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Irene Crawley · July 28, 2023 – 3:13 AM

3 June 1893 — Pennyworth: Cobbler's Corner and Pendle Road
Elias Grimstone

The letters were written and addressed. Her flat was packed. Her ticket booked. Bear had been wrangled into a carrier that she’d been able to buy that was spelled to be larger on the inside than it was on the outside (Irene had the scratches on her arms as souvenir of the fruits of her labor). The gallery had been understanding enough, though she knew she was on tenuous ground with them. Only proof of the letter and confirmation with her former institution had been enough to keep her place. She’d managed to meet with a few patrons at the Gallery who purchased a few of her paintings. The majority of them had already been either packed away, sold, or left at Penny’s who had so kindly offered to keep a few of them for her until she returned to Great Britain.

As Irene walked through the flat, her steps echoed throughout the empty room. Only her luggage was packed in the middle, with the letters addressed to Penny, Gus, Sophia and Elias placed above the crackling fireplace on the mantel. The only thing left were to take down the various wreathes of citrus and lavender. Irene had delayed taking them down as soon as possible; they smelled like home for her, and reminded her of the sunny days that made their scent waft through the living room and kitchenette when she painted with the windows open.

But now, home was some place else, some place undetermined, and it was time to let go. With a sigh, Irene slowly unhooked the four wreaths and gathered them all in her arms. Never mind the fact that she was likely staining her new blouse and skirt. The jacket she’d purchased would hide anything until she was able to get the stains out on board the ship. Kicking the front door open, Irene hurried outside to throw them away where she ran into a neighbor who inquired as to what she was doing. After the witch had invited Irene in for a small cup of tea, Irene left the house fifteen minutes later burdened with one less wreath, and a sky full of falling rain and thunder.

It was only a quick walk to the flat and her front door, but she saw little reason to rush. The ship wouldn’t take off for another few hours, and by then she’d dry herself off inside. She would miss the rainy days of Great Britain, even in the dead of summer like this. The fresh smell of the rain delayed her for only a few more minutes and after she’d deposited the rest of the wreathes in the bin outside, she made it to her front door only to find it ajar.

Mr. Wrightmire must have let himself in. She only had one more painting left for someone to pick up, and he had been running late. Irene threw open the door, hurrying in and shaking the rain out out of her already soaked hair and the lavender pips from her shirt. “I’m so sorry Mr. Wrightmire, I got caught up with a neighbor and then —”

It wasn't her friend from the theater. It was someone else, someone horribly familiar, someone whose figure she would know anywhere. Simultaneously, the floor plummeted beneath her and she felt the breath pushed from her lungs, a strangled sound of horror escaping her throat.

“Elias —!”

Elias, by the fireplace. Elias, reading the letter she’d addressed to him. The letter that was to be dropped off at the post office only to be mailed after she’d arrived in Italy two days later.

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Elias Grimstone · July 28, 2023 – 4:45 AM

He’d only come to wish her well for the journey. He assumed he would hear from her when she arrived in Italy, and that she would be home soon anyway – but he knew how monumental the trip would be. He’d brought her a gift, then. (It hadn’t taken him very long and was only a small gesture, but it was the thought that counted – he had gotten more thoughtful with gifts since knowing Daffodil. A new wooden case for her paints. Just a nice cedar box, but he’d mixed her usual citrus-and-lavender pairing into the varnish, so it softened the smell of her paints; and he’d carved a pattern of lilies of the valley around the edges. And he’d filled it with a few paints, the ones she couldn’t afford – although, Elias had considered, soon enough she would probably never be so worried about money again.)

He’d come in through the rain, and was veritably damp by the time he made it to Irene’s door – which was unlatched so, after some unsuccessful knocking, Elias begged forgiveness and let himself in.

The flat felt far less homely and familiar in this state, all boxed up ready for her to... But why was it all boxed up? This was a trip of a few weeks, surely, at most a month or two; there was no sense in her having packed up all her things. Had she found a nicer house already? Elias’ face creased as he stared around. If she had, she hadn’t told him. He was dripping on the paintbox, so he set it down and crossed to the fireplace instead to stave off the raindrops still rolling down his neck below his collar. He shrugged off his jacket, and when he glanced back up his eyes latched onto a set of letters on the mantelpiece. There – was one for him.

