[ What a thing to look back upon now, to consider from the perspective he has now. Both of them were being haunted by something, something.... exacerbating certain aches and pains. He can recognise, now, that the thing attached to him was making everything feel worse, so much more, even if its presence was never the birth of such feelings in him. No, everything it worsened was already there — the guilt, hurt, horror, loneliness.....
But it was pulling him into those things, slowly, more and more over time. And she had one too. He's still caught between his stun and his horror over it all, expression remaining soft and disturbed and wounded, a hand gently grazing the wood of the tabletop as he watches her pour the drink, listens to Wynonna speak, eyes widening slightly at the words.
'So I just wanted to say... I do give a damn. About you.'
Edward's mouth tips open, openly staring at her — no doubt making the awkwardness worse, sorry Wynonna.... but all of it's so unexpected. Such an outright conveyance of feeling to verbal form in itself is different for the norms of his particular time, and especially from a woman to a man, it's.... not something he's used to. But of course, he's felt so much of that here, and so much of it in the presence of Wynonna Earp, who has consistently challenged everything that he knows, and ever since he had met the woman he's found himself wrenched out of his comfort zone just as consistently. She's remained such a mystery in so many ways, something he can't quite predict.
....And yet maybe he has learned her in ways, because he finds himself realising that for Wynonna to openly voice her feelings like this doesn't seem typical, that she'd be someone who would keep them close to herself instead, everything layered in rougher edges and a sharp tongue with a quick wit. He finds himself understanding that this is a very great deal, and his heart's fluttering not with anxiety but something else: affected, aching.... touched. (And for someone to say that they "give a damn", that they care about him — to know that someone came to his home not once but twice to seek him out with intention, to check up on him....)
His eyelids flutter softly as he gives a slow exhale, looks down to the drink she holds out to him and takes it, drawing the cold glass back to himself. 'I'm sorry' she says again, and someone gives a damn about him, someone he knows wouldn't say words like that unless she very much needed him to understand them. Edward swallows, shy in the face of all of it, and warmed, and he doesn't know what to do with those things, but his heart does, and he lets it speak, quietly. ]
I need to apologise, as well. No matter what was.... affecting the both of us, I caused you hurt, Miss Earp. I am deeply sorry for that. [ His eyes dip to the glass in his hand, fingers brushing against it, slowly. No, it isn't typical for him to open up either, but the words come. Maybe he's a little emboldened by her doing so first, and maybe he needs her to know just as much. Maybe he hasn't ruined this.... relationship with her, whatever it may be. ]
In truth, I have been feeling.... very melancholic for some time now. This place has been... difficult, from my arrival to it and in all of the months to follow. I am consistently reminded of the things I have ruined. ....The people I have failed.
[ She thought her shadow was her sister, to begin with. 'hanging around to remind me of all the ways I've fucked up' — he understands it. ]
When Lieutenant Noonien-Singh was killed, I... could no longer bear it. I let myself fall to that shadow. I believe I wanted it to consume me.
[ And that's the shame of it, one of many, tucked up beneath his ribcage, squeezing his heart now. He'd always been someone who never gave in, who kept going, maintained hope, even foolishly so.... (until he finally lost all of it, and abandoned those men, and gave away the last parts of himself, just like in this place. He let himself fade. Turned his back on the people here.) ]
...I do not deserve your mercy in the face of my own weakness, but I am grateful for it. [ A pause, his shyness revving back up again, and it's difficult to look at her as he voices it, but he still does, eyes finding hers and staying there. ] I am glad you came here today. I was afraid I might have lost you.
[ He would have sought her out to apologise eventually, he knows, but.... there was the chance it would have done nothing. Why should she accept his apology? Open her door to him? He provides nothing for her; as she'd said in that heated moment of upset, they aren't friends, or crewmates, or anything at all.
