The kiss is welcomed and returned without hesitation, though in its wake he gets a bit quieter.
"Is it gonna bother ya if I say I rather ya not?" Sweeney's clearly worried about her feelings; he doesn't want to offend her, it's just a complication he doesn't want between them.
Sweeney's lips thin, and he takes several breaths to find words to give.
"Who I was then...that was my first story." He sighs and shuts his eyes. "Fuck, I only remember flickers an' that's only 'cause Ibis shoved 'em back in right b'fore I died." There's darkness there, for several reasons. Darkness he doesn't want in their night which has gone so well.
"I don't remember much, but...he ain't much like this me. He's..." Sweeney struggles for the feeling, much less the words. "Heavy. Obligated." He sighs, his eyes shifting to the grass.
"I don't know 'nough ta know what I'll be then." His jaw shifts to one side, hesitant to make the admission.
"He may hunt wolves." It's not a threat or a flippant jest. There's sincere concern for her. It would make sense that he would, Hound-son that he is. The Shining One, protecting others from the darkness and the dangers therein.
"I don't ever want to put you in a situation where you'd hurt me." She trusts him, the man under her arm, the man who bruised so much of her body, who makes her feel like she doesn't have to hate herself if she can't put one foot in front of the other some days.
She knows this is not all there is to him, too. She takes his fear seriously.
"But I like you. Who you were, because it's helped make you who you are. I don't want you to feel like you have to protect me. I want to become someone who doesn't need protecting." But even as she says it her smile falters. She believes she could lead a pack again (at least here, now, in this perfect night she does). But she has always been under someone else's thumb. Even when they ran for their lives, the boys tucked her up in the middle, took bullets and executions for her, and she could do nothing except allow it.
She chalks this one up to overconfidence, to too much enthusiasm for a future she doesn't really believe in. A misstep she would have made if she was drunk; happiness, it turns out, is as inebriating as a shot of tequila. She needs to rein that in.
To her credit--and Sweeney's, and even Godric's--she doesn't backpedal and doesn't yank the conversation away from tricky ground.
"Pick a day. But I don't want it to be just because I'm fragile." She's so tired of being fragile.
You don't know who I was. Fuck, I don't even know that.
He pulls her close, as if he's worried she might slip away, that he would lose her as an anchor. Sweeney presses his face into her hair, not a nuzzle, just a way to hide from an uncomfortable subject and fight to stay himself. No matter how well he's doing, thinking on the others too much is risky.
"It ain't just you I'm lookin' ta protect," he whispers, swallowing hard after.
"Hate myself fer a lotta things." His lips thin, but he forces his way further.
"Don't wanna carry that 'round with me. E'en if you'd forgive me...I'm not ready ta live with knowin' I did somethin' ta ya, thinkin' I was right ta do it." Righteous violence.
"Please, Annie." He swallows and kisses her head. "Just give me this one." The request is humble, for there's nothing else he has. The burden of the thought is already so much to bear.
"Just make it the second an' I'll be just fer you."
"No, not August," she says quickly. "I'll think of something. Maybe I'll just spring it on you."
Some day not so far. Some day they have an actual chance of seeing together. She was willing to hold out for a day special to him, but without that she can't stomach the thought of counting on the future.
Sweeney feels like he did something wrong, even if it's for the right reason. He isn't sure how to feel about it, because when it comes down to it, he's spend a huge amount of time not wanting to feel anything about anyone else.
His thoughts shift, trying to settle. Something clicks.
"How ya feel 'bout the end of May?" he asks, cautiously optimistic, but understanding it's going to be a complicated subject in general. "The twenty-sixth?"
"Wait. Spring. Let's do spring! First day of it if there is one? New beginnings or, y'know, celebrating getting stronger and sunnier." She loves symbolism. It's part of what had made this so perfect. She sits up on an elbow, waggles her eyebrows at him. "And it's not real far. Right?"
Similar complications, if less dangerous ones. Still sharing holidays. But he's willing to compromise. Instead of the equinox, the day after. A spring forward.
"March twenty-first do ya, then? Give ya the first day the sun's out longer." His brow lifts knowingly.
"Though--an' I know it's a hell'uva lot longer--but..." Sweeney reaches his arm above his head, pulling something from the grass. He tucks it against his chest so it's in front of her.
It's the flask she'd etched for him, one side flipping one finger, the other flipping two.
It takes her a moment to figure out what he means. She hadn't forgotten she made it for him, but given his utter lack of enthusiasm about it and the fact she never saw it again, she hadn't thought he'd kept it.
"We can have both," she offers, gaze never quite leaving the flask. "Not like I'm going to get tired of you."
"Just more work fer you," he reminds her with a grin. "Yer the one wantin' ta plan e'erythin'." With a good-natured chuckle, his eyes find the ceiling.
"Not like I can keep stealin' this much dirt e'ery couple of months."
He sets the flask back on the grass above him, and offers a good-natured shrug. Sweeney's smile is encouraging.