Well, Irene was nowhere to be found, so any compunction he might have had opening it in her company was gone. Elias unfolded it with ease, but even scanning the first few lines, he found himself perplexed by its tone. Why did it sound so – so frank and serious and final? Why was she apologising?

His throat went dry by the time he was halfway through, and by the time he got to Merlin knows how angry you’ll be, his cheeks were in high colour and there was a tumultuous swell of feeling in his gut. She wasn’t wrong.

And there came the sound of the door, and hasty footsteps; but Elias didn’t move from where he was rooted, didn’t even look up at her gasp of horror. His eyes were on the letter still, trying and failing and trying to understand. She had just been going to leave for ever, then. And leave him knowing that, and not even give him a chance to –

“What is this?” Elias lifted his gaze, meeting her in the room with an unflinching look. The letter felt flimsy in his grasp; it felt like a betrayal. “Irene, what is this?”

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Irene Crawley · July 28, 2023 – 6:18 AM

The confidence, the assuredness - the delusion she’d coaxed herself into - with which she’d written that letter all disintegrated as soon as she’d seen him standing there with the letter. Irene had never had the strength. If she did, she would have done this face to face; she’d admitted as much when she wrote those last few lines. A vibrating panic rose in her when he turned to face her. His cheeks were stained pink, and his eyes blazed in anger, rooting her to the spot.

Her breath quickened, and she almost drew back; almost. His words felt quiet at first, and in that moment Irene knew she’d have preferred him to be yelling at her; only to flinch slightly when his demand whipped through the air. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she looked wildly around the room, begging for a piece of furniture to pop up from the floor that she could lean against. She had to look at him. He deserved that much, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t do it. This was too familiar.

“Please, Elias...”

Oh, God, it was a happening again.

“Irene, what did you do?!” She’d kept a secret from him, of course. And only revealed the truth to him in the very last moment where she could trap him in something she knew — she knew he wouldn’t have wanted. And now she was making him pay for it, and taking something away from him again.

The pain of her nails digging into her palms brought her to the present, where she was facing Elias. So she finally took a step back.

Coward. A coward’s way out, a voice replied for her, and she felt her lip quiver at the merciless truth. Irene had written it herself, and yet to be confronted with her cowardice was another thing entirely. And for Elias to wield it, however inadvertently, cut her to the core. In another world - a world where she had the courage, nay the insolence - she would have rushed at him, torn the letter from his hands and thrown it into the fire, and begged his forgiveness.

It was too late for any of that. What was done was done.

“It’s — it’s…” The words wouldn’t come out, not when she was facing him. She felt her eyes grow hot as she struggled to find the words. Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm in her chest, and she looked wildly around the room, willing for the floor to open up and swallow her whole. It’s nothing. It was a joke. It wasn't about you. It’s the accumulation of what Ive been wanting to tell you for years. It’s —

“It’s the truth.” The voice that responded was small, reedy, and trembling. She dipped her head as her shaking hands came up to press against her temples. “I — I wanted to tell you…it’s just that I…” Any words simply died on her lips as the air grew thin.

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Elias Grimstone · July 28, 2023 – 5:25 PM

He couldn’t think why she was begging him with that please – he felt like he could be saying that to her. His pulse picked up when she looked away from him, looked – with desperation – almost anywhere else. Elias couldn’t look anywhere but at her, though: she had kept so much inside.

There was some unidentifiable feeling about that part of the confession churning about in him, things like oh and then Daffy was right and why didn’t you say it sooner?

But he wasn’t ready to process that – to separate the mingled emotion out into something separate and functional and self-possessed – so Elias avoided the issue entirely, and staked all his attention on the other half of it. That was easier to comprehend: he had already been dwelling on his frustrations all last fortnight, with Daffodil. And Irene was hurting – had been hurting a long time, and been keeping all the hurt to herself – but when he looked around at her packed-up flat, he felt wounded by it just the same. He swallowed.

