very_sharpe | (no subject)

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Thomas sighed and pushed his goggles up onto his forehead. It was getting a bit late and he hadn't realized how much time had slipped away. He looked over at Steve, waited for him to stop welding before he called over, "Why don't we call it an evening?"

It wasn't ridiculously late yet, but Thomas had no intention of staying in the workshop all night, either. He doubted Steve would want to either once he noticed the time. They'd made good progress; Steve cranked out several stock pieces while Thomas had been working on a commission.

It wasn't late, he supposed, but it was certainly past the time the shop usually closed.

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"We would lose everything," he murmured, as if he was reciting something that had been said to him so often it was part of his memory. "All we had was each other and that bloody house..." His eyebrows drew together. "She took care of me, protected me. I could-- I could make sure that she had a home."

Thomas shook his head. "She chose each of them before Edith."

"Hey, no. You were a victim, Thomas," Steve insists. "Your sister . . . she manipulated you, she abused you, emotionally." He gently squeezes Thomas's wrist. "Maybe you could have done things differently, but . . ." He shakes his head. "You're a victim, too, Thomas."

"I was a grown man, and I knew it was wrong," he said softly. Even if he'd felt her hooks in him until the very end. "I don't know how any woman that knew that would-- could want to be with me. Edith has forgiven me, I think. But that's different."

"You gave your life for her," he reasons. "Of course it's different. But . . . Thomas, you can't punish yourself forever for something you were forced to do."

"Can I really claim that?" he asked quietly, looking at Steve seriously. "I knew what we were doing was wrong, Steve. I knew that she was going to kill these women."

He looked down at the table. "I never fought her. Not until Edith."

"Of course you didn't," Steve says. "She was the only family you had left. Look, I'm not saying that what you did was right, by any stretch. But you literally died because of it. Don't you think that's punishment enough?"

"Well, there certainly wasn't eternal punishment after that," he pointed out quietly. "I've wanted this second chance so badly, but... will I have to tell this story every time I get close to someone? So that they're prepared in case Darrow tries to tell it for me?"

"That's going to have to be your call to make, Thomas," Steve says. "Your baggage is yours, you know? I guess you just have to decide if the person you're growing close to is worth it."

He might not have told Agron right away about Robert, if Agron hadn't walked up while Steve was listening to the recording. Not everyone can handle the idea of a dead spouse. As though they're living in the shadow of a ghost. In Thomas's case, it would be four of them . . . and he'd assisted in their deaths.

That's a huge shadow.

"It feels like... an anchor. If I were to tell someone, if-- if I were close to them. Would I lose them? Would it just be a series of losing people all over again?"

Thomas shook his head and he sat up slowly, gently drawing his hand free from Steve's.

Steve leaves his hand on the tabletop for a few moments, then slides it back a little, just in case Thomas finds himself missing the contact.

"That's what I'm saying," he says. "You have to make that call. You have to decide if the person you're growing close to is going to be worth the risk of telling them. If you're willing to fight for them if they're not sure they can handle it. You're not that guy anymore, Thomas. You prove that to the right person, and they won't get scared away." Steve's still here, after all. Sure, their friendship is purely platonic, but it's not so very different.

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