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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"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."

"So good," Sean murmurs, wrapping his arms solidly around her and kissing her again, carefully staying mindful in the back of his head that this is probably the absolute worst time to start something serious and that he just can't do it. "Ye're everythin'."

There's a moment where Meredith thinks of pulling away again, carefully disentangling herself, remembering that this isn't the time for anything of this sort, his wife too much on their minds. He says that, though, and reason can't keep her from kissing him, still desperate to hear it, whatever she says. "Good," she says, a trace of petulance still in her tone. "I want to be."

Somehow, that's about as comforting a response as there gets right now, and with a sigh, Sean tips his head to kiss her neck, as much to scale things back a bit as anything else. "How could ye be anythin' but?"

Meredith turns her head, eyes closing, caught between enjoying the feel of his lips on her skin and wishing she didn't have a hundred answers to that question, though few of them have anything to do with him. "I think I already covered that tonight," she murmurs. "Sometimes it still doesn't make sense I could be. Not that I'm complaining."

"Makes all the sense in the world from where I'm sittin'," Sean whispers, dragging his teeth lightly across her skin. "Ye saved me."

Meredith bites her lip hard, but it does nothing to stop the soft whimper that comes with that. "Fair enough," she says. God, she shouldn't be flippant now, not when this matters, when it means so much, but she can't help it. "You saved me."

It's not the same, Sean thinks. Maybe she was miserable before, but she wasn't teetering on the brink of destruction like him. She's a survivor. Still, there's something perfect about the idea of them saving each other, two lost souls who just couldn't make it on their own anymore and found each other, so he can ignore the knowledge that it's a fallacy, at least for now. "Best damn thing I've e'er done, then."

Meredith opens her eyes, catching herself actively searching for a way to deny that (he has to have done things much better than help put her together, keep her from losing what grip she had on the pieces). She can't, though. Sitting here, warm and safe and loved in spite of her own insecurities, she can't. "Well, I think so," she says, turning her head to look at him. "Could say the same about you, you know."

Sean meets her gaze after a moment, reaching up to brush his hand along her cheek, and if his smile is a little sad, it's got nothing to do with her words. It's just the night they've had. "S'pose I c'n buy that," he says lightly. "Was near a miracle on yer end, after all."

Leaning her head against his, Meredith smiles, almost embarrassed now, though that doesn't make her any less pleased by it. "I was here," she says, "that's all. Not exactly hard work, being here with you." It might not always be easy, but in between these times, she forgets that.

"It can be," Sean whispers, eyes closed. She can't think that he doesn't know that.

"And I make it so easy all the time," Meredith says dryly. Hand at his cheek, she draws back to look at him again. She might not be able to make him believe her, but she still has to say it. "It's worth it. It's always worth it."

Sean doesn't bother replying, just turns his head slightly into her touch and sighs. Maybe he still has trouble believing it, but really, isn't her opinion the only one that matters in this situation?

"D'ye want ta lay down 'fore I start bawlin' again?"

Meredith laughs a little and nods, kissing him again first. "Yeah," she says, "alright." Reaching back, she takes his hands in hers as she gets to her feet. "Are you gonna be okay?" That he can joke about this at all is encouraging, though she doubts he'd tell her otherwise even if it were the case.

Sean takes his time standing up, hands in hers, before he tries to answer. "I hope so," he says, shooting for something a little closer to emotional honesty than he usually goes for.

Meredith considers that a moment, then sighs. "Me, too," she says, walking backwards toward their room. She could hope for better, but it wouldn't be true, not yet. It's not like she could say more for herself some days.

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missingthekeep.livejournal.com - 2010-12-20 08:01 (UTC) - Expand

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