“These terrible things you would do,” she commented, and faltered for a moment, trying not to laugh; trying not to let him see as clearly as she felt it how much none of it would matter, that they would be burdened by pasts and secrets and errors and yet it would never be the burden that others might have wanted her to feel.
“You think I can’t forgive the blood on your hands?” she whispered, and he looked up at her, his grey eyes awash in warning, in mourning, buried in clips and glimpses of desolate futures she never wished to see. Where would you be a step back?
Here, she thought, closing her eyes as she kissed his hand. Here, and sooner.