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Tell Me Again How the World Didn’t End

I don’t know what this is. It’s a sort of angsty, smutty (ish) one shot that takes place some time in the near future and has a hopeful ending. Disclaimer: I rarely write sex scenes. I hope I didn’t ruin this one because it’s important to the story and to the characters.

Warning: non-graphic, non-specific references to torture; sex.

This is the tragedy:

Abby has loved two men. She has lost two men. One of them still lives.

She forgets, and then she remembers, and then she rediscovers.

She falls in love in the silent spaces.

The brush of a hand; the weight of a gaze; the hint of a smirk; the presence of a body at her side, at her back, at arm’s length; it’s what he does that paves the way for what he says.

Only he doesn’t say anything anymore.

He speaks often but his words rarely tell her what she wants to know. He is tender, and compassionate, and encouraging, but he’s rarely open – not in the way she knows he can be (the way she wants him to be). He’s frightened; he’s full of guilt and anger.

He blames himself.

The words don’t come, but the love does: in soft smiles, and steady touches, and longing gazes. His movements tell a story in two parts.

I’m sorry; I love you.

What she went through wounded her, but it broke Marcus.

Abby knows a lot about broken things.

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