“What? You thought you’d rather just run away without saying goodbye?” Elias bit out, opening his palms in a hopelessly questioning gesture. “How is that fair to anyone? And – what –” he cut himself off before the plaintiveness could spill out properly, in what am I supposed to do without you? He swallowed again, shot another dark look at the offending letter. “Where are you going to go?”

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Irene Crawley · July 28, 2023 – 5:55 PM

A desperate sob worked through her chest, but she managed to stifle it with a breath. Looking away was easier than staring directly at him. It was staring at the truth, and facing what she’d been avoiding all these years. With each word directed at her she wanted to take a step back, could feel herself caving in and wanting to just disappear. She thought she was doing the right thing — removing herself from everything, from Hogsmeade, from Elias and Daffodil so they could get on with their lives, and so she could find hers. How foolish she’d been to think that was something God would let her have.

“Not —! Not run away,” He couldn’t just throw these accusations at her as if they’d had some sort of promise struck between them. “That was meant to be goodbye —” She gestured at the letter. “— along with those too.” Pointed at the remaining letters as if saying goodbye to four friends was better than saying goodbye to just one. But of all those people, didn’t Elias deserve more than that?

Gritting her teeth, she shook her head at the unspoken question. No, he did not. Their friendship was just a friendship. Just like her friendship with Penny, Sophia or Gus.

Liar.

She shook her head again before pressing the back of her palm to her cheek. “I’m going to Italy, I told you.” She insisted. “I’m…I’ll figure the rest out once I finalize the paperwork.” She could do it. She could work through the terror that had slowly built within her in the past few weeks. She could do it…couldn’t she? “I can do it alone, Elias, that’s how it’s always been.” As she trailed off she looked to him, daring him to claim otherwise. It had always been just her, and yet she couldn't bring herself to inject any sense of pride into the statement.

It had never been about pride.

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Elias Grimstone · July 28, 2023 – 9:49 PM

Some goodbye that was.

“But I don’t want you to have to do it alone!” Elias exploded, before he could stop himself. He had always tried to be there for her, hadn’t he? So much for that, if she felt like she had always been alone. “I would have come with you if you had asked me to,” he objected, wondering if that offer might have already materialised had they not been interrupted in the workshop the other week. But the realisation dawned on him as he said it that Irene probably didn’t want him to. That was what the letter said, wasn’t it? She wasn’t running away from her whole life. She was just – leaving him.

He bit his tongue so hard there was a little metallic burst of blood in his mouth, silenced again by the words she’d written. Not strong enough. Like being near him was too uncomfortable to bear – and he had nothing to say to that, didn’t know how to make that better – but he gave a bitter, inward smile at that, because from where he was standing, being with Irene had always been remarkably, impossibly, easy. He had thought the same about Daff until recently, too – but now he was second guessing everything. (It only came to him now that they were in her flat, but Irene hadn’t been sleeping after Silas Hunt’s death, and she had let him in then, she had let him be there for her. She had let him walk her home a hundred times; she might have let him look after her in a way he wasn’t sure Daffodil could. He didn’t know how to fix that for Daffy. He didn’t know if he could.)

Not that it mattered now, when Irene couldn’t stand to be around him either – maybe he was the problem here, because he didn’t know how to fix this either. Surely the answer was not just letting her go. Not like this. “And when everything’s sorted in Italy?” Elias questioned, face creased in dread of the answer. “Will you come back?”

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Irene Crawley · July 28, 2023 – 11:18 PM

I don’t want you to have to do it alone. I would have come with you if you had asked me to. This was all wrong, and all Irene could do was shake her head vigorously as she felt something inside her fracture. “No. No, Elias I beg of you, don’t do this to me.” Didn’t the letter already convey to him how much she wanted him? How fast she’d have said yes if he’d offered all of that and more? But he wasn’t offering more. He was only saying that he’d go with her, and she knew she could do that on her own. “Don’t make promises you might regret later.”

She prayed to God that he didn’t ask her if she wanted to go alone.

She didn’t want to come back to the same empty flat, and have to face the prospect of seeing him and Daffodil around Hogsmeade together. It was only a matter of time until they were properly married, and then what would she do? Lock herself in her room in perpetuity, avoiding everywhere they went together like the Lady of Shalott?

