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 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."

"I think we've already proved I'm nae so keen on the idea o' yer bein' with others, meself," Sean points out, quiet and almost wry, though he can't entirely ignore the pang in his chest that accompanies her words. "An' it's nae as if I gave ye much opportunity t'get used to't. None of it changes how we feel 'bout each other now."

"Not even a little," Meredith says and kisses him, forehead resting against his after. How he can be so good to her when she's made a mess of things or just feels like a mess, she never knows. "I just have to learn to remember that."

"Honestly, darlin', f'r all me fancy talk," Sean says, his eyes closing, "I do, too."

"What?" Meredith asks, petulant. It's mostly false, but it's still a damn sight better than sounding genuinely hurt. He doesn't mean anything by that. "You forget you love me?"

"No," Sean replies, smiling in spite of himself at that. Loving her is about the only thing he's got left. "Jus' how simple this can be when we let it."

Meredith smiles a little, too, ducking her head. She needs the reminder; it gets easy to forget at times like these. "It can be," she says. "It is. When we let it. If we'd stop getting in our own way."

It doesn't make things any easier when they have help in that matter, but for now, it isn't a big deal. He doubts the feeling will last, but for now he remembers that, at the end of the day, mishaps and misery, dead wives and lost rings aside, this right here is all that matters. They still have each other.

"I love ye. An' that's somethin' I'll ne'er be forgettin'."

Given that, for all she's been through, Meredith's pretty sure she's never felt worse than she has tonight (although part of her is equally certain that's just because she's too close to it to remember all the other times clearly), it makes sense that there's just about nothing so gratifying as hearing that. Holding on tight, she kisses him, neither soft nor quick now, the best way she knows to convey that. "I won't again," she says, barely pulling away, and it's probably a lie, but for now, she believes it.

"Mmm, good," Sean breathes, kissing her back just as fervently since that strikes him as a better outlet for all his remaining tension than anything else he can think of. He's not sure how much he actually believes it right now, but he can at least believe that the next time he gives her reason to forget again, he'll also be able to remind her.

If she's precise, it wasn't even a question of if he loves her, only if he loves her enough, although both seem painfully absurd now, but Meredith can't bring herself to care about the semantics or correct herself when he's kissing her like that. Though the reminder of how wrong she's been doesn't entirely distract from her guilt or embarrassment, it's not until she's moved herself more fully into his lap that she gets a hold of herself and pulls back. "Good," she echoes. "Good."

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