[Maketh takes more time than is perhaps needed to fetch the ice and wash her face, hoping that the distance is enough to give her a presentable distance - or at least get rid of the damning redness around her eyes. She hates crying and hates it even more when there are witnesses. It accomplishes nothing.
She returns, clear faced and tired, and sets the ice down on the table, wrapped in a rag. Embarrassing to him, perhaps, but--needed.
Well. Here they are.
Maketh rubs her face. She's tired and sore all over, shoulder aching from the strain of--everything.]
I don't--mean to be like this. When I fight.
[Or at all.
She's quiet for a moment.]
I almost killed someone, in training. I never told anyone that.
[Maketh rubs her eyes with a sigh. This was a mistake, thinking she could bleed the ugliness out of herself by hitting him. She's tried that before and it only made things worse. That's always been one of her greatest flaws, failing to learn from her mistakes. They always repeat themselves.]
He died. [She drops her hands.] Not from--that. But he died.
[In most ways, it was her fault. She thins her mouth at Henry, not a smile. Perhaps he can understand. He went to war as a child. He knows very well what it feels like to end someone's life.]
I decided then I would calculate everything I did. So there would be no more mistakes.
Edited (it was bothering me) 2016-11-21 04:47 (UTC)
[Henry puts a hand on her shoulder. He's certainly no stranger to high expectations, but even he sees the folly in trying to hold oneself to perfection.]
'Tis an impossible task, Maketh, despite your excellence. You cannot expect to make no mistakes. We are all imperfect. What you can do is never repeat the same mistake.
[Maketh closes her eyes. That way, perhaps he won't see how much she wants to put her hand over his, just hold him close. A weakness. She needs too much from Henry and fears one day it will ruin him. No one in Maketh's life has ever truly survived knowing her.] I keep making them. I thought--it would be all right, if I hit something. If I hit you or you hit me back, then perhaps I'd forget for a little.
[It didn't work like that. It never has.
She sighs.]
How do you bear it? Knowing someone like that and then...
[Henry's hand remains there, and he squeezes her shoulder.]
...You remind yourself of the life that she would want you to lead. You remember that you remain the same woman who captured her heart. You refuse to break because you are stronger than your grief.
[Lilith would want something better than this, wouldn't she? Maketh takes a shuddering breath and then lets it go. In and out. Focus. Concentrate. Don't let your mind spiral, there's no use in that.] Thank you, Henry. Brother.
[Of course he pushes the point. Maketh shakes her hair out of her face with a sigh, pulling the plate closer.] You said once only a sibling could cause you this much trouble.
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She returns, clear faced and tired, and sets the ice down on the table, wrapped in a rag. Embarrassing to him, perhaps, but--needed.
Well. Here they are.
Maketh rubs her face. She's tired and sore all over, shoulder aching from the strain of--everything.]
I don't--mean to be like this. When I fight.
[Or at all.
She's quiet for a moment.]
I almost killed someone, in training. I never told anyone that.
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His brow furrows at her confession. It's unexpected, despite what he's just seen. That, he thought, was an extreme.]
Did you...? [Watching Maketh, he carefully asks:] Are you afeared of losing control?
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He died. [She drops her hands.] Not from--that. But he died.
[In most ways, it was her fault. She thins her mouth at Henry, not a smile. Perhaps he can understand. He went to war as a child. He knows very well what it feels like to end someone's life.]
I decided then I would calculate everything I did. So there would be no more mistakes.
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'Tis an impossible task, Maketh, despite your excellence. You cannot expect to make no mistakes. We are all imperfect. What you can do is never repeat the same mistake.
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[It didn't work like that. It never has.
She sighs.]
How do you bear it? Knowing someone like that and then...
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...You remind yourself of the life that she would want you to lead. You remember that you remain the same woman who captured her heart. You refuse to break because you are stronger than your grief.
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[He has always been honest with her.]
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[Henry gives Maketh's shoulder one final squeeze before he releases it. He then pushes the plate of food before her and gives her an expectant look.]
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[She quips a smile.]
Well. I suppose that's true.
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Worry not. By that particular reckoning, this is mild.
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I am sure you will return the favor some day.
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Not too soon, one hopes.
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