I don't care what we deserve, she thinks. The words don't make it past her lips, but the truth of them still rings through her. They've both died for their sins. They both know what awaits them when Darrow tires of their company. Can't that be enough?
Maybe it's too easy to classify his crimes as 'bearable' because they're all a convenient universe away, and nothing to do with her. And maybe, after months of thinking he was too good for her, there's a perverse sort of relief in finding him less spotless than he'd seemed. Maybe a small, horrible part of her even likes the way he looks up at her, as if she could ruin him with a single word. As if she is a Queen.
Or maybe she's just tired of losing people, and the thought of adding Thomas to that list is harder to bear than the thought of what he's done. Maybe she doesn't care if he's done terrible things, as long as she gets to keep him.
"I know," she says, to all of it but the first bit, her thumb caressing his temple. She doesn't need him to tell her these things, as if he hasn't already shown her as much. He has an honest shop. He's unfailingly kind and patient with Saoirse. And he's good to her, always, almost to a fault. Before tonight, the only complaint she could have made is that he was so careful with her that it was exasperating -- behavior which now reads less like an unnecessary consideration for her nonexistent virtue and more like a man just trying to do everything right, for once. "I know."
Of course he wouldn't hurt her. Of course he wouldn't let her come to harm.
That can be enough.
She sighs, her hand dropping to his shoulder, then sliding down to curl beneath his arm. "Come on," she says with a gentle tug, tipping her head towards the couch. "Let's go sit someplace more comfortable. The gin can come, too."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2018-03-16 01:08 am (UTC)Maybe it's too easy to classify his crimes as 'bearable' because they're all a convenient universe away, and nothing to do with her. And maybe, after months of thinking he was too good for her, there's a perverse sort of relief in finding him less spotless than he'd seemed. Maybe a small, horrible part of her even likes the way he looks up at her, as if she could ruin him with a single word. As if she is a Queen.
Or maybe she's just tired of losing people, and the thought of adding Thomas to that list is harder to bear than the thought of what he's done. Maybe she doesn't care if he's done terrible things, as long as she gets to keep him.
"I know," she says, to all of it but the first bit, her thumb caressing his temple. She doesn't need him to tell her these things, as if he hasn't already shown her as much. He has an honest shop. He's unfailingly kind and patient with Saoirse. And he's good to her, always, almost to a fault. Before tonight, the only complaint she could have made is that he was so careful with her that it was exasperating -- behavior which now reads less like an unnecessary consideration for her nonexistent virtue and more like a man just trying to do everything right, for once. "I know."
Of course he wouldn't hurt her. Of course he wouldn't let her come to harm.
That can be enough.
She sighs, her hand dropping to his shoulder, then sliding down to curl beneath his arm. "Come on," she says with a gentle tug, tipping her head towards the couch. "Let's go sit someplace more comfortable. The gin can come, too."