"You're right," she'll admit, but with a little bit of regret. "It doesn't really stop the wanting, but you are right. I like being able to just sit and smoke. Or sit and talk. I wouldn't want to lose that."
There's relief in her acceptance, though it's certainly take a bit to banish all the images in his mind. He shuts his eyes for a moment, just savoring the quiet. But it's not too long before he looks back to her.
"I'm not tryin' ta tell you who ta be in all this," he offers gently. "I just want ya ta understand why I'm...tryin' ta be better. It isn't about me not wantin' ta be wicked."
And when it comes down to it, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he'll lose the battle again at some point and beg for her in longing. Or he'll just fucking take her.
"You say 'better' but I really don't blame you for anything. I don't feel bad about anything we did. I didn't feel used because I knew you needed something. I've been there, too." More than once. More than a dozen times just since being on the ship.
He can't resist a low chuckle. Sweeney pulls the last drag before sending the remnants off the same direction as the previous, their embers bouncing along the path.
"Oh, I don't think ya feel bad about the doing things." He doesn't either, really. There'd been fair warning when they first discussed things that sometimes he can't help himself.
"Just might not be too fond of the 'not doin'' them." Wrapping his hand back around the neck of his bottle he takes a moderate swig. One out of habit more than desperation.
"Oh I'd totally love doing it again. But like I said if it'd mean that you'd stop wanting to just hang out with me like this," there's a small flinch; that exact scenario has played out over and over in her life. "I'd miss it. A lot. I like sex. I liked sex with you. But I like you more."
"Then let's focus on this." Sweeney tips the bottle to her, more meaning the socializing than purely drinking, but it could be taken either way.
He can't imagine not wanting her. And she's the only woman he knows that fucking wouldn't immediately be complicated with. It's not to say he doesn't think of being with others, he's just usually able to dismiss the thought before it goes too far into wanting. He's still wary that the indulgence of the act could become too familiar with Annie, and complications would follow at some point, but he doesn't have to concern himself about it yet.
Sweeney offers a small smile and tips the bottle back.
He can feel things settling back down, in his chest and elsewhere, and he's grateful for a bit of silence to drink, before he pulls yet another cigarette. It helps him calm, and that's for the best. He's content to linger in it, if she so desires.
She's learning to sit in quiet with certain people. She stretches out, smoking her last cigarette and then slowly dozing off to the sound of him breathing.
He sits and smokes with occasional breaks to drink while she sleeps. But that thing starts scratching in the back of his mind, as it so often does when he's too quiet and too sober.
Sweeney makes a sincere effort to be silent as he rises and brushes himself off. He pulls the cigarette from behind his ear and leaves it on the grass by her hand, before he shoves his hands in his pockets and moves to leave.
She hasn't been sleeping well since Godric left, but she rouses slightly when he moves. Her fingers curl lightly over the cigarette and she manages to open her eyes, to offer him a light smile. She won't stop him; she can hear his disquiet in the way he moves. "Thanks," she murmurs instead.
Sweeney pauses enough to turn back and give a tip of his head in answer to her thanks. His smile is soft, and though it remains unspoken, there's the echo of Stay. Rest.
He pulls a cigarette for himself, but he doesn't light it before he starts off along the path.
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"I'm not tryin' ta tell you who ta be in all this," he offers gently. "I just want ya ta understand why I'm...tryin' ta be better. It isn't about me not wantin' ta be wicked."
And when it comes down to it, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he'll lose the battle again at some point and beg for her in longing. Or he'll just fucking take her.
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"Oh, I don't think ya feel bad about the doing things." He doesn't either, really. There'd been fair warning when they first discussed things that sometimes he can't help himself.
"Just might not be too fond of the 'not doin'' them." Wrapping his hand back around the neck of his bottle he takes a moderate swig. One out of habit more than desperation.
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He can't imagine not wanting her. And she's the only woman he knows that fucking wouldn't immediately be complicated with. It's not to say he doesn't think of being with others, he's just usually able to dismiss the thought before it goes too far into wanting. He's still wary that the indulgence of the act could become too familiar with Annie, and complications would follow at some point, but he doesn't have to concern himself about it yet.
"Worry 'bout the rest later."
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He can feel things settling back down, in his chest and elsewhere, and he's grateful for a bit of silence to drink, before he pulls yet another cigarette. It helps him calm, and that's for the best. He's content to linger in it, if she so desires.
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Sweeney makes a sincere effort to be silent as he rises and brushes himself off. He pulls the cigarette from behind his ear and leaves it on the grass by her hand, before he shoves his hands in his pockets and moves to leave.
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He pulls a cigarette for himself, but he doesn't light it before he starts off along the path.