( He'd be surprised if he saw their interactions, how easily Ignis could coax her into being more expressive, how much happier she was. Dark brown eyes, dulled to a near-black, follow Carlisle's work, the shift in his expression, and she murmurs a thanks without thinking about it as her hand repairs itself. )
... What d'you think? ( She snorts and gestures to the mess around her, eyes casting over all of it. The worst of that anger is gone, replaced by a dull, aching numbness, the logical awareness that she has to clean this shit up now. )
Not sure why I thought it'd be different.
( Losing him was guaranteed, at one point or another, and she was fortunate to have much longer with him than she did with Sam, but still—
Why was she stupid enough to fall into that blissful feeling again? That one where the dark cloud of inevitable separation was ignored, where she kept wearing summer clothes despite the building signs of a storm, rejected umbrellas and shelter.
Who else can she blame for the hurt of losing him but herself? She was dumb enough to act like they were just two people and this world was theirs, when it's merely one they're borrowing.
[He might be surprised, but he might not be, as Carlisle has seen how she interacts with Glacius from time to time, and is well aware of their closeness and how she opens up for his partner in a way she never has for him. She can do it, but does she choose not to? Or is there something about him that makes it so difficult?
Carlisle doesn't know the answer to that, but he cannot help the bitter jealousy that stirs in his chest at the mere thought as she retorts sarcastically rather than giving him a straightforward answer for his honest question. Why did he believe she would do any different? Why did she believe things would be different regarding Ignis? Why did any of them hold onto such vain hope of change?
He releases her hand, bringing his own back so that he may pick at the stained bandage on his arm.]
( The commentary on their relationship versus those they have with others could fill a small book, but right now those problems are secondary to the fact that Carlisle is here and she trusts him in a way she so rarely communicates.
It's easier to open up to him than he might realise, easier to let the vulnerability cross her expression as she speaks, focusing on the shattered pieces of kitchenware littering the floor. The sarcastic comment comes out too easily, a dry dig at herself more than anything.
What a fucking weakness to have. And what a way to make it all too obvious to anyone who walks by. )
... ( Regrets? Hurt wants to say that putting herself through this is her regret. Letting herself care about anyone so much that she feels this emptiness, as though all the rivers have been drained, just like losing each member of her family.
But she doesn't. She doesn't because she can't, because despite all the anger at how unfair this is, when she thinks of what they had?
Well. She can't regret that. It's not like last time. There's nothing she wishes she had, except for more time. Ever so selfishly. Just... more time. )
...No.
( Her back hits the cabinet behind her and Kate sinks down onto the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
... What d'you think? ( She snorts and gestures to the mess around her, eyes casting over all of it. The worst of that anger is gone, replaced by a dull, aching numbness, the logical awareness that she has to clean this shit up now. )
Not sure why I thought it'd be different.
( Losing him was guaranteed, at one point or another, and she was fortunate to have much longer with him than she did with Sam, but still—
Why was she stupid enough to fall into that blissful feeling again? That one where the dark cloud of inevitable separation was ignored, where she kept wearing summer clothes despite the building signs of a storm, rejected umbrellas and shelter.
Who else can she blame for the hurt of losing him but herself? She was dumb enough to act like they were just two people and this world was theirs, when it's merely one they're borrowing.
Or one which borrowed them. )
no subject
Carlisle doesn't know the answer to that, but he cannot help the bitter jealousy that stirs in his chest at the mere thought as she retorts sarcastically rather than giving him a straightforward answer for his honest question. Why did he believe she would do any different? Why did she believe things would be different regarding Ignis? Why did any of them hold onto such vain hope of change?
He releases her hand, bringing his own back so that he may pick at the stained bandage on his arm.]
Have you any regrets?
no subject
It's easier to open up to him than he might realise, easier to let the vulnerability cross her expression as she speaks, focusing on the shattered pieces of kitchenware littering the floor. The sarcastic comment comes out too easily, a dry dig at herself more than anything.
What a fucking weakness to have. And what a way to make it all too obvious to anyone who walks by. )
... ( Regrets? Hurt wants to say that putting herself through this is her regret. Letting herself care about anyone so much that she feels this emptiness, as though all the rivers have been drained, just like losing each member of her family.
But she doesn't. She doesn't because she can't, because despite all the anger at how unfair this is, when she thinks of what they had?
Well. She can't regret that. It's not like last time. There's nothing she wishes she had, except for more time. Ever so selfishly. Just... more time. )
...No.
( Her back hits the cabinet behind her and Kate sinks down onto the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. )
Just— I didn't want him to go.