' to an' more that I cannae help it. An' anyway, this is prob'ly good, we should, it should hurt, it jus'... feels like too much. Tonight was s'posed to be simple."

"It does," Meredith says, biting her lip as she nods. It shouldn't hurt like this, she thinks, but then, she isn't sure; what would she know about any of this? Maybe it should. It's still too much, still overwhelming, and their quiet evening on the beach seems like it happened weeks ago. "Simple would've been nice. But we have this. And whatever you need to say, you need to say."

Sean nods, reaching up to wipe roughly at his eyes. She's right, of course, but that's never made things he doesn't like any easier to bear. "I hate this place sometimes. I really do."

"I know," Meredith murmurs, "so do I. But we would've had to deal with it eventually, Sean. No matter where we are." She could have gone on for ages ignoring the twinges of jealousy, but it's probably better for him. She has to hope it is, anyway, that there's a silver lining in this somewhere. "Better now than tomorrow, I guess."

"Ye think so, do ye?" Sean asks wryly, though she's probably right about that, too. Better no engagement than a ruined one. Either way, that's a subject he needs to move away from as quickly as possible. "Cannae believe it's been three years since I've seen her face."

Meredith nods absently, taking a deep breath, steeling herself against this. He needs to talk. She probably needs to hear it if she's ever going to get over this, needs to focus on this being his past and Maeve's just being an ordinary woman, however perfect for him. That doesn't make it any easier, but she can't keep derailing him. It doesn't make it hurt any less anyway. "That's longer even than I've been here," she says, mostly to herself. Every day they've known each other he's been missing someone else, but didn't she know that almost from the beginning?

"Feels like a blessed eternity, doesn't it?" Sean asks, not entirely sure what point he's trying to make or if he's just carrying on for the sake of it. Either way, it pulls at his chest like a physical thing, but at least he's successfully moved away from dwelling on his aborted proposal.

That and not nearly long enough, but Meredith doesn't say so. It's not a matter of holding her tongue so much as it is one of being so tired, what energy she has focused on the constant stream of reminders to herself. She wouldn't know the right thing to say even if she weren't feeling so worn down. Shifting to tuck her head against his shoulder, she sighs. "Yeah. Like forever."

"An' still like the blink of an eye," Sean continues, his voice oddly flat as he tips his head to rest lightly against hers, rubbing his hands slowly along her back.

Meredith makes a sound of agreement, closing her eyes. "I don't know where it all went," she murmurs, letting herself relax, at least trying to. Now that they're talking, she wants to ask questions, but she isn't sure they're ready for that, either of them.

"It scares me," Sean confesses, nearly hating that one most of all as his voice drops back down to a hush. "How long it's been, how fast it's all gone by."

It scares her, too, but her reasons are different, Meredith knows. She can't quite understand where he's coming from, but she knows it's something else. "It's always like that," she says. "It seems like it's dragging and then, before you know it, it's been years."

"Aye," Sean replies, fingers pressing gently into the muscles in her back just for something else to focus on. "That was the worst part, I think, 'bout findin' out when I... ye know. It was hard enae tryin' t'imagine the rest o' me life without her, but puttin' a number on it jus' makes it seem impossibly long."

"Three years," Meredith says, testing it out for him, and she can't imagine it. Her fingers move absently through his hair. She tries, whether out of empathy or masochism, tries to apply it to them and a lifetime without him, but it's overwhelming to think about still and she's too easily hurt tonight. She focuses on little things: his hands against her back, her own steady breathing, the past tense. "I don't know how you did it. I don't think I could."

"Sometimes it doesnae feel as if I have," Sean admits, since tonight's coming as a pretty fierce reminder of that. Still, it's amazing what a difference Meredith can make all by herself. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm rememberin' her right."

"I wouldn't know," she says, though that's self-evident. Meredith doesn't know what he remembers, except that it was probably better than here. It's not even a reflection on her this time, it's just fact to her. Life before he lost her must have been better, happier, easier, the kind of life only other people get. It's hard to imagine him being on the other side of this divide when he's always been like her in her eyes. "Probably not entirely. We never remember anyone entirely right."

"S'pose that's true," Sean admits, but there's no disguising how uncomfortable he is with the idea. All it does is drive home the fact that the woman he knew, the woman he loved, is well and truly gone. "Jus'... doesnae seem right, I guess."

"I guess not," Meredith says. She can't disagree, anyway. Forgetting, being forgotten, it isn't right. She knows it's how the mind works, knows she remembers wrong even the people who were alive when she saw them last all those years ago, but that doesn't make it easier to bear. "Maybe the talking about it — about her — will help. When you're ready to."

"Maybe," Sean says, and while he's not entirely convinced of that, he's willing to remain open to the idea. "Hopefully I'll actually know what ta say by the time that happens."

"You and me both," Meredith says wryly. Curious or not, whether it's possibly in her best interests or not, she's in no rush for that time to come. She barely knows what to say to him now. Leaning back a bit, she shakes her head. "Hopefully I'll stop being such an idiot about this by then."

Finally feeling steady enough to draw back a bit himself, Sean doesn't let it last very long before he leans in to rest his forehead against hers. "Ye're nae bein' an' idiot, Meredith," he says, soft but serious. "This has been a lot, I know."

Edited 2010-12-18 12:05 (UTC)

"I am," Meredith says, closing her eyes tight against another wave of hurt at the thought of how she's behaved and the things she's let herself believe. "And it is, it's a lot and all at once and... I should know better, though. I do know better. I know you love me. I don't know why I let it get to me so much."

"The heart's a fickle thing, acushla," Sean says, gently brushing a hand through her hair as he shakes his head. "Damn near impossible to control."

"I hate the idea of you with someone else," Meredith says, voice falling almost to a whisper. His touch, his words, are so soothing, but that just makes her mean it all the more. The wife always wins in the end and she can't lose this, the one real comfort she has. "But you told me about her before I even thought I could have feelings for you, before I even really knew you. I should have got used to it forever ago."

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