"Luv, I've spent most of my existence survivin' on offerin's an' belief. It ain't 'bout what it is. It's 'bout the intent."
With a playful roll of his eyes, he leans to kiss her hair, then speaks against it.
"Ya could just not fuck me fer a month, an' I know how much of a sacrifice that is." It's cheeky, but also bluntly honest.
"I look forward ta seein' what ya come up with. That sorta thing isn't somethin' that folk do fer me." He's lucky enough to actually get to celebrate the Holidays.
She likes the warmth in his voice. She likes knowing she's earned it from him, and likes knowing that what she comes up with will put it there again.
"People should do it for you more," is her honest assessment. "But I don't hate that when I get to do something for you it's special. Instead of it just being like 'oh I got that same flask from Jane last week'. I like knowing that I can still do new things for you."
Sweeney takes a slow breath, releasing it as a comfortable sigh. "It might be a complete surprise if ya don't give me any hints. Least you knew that was comin'." He traces a finger over her Mark. "I ain't gotta Pack ta get all fancy fer," he remarks with a tip of his head.
"When we go to ports and things... you're okay if like, Connor checks up if I'm stuck in a coma again, right?" She looks up at him. "Not because I think you need our help. It's just- if I wake up and something's happened, something bad, I just want to know everyone made it out okay. And that someone made sure you weren't just left to deal with it all alone."
The day to days of the Pack aren't his problem, but she's uncertain where the lines do exist.
His lips thin slightly, unsure exactly what she's asking. A silence hangs before he seeks clarification.
"You askin' me ta take care of them? Or ta accept them lookin' ta me ta take care of you when shit like that happens?" The answers clearly may be different.
She chews her lip. "I guess what I'm asking is what you're comfortable with them wanting to do to help you, or asking you to do to help me. So that if I'm death tolling or in a coma or something no one has to wonder if I'd want you there; now that you're pack they'll already know I do."
He's still not 100% on the expectations, but he's doing better.
"I'm here fer you. I don't expect them ta do fer me, like I ain't lookin' ta do fer them. But when it comes ta you..." Sweeney sighs. "Course they can come ta me." His gaze dips for a moment to her neck and back.
"Hope it ain't gonna be a secret that ya'd want me there."
"But it ain't like ya don't occasionally come home smellin' like fellas ya ain't lookin' ta bring with ya." There's no criticism; she should fuck who she wants. It doesn't mean he's not going to poke her about it in jest.
"Good, upstanding men," she jokes. Her type is rough around the edges but in practice she tends to end up with men who treat her delicately. "A whole platoon of 'em. They'd never dare tear me out of a dress."
"Well, I would be up-standin', but ya keep fuckin' it out of me."
He glances vaguely towards the dress and back to her.
"I ain't sayin' it should be anytime soon, but when the time comes, ya want me ta sew ya back in that dress, or just lend ya my shirt?" He makes a quick addition.
"Lend. Ya gotta give it back. I've only got the two."
"That's a hard bargain. If I go home in your shirt I'll fall asleep in your shirt smelling like you and..." How to explain to a non-canid? She steals things from her friends that smell like them, and stashes them in her blanket nest. Having a whole shirt?
"You might just have to let me find you a replacement shirt. I could even take you to that Wardrobe and I swear on my life I won't try to talk you into wearing anything dumb."
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Her smile softens and she kisses him, lets it linger just so he knows she's kissing him and not some ancient idea of who he is.
"Does that mean I shouldn't see you, on Lughnasadh?"
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"Is it gonna bother ya if I say I rather ya not?" Sweeney's clearly worried about her feelings; he doesn't want to offend her, it's just a complication he doesn't want between them.
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Sweeney's lips thin, and he takes several breaths to find words to give.
"Who I was then...that was my first story." He sighs and shuts his eyes. "Fuck, I only remember flickers an' that's only 'cause Ibis shoved 'em back in right b'fore I died." There's darkness there, for several reasons. Darkness he doesn't want in their night which has gone so well.
"I don't remember much, but...he ain't much like this me. He's..." Sweeney struggles for the feeling, much less the words. "Heavy. Obligated." He sighs, his eyes shifting to the grass.
"I don't know 'nough ta know what I'll be then." His jaw shifts to one side, hesitant to make the admission.
"He may hunt wolves." It's not a threat or a flippant jest. There's sincere concern for her. It would make sense that he would, Hound-son that he is. The Shining One, protecting others from the darkness and the dangers therein.
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She knows this is not all there is to him, too. She takes his fear seriously.
"But I like you. Who you were, because it's helped make you who you are. I don't want you to feel like you have to protect me. I want to become someone who doesn't need protecting." But even as she says it her smile falters. She believes she could lead a pack again (at least here, now, in this perfect night she does). But she has always been under someone else's thumb. Even when they ran for their lives, the boys tucked her up in the middle, took bullets and executions for her, and she could do nothing except allow it.