“No, I won’t.” And then the piece inside of her fractured even more. She forced herself to look at him. “I know have no right to do this, least of all to you, to the person I lo—.” Her vision began to blur, and she stopped herself before she said it. “It’s - it's not fair to anyone, but I cannot do this a moment longer.” She was infuriated with herself that it took her so long to realize what she wanted, only for her to realize it was too late. She’d waited too long, and now the devastation was breaking over her like a tidal wave. She could only brace herself to let it wash over her. Drown her. Had no choice but to pick up the pieces of herself that she’d left scattered around Hogsmeade: the nook she’d told him about, the lavender and citrus wreathes, the lily of the valley crown, her mother’s hat, the basket he’d insisted on carrying…the sensation of being in his arms, hiding from the world after Mr. Hunt’s death.

It was a familiar feeling and she welcomed it like an familiar stranger come to visit her bed.

“There’s…nothing keeping me here. Gus…Gus will understand, he’s travelled everywhere. He has his classes, and he’s taught me a few things. Sophia has her theater and her children. You have Daffodil and her family.” She swiped at her eyes. “I…I have no one. Not really. I haven’t had anyone in a long time, and I’m alright with that. I’ve asked Penny to keep an eye on some of my paintings for me. All the other things - my job, my clients…they don’t matter.” She would start over again.

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Elias Grimstone · July 29, 2023 – 1:17 AM

He hated this, hated every second of it. And Irene kept giving him advice – don’t make promises; don’t make the same mistakes I have – but he still didn’t understand what he was supposed to do here.

Nothing, apparently: she had no plans to come back, because there was nothing here for her except pain. In this moment, he would have done anything to keep her – but her unfinished sentence was a stark reminder that he couldn’t do anything without hurting Daffy, and that he loved Daffy, and he was going to be perfectly happy with Daffy. Nothing had altered that. But –

He was looking back on everything differently now, treading paths he hadn’t noticed before, alternate routes he might have taken. And who could say that he mightn’t have been just as happy there? There was a wave of nausea in him as the thought crossed his mind, as if he could expel it, unthink it – and he should, because suddenly he felt selfish and guilty and he knew that he was hurting everyone else by trying to make her stay.

He’d gotten quiet, waited a beat too long to respond – don’t make promises you might regret – and forced himself to look down at the letter again, watch the shadows from the fire’s flickering bring certain phrases in and out of focus, until he had held himself back long enough to look at her again. He exhaled unsteadily as he surveyed her, because he’d caught the tail end of her motion of wiping her eyes, which made most of his anger dissipate. “I’m sorry,” he said, quieter, and took a pace towards her in some comforting instinct, but frowned as he thought better of it, thought I can’t do that anymore. Instead he folded the letter back in half again, too pained to look at it again, to keep holding it in front of him like it was a death sentence, and folded an arm around himself, hand grasping at his opposite shoulder if he couldn’t embrace her. Which bit was he most sorry for? Everything, Elias thought fervently. “I didn’t know.”

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Irene Crawley · July 29, 2023 – 1:43 AM

She could see him thinking about all the times they had spent together and allowed herself to hope that he might be thinking about where they would be had things turned out differently. She watched him carefully, wanting to reach out to him and ask him what he was thinking about. The knot in her chest constricted tighter the longer he went without speaking; watched him as he looked down at the letter. Please, say something.

He sighed, and her heart leapt involuntarily as she looked at him with renewed hope.

And then he apologized, as if he’d made his decision, then stepped towards her. It was too late when she realized she’d mirrored him and taken a step forwards, her arm coming up as if to step into his embrace. He moved no further and instead focused back on the letter in his hand, and she froze for a fraction of a second, then could only let her hand fall limply at her side. In a sudden rush of anger — at herself, at him, at Daffodil, at herself, at…anyone — she let out a scornful snort.

“Of course you didn’t know.” She said thickly, forcing herself to take another sharp breath. It came out as a forced laugh, because what else could she do? “You were focused on Daffodil, and I — bloody hell, I was too busy keeping myself in my own damn misery that I waited too long, and look where that got me.” She gestured sharply around the empty flat, feeling her palms start to sting as something deeper, sharper than anguish slowly took over.

