He shrugged, and if there was a weariness in it, well, perhaps he could be forgiven for that. They were all tired of the endless trauma and loss and pain that their world seemed to circle endlessly around. "I don't have a 'real' answer," he admitted. "I'm trying very hard not to think about it too much and just... push onward. I can't save those we've already lost. I can't heal the person I wish to most. I can't convince Rory to come back to the world when all it offers is more pain. All I can do is try to stay busy enough not to let it fester." He had broken down once, let himself be weak for a night in the arms of those he loved most... and look where that had led.
As always he had pushed too far, said too much, and he bowed his head contritely at the frustration in her mental tone. You're right, I'm sorry, he responded softly, turning to look out the window at the sunlight beyond, at a world she wanted no part of, that wanted so much more from her.
He glanced back as she wrapped her arms around herself, that gesture that he had seen her use so often when speaking with him since last Longheat. The one that meant she needed to protect herself from him, to hold in some anger or hurt that he had caused, and he curled his hands more tightly together into his lap as he looked down at Isuma instead, and the loving rumble of her purr as she tried to calm them both.
"We grew apart," he said sadly. "I wasn't there for you, when I should have been." He had shown her that he couldn't be depended on, and she had learned the lesson well. He had been blind, and arrogant, and hadn't listened, too certain in his own head that she needed him as much as he needed her. She didn't, though. Hadn't, for at least a year... perhaps she never had at all. He had left her when he should not have, had stayed when he should have left...
Had put every step wrong, in short, and continued to do so.
Perhaps what he loved was not Amalia as she was now but the memory of her, and of what it had been to have a family again, however briefly.
As always he had pushed too far, said too much, and he bowed his head contritely at the frustration in her mental tone. You're right, I'm sorry, he responded softly, turning to look out the window at the sunlight beyond, at a world she wanted no part of, that wanted so much more from her.
He glanced back as she wrapped her arms around herself, that gesture that he had seen her use so often when speaking with him since last Longheat. The one that meant she needed to protect herself from him, to hold in some anger or hurt that he had caused, and he curled his hands more tightly together into his lap as he looked down at Isuma instead, and the loving rumble of her purr as she tried to calm them both.
"We grew apart," he said sadly. "I wasn't there for you, when I should have been." He had shown her that he couldn't be depended on, and she had learned the lesson well. He had been blind, and arrogant, and hadn't listened, too certain in his own head that she needed him as much as he needed her. She didn't, though. Hadn't, for at least a year... perhaps she never had at all. He had left her when he should not have, had stayed when he should have left...
Had put every step wrong, in short, and continued to do so.
Perhaps what he loved was not Amalia as she was now but the memory of her, and of what it had been to have a family again, however briefly.