She chalks this one up to overconfidence, to too much enthusiasm for a future she doesn't really believe in. A misstep she would have made if she was drunk; happiness, it turns out, is as inebriating as a shot of tequila. She needs to rein that in.
To her credit--and Sweeney's, and even Godric's--she doesn't backpedal and doesn't yank the conversation away from tricky ground.
"Pick a day. But I don't want it to be just because I'm fragile." She's so tired of being fragile.
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He pulls her close, as if he's worried she might slip away, that he would lose her as an anchor. Sweeney presses his face into her hair, not a nuzzle, just a way to hide from an uncomfortable subject and fight to stay himself. No matter how well he's doing, thinking on the others too much is risky.
"It ain't just you I'm lookin' ta protect," he whispers, swallowing hard after.
"Hate myself fer a lotta things." His lips thin, but he forces his way further.
"Don't wanna carry that 'round with me. E'en if you'd forgive me...I'm not ready ta live with knowin' I did somethin' ta ya, thinkin' I was right ta do it." Righteous violence.
"Please, Annie." He swallows and kisses her head. "Just give me this one." The request is humble, for there's nothing else he has. The burden of the thought is already so much to bear.
"Just make it the second an' I'll be just fer you."
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Some day not so far. Some day they have an actual chance of seeing together. She was willing to hold out for a day special to him, but without that she can't stomach the thought of counting on the future.
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His thoughts shift, trying to settle. Something clicks.
"How ya feel 'bout the end of May?" he asks, cautiously optimistic, but understanding it's going to be a complicated subject in general. "The twenty-sixth?"
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"Wait. Spring. Let's do spring! First day of it if there is one? New beginnings or, y'know, celebrating getting stronger and sunnier." She loves symbolism. It's part of what had made this so perfect. She sits up on an elbow, waggles her eyebrows at him. "And it's not real far. Right?"
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"March twenty-first do ya, then? Give ya the first day the sun's out longer." His brow lifts knowingly.
"Though--an' I know it's a hell'uva lot longer--but..." Sweeney reaches his arm above his head, pulling something from the grass. He tucks it against his chest so it's in front of her.
It's the flask she'd etched for him, one side flipping one finger, the other flipping two.
"May twenty-sixth."
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"We can have both," she offers, gaze never quite leaving the flask. "Not like I'm going to get tired of you."
That much she knows.
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Sweeney concedes with a tip of his head.
"Just more work fer you," he reminds her with a grin. "Yer the one wantin' ta plan e'erythin'." With a good-natured chuckle, his eyes find the ceiling.
"Not like I can keep stealin' this much dirt e'ery couple of months."
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She strokes her hand over the grass. "Just don't get your hopes up too high. I don't think I can get an idea close to this."
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"Luv, I've spent most of my existence survivin' on offerin's an' belief. It ain't 'bout what it is. It's 'bout the intent."
With a playful roll of his eyes, he leans to kiss her hair, then speaks against it.
"Ya could just not fuck me fer a month, an' I know how much of a sacrifice that is." It's cheeky, but also bluntly honest.
"I look forward ta seein' what ya come up with. That sorta thing isn't somethin' that folk do fer me." He's lucky enough to actually get to celebrate the Holidays.
"So whate'er ya plan, it's gonna be special."
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"People should do it for you more," is her honest assessment. "But I don't hate that when I get to do something for you it's special. Instead of it just being like 'oh I got that same flask from Jane last week'. I like knowing that I can still do new things for you."
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"Pretty sure I don't know a Jane."
Sweeney takes a slow breath, releasing it as a comfortable sigh. "It might be a complete surprise if ya don't give me any hints. Least you knew that was comin'." He traces a finger over her Mark. "I ain't gotta Pack ta get all fancy fer," he remarks with a tip of his head.
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The day to days of the Pack aren't his problem, but she's uncertain where the lines do exist.
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"You askin' me ta take care of them? Or ta accept them lookin' ta me ta take care of you when shit like that happens?" The answers clearly may be different.
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"I'm here fer you. I don't expect them ta do fer me, like I ain't lookin' ta do fer them. But when it comes ta you..." Sweeney sighs. "Course they can come ta me." His gaze dips for a moment to her neck and back.
"Hope it ain't gonna be a secret that ya'd want me there."
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"But it ain't like ya don't occasionally come home smellin' like fellas ya ain't lookin' ta bring with ya." There's no criticism; she should fuck who she wants. It doesn't mean he's not going to poke her about it in jest.
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"Well, I would be up-standin', but ya keep fuckin' it out of me."
He glances vaguely towards the dress and back to her.
"I ain't sayin' it should be anytime soon, but when the time comes, ya want me ta sew ya back in that dress, or just lend ya my shirt?" He makes a quick addition.
"Lend. Ya gotta give it back. I've only got the two."
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"You might just have to let me find you a replacement shirt. I could even take you to that Wardrobe and I swear on my life I won't try to talk you into wearing anything dumb."
She kisses him. "Le do thoil."
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