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Elias Grimstone · July 29, 2023 – 2:24 AM

She had stepped forward too, which only made him want to go to her more, but – well, that wasn’t wise. Irene seemed just as annoyed at herself.

“But Daff –” Daff knew, Elias had been about to say, but he wasn’t sure he should. Daffy had seen Irene more clearly than he ever had all along, and if he had just opened his eyes and noticed, then... (Then what? Would he have backed away from their friendship sooner, and Irene might have found a way to stay? Would he have spared Daffy all the second-guessing? Would he have made different choices? All he knew was that things would be better now, if he’d actually paid attention for once in his life and seen Irene in her own damn misery. He could have stopped this from spiralling out so far.)

Elias shook his head, unable to finish that sentence. It would probably only make Irene feel worse to think that she had been something close to a bone of contention even before their moment in the workshop the other day, anyway. He glanced at her, not sure if she had guessed what had been on the tip of his tongue just then – and in hopes she hadn’t, Elias cast around in haste for a way to change the subject somehow. His eyes landed on the paintbox he’d made her, and he lurched towards it gratefully. The tone of this visit was so far removed from what he had imagined, walking up in the rain, so it felt strange to see it sitting there now, but.

“Anyway, I brought you a going-away gift,” Elias admitted, picking it up and moving over to put it into her hands ruefully. (A brief trip abroad, he’d thought; a token of courage and congratulations.) He cleared his throat, almost laughed as well. As if she’d want anything from him now, any more memories to keep. He gave a halfhearted shrug. “You don’t have to take it with you.”

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Irene Crawley · July 29, 2023 – 2:38 AM

Every sensation cut out momentarily when he mentioned Daffodil. Irene looked sharply at him, but he’d gone and changed the subject. She could still see the remnants of pink on his cheeks, splashed on like watercolor that she could reach out to blend with the tip of her finger. He’d caught her off guard, and her eyes moved down to a box she’d somehow neglected to notice when she walked in. By the light of the crackling fire, the cedar glimmered. She reached out to accept it, momentarily speechless. As she opened the box, a waft of cedar, citrus and lavender rose up to meet her. In any other world it would have caused her such pleasure and happiness. But now, it only served to stir the nausea growing in the pit of her stomach. A faint etching caught her eye and she tilted the box. “Oh…” Her throat closed when she saw what was engraved.

She couldn’t say anything about the box. Anything she had to say was drowned out by sheer and utter despair.

Wordlessly she closed the box and drew it in, but she stared at him as if he'd just suggested that she throw Bear into the fire. Stepping back, Irene clutched the wooden box tightly to her chest and turned around. He couldn’t see her expression crumple. Because if he did, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from crying and begging him to make her stay. So instead —

“Daffodil what, Elias?”

She’d caught onto what he was about to say, and she wasn’t going to let it go. She wasn't going to thank him for the gift, or acknowledge that he'd given it to her because if she did, then he would leave, and if he left, then that was it and it would be over.

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Elias Grimstone · July 29, 2023 – 3:12 AM

He didn’t understand her look, and didn’t understand why she’d gone so silent, and definitely didn’t understand why she’d turned away.

He might have been able to deal with that, if she hadn’t said Daffy’s name again. (Daff had seen Irene often enough to have figured it out. She’d known it from a mere moment the garden show. And he’d said there was nothing there, and then at the workshop, she’d seen it again. It made more sense, now, the way she’d acted.)

“She – nothing,” he protested, because Irene didn’t need to know that, didn’t want to know that, and he didn’t want Daffy to be the last note they left things on. He took an imploring step after her, not that she was looking. “Irene, it doesn’t matter.”

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Irene Crawley · July 29, 2023 – 5:15 AM

She could choose to believe that it didn’t matter, but it was entirely possible he was just sparing her the details of what had passed between him and Daffodil. Frankly she wasn’t sure what was worse. She’d been about to drop the subject when anger suddenly flared inside her, burning and searching for something to consume.

“Of course it doesn’t.” There was a bitter taste on her tongue, and she clutched the box even closer to her. “Why should it?” She was leaving, and she didn’t need to know anything else about what went on between them, because she never belonged in such a story.

Irene gritted her teeth, glaring at the floor. Here he was trying to make her feel better, but really what did it do except continue letting her know that she was the one who had to go it alone?

“Why should anything I want matter?” She bit out petulantly, turning to him, her gaze boring into his. He’d come closer, and she could see the lines of despair already etching themselves onto his features. Her palms stung again, and she loosened her grip on the box to scratch at her skin. Behind him on the opposite wall, the fire crackled.

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Elias Grimstone · July 29, 2023 – 6:27 PM

Once he’d come to terms with the contents of the letter, when the worst of his anger had ebbed, he had been trying to leave things between them peaceably, trying to accept what she had said and the way she wanted to go. But all his attempts seemed to be making things worse. When Irene faced him again, she was angry again. They were going in circles, and this time all his patience had dangerously frayed.

Why should anything I want matter? This wasn’t what he wanted either, Elias might have countered indignantly. He didn’t want to lose her friendship – didn’t know how to survive without her friendship – but if Irene would rather leave their relationship in tatters, then so be it. “Fine! Have it your way, Irene.” Elias blazed, something snapping inside him again.

“Pretend nothing ever mattered – convince yourself I never cared about you –” Alone, she kept saying, she’d always been alone. “That I couldn’t have loved you too.” (Maybe he hadn’t known it until now, but he could have, and if things had been different –) But that didn’t matter now, did it? He threw his hands open in exasperation, as if he could throw everything into the fire, her letter, the past few years, all of it. “Just leave, then. Leave, if that’s what you want. I won’t stop you.”

She should leave, and he should go.

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Irene Crawley · July 29, 2023 – 7:30 PM

Irene stared at him, open mouthed. She’d have been shocked that he responded in such a biting manner, but instead, it only served to fuel her in a desolate way.

“My wa - MY WAY?!”

Her voice climbed higher until it cracked, and she finally set the box down on her trunk with a resounding clatter. It echoed throughout the empty apartment, serving to punctuate her irritation. She stalked towards him. “My way was leaving, and sending you the letter two days after I’d arrived in Italy! You hardly noticed that I was kidnapped by a vampire on New Year’s, forgive me for thinking you might not notice I was gone for two days before I sent a letter explaining the situation! My way was leaving this all behind so I wouldn’t have to see you and Daffodil together around every damned turn of this village.”

It all tumbled forth from her like a tidal wave. Years of suppressing every sting, every painful moment of wondering if she should reveal her feelings to him, only to talk herself out of it because there was always a risk of him leaving her. “You and her, and her whole wonderful bloody family, who no doubt love you because they’re everything that I couldn’t give you, everything that Evangeline and her damned family couldn’t give you.” She gesticulated wildly. Even through all of her anger at him, she couldn’t help but scowl venomously at the mention of the cursed woman. Because even if she was mad, she wasn’t really mad at him, was she? “And don’t tell me that sort of thing doesn’t matter to you Elias, I know you. You can’t lie to me, I know that’s important to you.”

Her mother, her father, both of them gone, only leaving behind small mementos that could only serve as a light dressing for the gaping hole they’d left in her life. And they would have loved Elias. Her father would have questioned him nonstop about brooms and how he made them work, and then asked Elias to help him convince his daughter to finally let go of her mothers tattered broom and get a blasted new one.

All the images of what could be whirled around her mind. They only served to make her sob harder.

She reached around herself and clutched at her arms, but not before wiping away the dampness from her cheeks that was falling freely. But the air was too thin, and she was pulling in gasps to sustain herself; otherwise she would completely shatter.

“Do you want to know why I wrote that letter?” She looked to the instigator of all this, as if it were a wretched Inferius, crawling towards them. “Because I didn’t know what else to do.” She looked up at him. I still don’t know what to do, please tell me what to do. “Elias, I love you. I would choose you every single day if I could. I have chosen you every single day. I’ve chosen my job, I’ve chosen you, I’ve chosen avoiding anything that might cause a row between us, anything that might pull you away from spending time with her.”

Curled up on the cold floor of her flat after the monster had left, her hand pressed to the raw bite marks on her bleeding neck. