girl_at_the_window | are you looking for an answer

She doesn't know what she expected, or even hoped for. It would've been a lot easier if he pushed her away, pulled back, said he didn't want her. Unfortunately, that sounds like the opposite of what he's saying, and things just got even more complicated.

"...I wish I could," she says, quietly. "That you were... were too old, or too ugly, or too anything. But you ain't." He's not old, by her estimation. Older than her, sure, but he's still young, and handsome, and kind, and she likes him. She lets out a little sound like a groan, and then she's kissing him again, full on the mouth this time, and not nearly so chastely. One pair of her arms come up around his shoulders, another hand tangling in his hair.

All the air seems to deflate out of Eddie, like he's relieved, or maybe just giving in. If she's not going to fight it too hard...if they're both feeling the same things...then he's going to let it happen, and fuck the consequences. Fuck the guilt he'll feel about it later on. Kissing her feels so good after a year of being starved for physical attention. Kissing her feels better than it has any right to.

He lets out a very similar noise as she closes the gap between them, his hand staying right where it is, cupping her jaw. The other slides around her waist. Eddie's heart feels like it's beating double-time in his chest, his gills twitching restlessly as he kisses her with reckless abandon.

She presses up against him, closing her eyes, her kiss hungry and raw. It's been some time since she was kissed, too, since someone touched her with that kind of want. She melts into it, her tongue pushing into his mouth, her clawed fingers scratching lightly against his scalp as she tightens her hand in his hair.

Gods, it feels good. It's like water in the desert, like a breeze on a hot day. She hasn't felt so desperately wanting since...

"Shit." She pulls away sharply, flushed and breathing heavily, her lips kiss-bruised. "We can't. I can't. I can't be that woman again." Can't do to Susannah what she did to Olive Thorin, can't be some harlot who pretends vows are nothing. If you break vows, you don't go to Heaven. She's not sure she believes in Heaven, but it doesn't really matter, because she knows from her own experience that breaking vows is its own Hell. Eddie's her friend, first and foremost. She can't do that to him.

He gives himself just a little while to enjoy kissing her without feeling anything but good. She's a lot more aggressive than he'd have expected, but that's not a bad thing, and he feels his body start to respond almost immediately.

...Which is why it feels like being doused with cold water when she pulls away again. His own breath is coming out ragged, the gill slits on his neck opening and closing erratically, and he can't help the way his ear fins droop downward. He wants her so badly right now that it hurts. But he also understands.

"Right. Right. Okay." He disentangles himself from her reluctantly. She's right. This is a bad choice. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—I should've stopped." He's supposed to be the adult, here.

If she knew he was thinking that, she'd be pretty annoyed by it. She's adult enough, and in her own estimation, more responsible than plenty of her seniors. She doesn't need him feeling responsible for her.

Luckily for both of them, she doesn't know what he's thinking. Not beyond his clear disappointment and - yep, when she glances down briefly, definitely arousal as well. There's a very small part of her that's satisfied about that, that he clearly wants her as much as she wants him, that she can still get that effect out of a guy. It's a very small part, though, and mostly drowned out by guilt and reluctance and the unfortunate tingling throb between her thighs.

She bites her lip hard enough to sting, taking a deep breath. "Shit," she says again, more quietly this time. "What're we going to do?"

If there's one thing her dalliance with Roland taught her (and all too quickly) it's that you can't just choose not to want someone. All you can do is stay away from them - and she sure as hell doesn't want to stay away from Eddie, who's one of her dearest friends.

He's trying hard not to let the full weight of his disappointment settle over him, because he already feels enough guilt as it is, without feeling like a sulky teenage boy who only made it to first base.

Eddie sighs heavily and leans back against the couch, rubbing a webbed hand over his face. "I don't know. I...we have to do the right thing, I know, but I don't want to." Ka help him, he doesn't want to. He wants to have one thing go his way in this fucking place. Just once. He wants things to be easy, and he knows all too well that the easy thing and the right thing are almost never the same.

Susan nods soberly. She's trying not to let her emotions show too clearly on her face, but her antennae are drooping, her lips pressed together.

"I don't, either," she says after a moment, very quietly. She isn't looking at him, but down at her hands, twisting her fingers together. "You're... you've been better to me than any man ever was, I think. And I'm sorry it's taken us down this way. I truly am. You don't deserve this shit."

Eddie looks over at her out of the corner of her eye, and it makes him feel a little better at least to see that they're both feeling a similar way. But her words make him feel worse, because if this is anyone's fault, it's his. For not having better self-control. For being an idiot who couldn't leave well enough alone.

Against his better judgment, he reaches out and puts a hand over both of hers. "Don't. Don't apologize, this ain't your fault." His hand gives a brief squeeze and then draws back. "Just...what, am I supposed to stay away from you now? I really don't want that." She's important to him. He's felt that way from the very beginning. And maybe he's being childish, like a kid whose toy is about to be taken away, but losing her would hurt more than he's prepared to accept.

"I ain't sure I can bear that." She says it very quietly, but she absolutely means it. He's one of the most important people in her life, and she can't just let go of that, not when she's just starting to find her place here. It isn't just that they're an-tet (though she has no doubt of it, frankly) but she loves him because he's a dear friend.

She sighs, closing her eyes. "I don't know, Eddie. I don't think we can stay away, and I don't think we can be close, and I... I don't know. Truly. I can't just stop wanting."

He leans forward now, cradling his face in his hands. He's relieved, at least, that she doesn't want him to keep away from her. He'd listen, of course, because he's not a creepy douchebag, but it would blow chunks.

"Me either," he admits, rather miserably. "Should I—do you want me to leave?"

She ought to say yes. It would be the sensible thing to do, not to mention the right thing. But in the end, it isn't even her attraction that sways her. She still feels death's coldness on her, the bleak horror of knowing what happened, the instinctive fear that you can't come back once - let alone twice - and still be the same person.

She's scared, that's the truth. She's scared, and she doesn't want to be alone.

So she shakes her head, forcing a little smile. "Stay. Just 'til Chie comes back, at least."

Maybe, just a little, Eddie is afraid, too. Afraid to go back home and be alone with the realization of what just happened, alone with his shame and guilt and the still-lingering desire he feels for her. So he forces a grin, too, and gets up, moving to another chair just to give her some space. Or maybe to keep himself from temptation.

"If that's what you want, then of course I'll stay."

He's staying, and she's grateful, but now she doesn't know what to say. What can you say, after that? Either you address it, make it ache worse, or you pretend it didn't happen, and that's a falsity she's not prepared for.

So she sits in silence for a long time, looking down at her coffee. At last, she says slowly, "Did aught come of it? Kira and all? Nobody went on killin', right?"

Yeah, this is awkward. He ought to have anticipated that. It's even more awkward when he's still half-hard in his pants and with no way of hiding it that isn't incredibly obvious.

It's a relief when she finally breaks the silence, needless to say. His own coffee is cold and forgotten and he's wishing it wasn't, just to have something to occupy his hands with.

"No," he says. "As far as I know, anyway. Not that the temptation wasn't there, mind you. But I figured that wasn't what you'd have wanted."

"You figured right." She smiles a little, but doesn't look up at him. "It wasn't murder. No more than what I did. Just... justice. The old kind." A life for a life. She doesn't blame Mitsuhide for that, even if she doesn't feel like killing Kira was any sort of a crime. She'd have done the same, in his place.

It doesn't mean she likes it, of course. But it's still a relief to know it hasn't gone on spiralling down the way she was afraid it might, kill leading onto kill leading onto kill. She didn't want to have to carry that.

She sips her own coffee - now lukewarm, too, but she's ignoring that - and sighs. "Gods, Eddie. Why is everything always so bedamned complicated?"

"I figured as much. It pissed me the hell off, but I'm not idiot enough to go after anyone that obviously crazy." Not without another Gunslinger, anyway, and there's no way Jake would have any of that without a damn good reason.

Her question has him looking sidelong at her, and he seems to deflate a little. "I don't know," he admits. "Sometimes I think humans are built to make everything harder than it needs to be." To want what we're not supposed to want, he almost adds, but doesn't. No need making this more painful than it has to be.

She smiles a little, thinly and without much humour. "You'd think of all the human things for her to wipe us clean of, she'd at least try for that." It's a joke, although one that's more bitter than funny.

Sighing, she rubs her eyes with a free hand. "Though it's probably fun to watch, if you don't have to be a part of it. Man plans, God laughs, my da used to say."

"Yeah, I don't think that'd be much fun for her," he agrees wryly. "I'm sure she's out there having a real good fuckin' laugh right now at us two."

"There's always someone." Aunt Cord. Rhea. The Fog God. Susan's sick to the back teeth of being watched, sick of knowing it. Just once, it'd be nice to forget that actions have consequences, forget anyone can know anything. It'd be nice if things could be simple, just once.

She sighs, putting her coffee cup aside. "Eddie?"

Eddie's tenses a little, when she says his name, and glances up at her through the flop of his hair.

"Yeah?"

He's expecting her to just ask him to go, already. To say she's changed her mind about not wanting to be alone. He wouldn't exactly blame her.

Truth be told, she doesn't know what she's going to say. She just knows she needs to say something, knows it on a level that doesn't even scrape conscious planning. So she hesitates for a split second, before deciding to trust her instincts and just say whatever comes into her head.

Which happens to be, "I love you."

She's blushing, but she thinks it's true. She does love him. It's a different kind of love to what she felt for Roland, less heated, less desperate, but it feels like love nonetheless.

"I know that ain't helpful and I know we can't do a thing about it, but you ought to know, I guess. We ought to... I needed to say it."

Eddie just stares at her, stock-still and wide-eyed, for a moment while he processes what it is she's saying. Christ, this is more complicated than he already thought it was. After a long moment, he bends his head, runs his hands through his hair.

"Jesus Christ, Susan. I mean, you're right, it isn't helpful, but..."

He lets out a long sigh and finally looks back up her. "I love you too, for what it's worth."

Despite everything, despite the fact that he wasn't exactly subtle about responding to her kiss, there's a real surprise in her wide grey eyes. Somehow, it hadn't entirely fallen into place that he might feel the same way. He's married.

And so are you, she reminds herself, like a mental slap in the face. Or close enough to make no difference.

She bites her lip, finally dropping her gaze after a too-long period of eye contact. "If it were any other way..." But it isn't.

He knows. And it's just as surprising to him, too, because he never wanted to be the guy who fell for someone that isn't his wife. But somewhere along the line, that's changed. At first he thought what he felt for Susan was just brotherly love, but...clearly that's not quite true.

"I know. And—God, I wish it was." He wishes they could both take a chance at happiness.

Fuck.

Susan swallows, looking down at her hands, scratching at the leg of her jeans with one talon.

"I wish it was, too," she says, quietly. And in the back of her mind, bird and bear and hare and fish...

Has her fondest wish changed?

She sighs, reaching up to toy with her hair. There's an obnoxiously insistent part of her saying but it IS different. Susannah isn't here. Roland isn't here. Death already did you part, and worlds between him and his wife...

She can't afford to think like that. She can't afford to think herself round all the corners and loopholes, convince herself that it's not wrong. It is wrong. They both know it is. They're just going to have to work with it. The question is, can they avoid it? Her experience with Roland isn't exactly reassuring on that front.

"Tell me about her," she says, suddenly. "Susannah. Maybe it'll help."

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