....Except, perhaps, they are. Perhaps this has proven it; no, it does — she gives a damn about him. And that sentiment is mutual, and so he adds on, after a moment, earnest— ]
I care for you, as well. [ Worded a bit differently than she had... but at the core, the same. ] If I were to have lost your presence... it would have been a great loss indeed.
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But it was pulling him into those things, slowly, more and more over time. And she had one too. He's still caught between his stun and his horror over it all, expression remaining soft and disturbed and wounded, a hand gently grazing the wood of the tabletop as he watches her pour the drink, listens to Wynonna speak, eyes widening slightly at the words.
'So I just wanted to say... I do give a damn. About you.'
Edward's mouth tips open, openly staring at her — no doubt making the awkwardness worse, sorry Wynonna.... but all of it's so unexpected. Such an outright conveyance of feeling to verbal form in itself is different for the norms of his particular time, and especially from a woman to a man, it's.... not something he's used to. But of course, he's felt so much of that here, and so much of it in the presence of Wynonna Earp, who has consistently challenged everything that he knows, and ever since he had met the woman he's found himself wrenched out of his comfort zone just as consistently. She's remained such a mystery in so many ways, something he can't quite predict.
....And yet maybe he has learned her in ways, because he finds himself realising that for Wynonna to openly voice her feelings like this doesn't seem typical, that she'd be someone who would keep them close to herself instead, everything layered in rougher edges and a sharp tongue with a quick wit. He finds himself understanding that this is a very great deal, and his heart's fluttering not with anxiety but something else: affected, aching.... touched. (And for someone to say that they "give a damn", that they care about him — to know that someone came to his home not once but twice to seek him out with intention, to check up on him....)
His eyelids flutter softly as he gives a slow exhale, looks down to the drink she holds out to him and takes it, drawing the cold glass back to himself. 'I'm sorry' she says again, and someone gives a damn about him, someone he knows wouldn't say words like that unless she very much needed him to understand them. Edward swallows, shy in the face of all of it, and warmed, and he doesn't know what to do with those things, but his heart does, and he lets it speak, quietly. ]
I need to apologise, as well. No matter what was.... affecting the both of us, I caused you hurt, Miss Earp. I am deeply sorry for that. [ His eyes dip to the glass in his hand, fingers brushing against it, slowly. No, it isn't typical for him to open up either, but the words come. Maybe he's a little emboldened by her doing so first, and maybe he needs her to know just as much. Maybe he hasn't ruined this.... relationship with her, whatever it may be. ]
In truth, I have been feeling.... very melancholic for some time now. This place has been... difficult, from my arrival to it and in all of the months to follow. I am consistently reminded of the things I have ruined. ....The people I have failed.
[ She thought her shadow was her sister, to begin with. 'hanging around to remind me of all the ways I've fucked up' — he understands it. ]
When Lieutenant Noonien-Singh was killed, I... could no longer bear it. I let myself fall to that shadow. I believe I wanted it to consume me.
[ And that's the shame of it, one of many, tucked up beneath his ribcage, squeezing his heart now. He'd always been someone who never gave in, who kept going, maintained hope, even foolishly so.... (until he finally lost all of it, and abandoned those men, and gave away the last parts of himself, just like in this place. He let himself fade. Turned his back on the people here.) ]
...I do not deserve your mercy in the face of my own weakness, but I am grateful for it. [ A pause, his shyness revving back up again, and it's difficult to look at her as he voices it, but he still does, eyes finding hers and staying there. ] I am glad you came here today. I was afraid I might have lost you.
[ He would have sought her out to apologise eventually, he knows, but.... there was the chance it would have done nothing. Why should she accept his apology? Open her door to him? He provides nothing for her; as she'd said in that heated moment of upset, they aren't friends, or crewmates, or anything at all.
....Except, perhaps, they are. Perhaps this has proven it; no, it does — she gives a damn about him. And that sentiment is mutual, and so he adds on, after a moment, earnest— ]
I care for you, as well. [ Worded a bit differently than she had... but at the core, the same. ] If I were to have lost your presence... it would have been a great loss indeed.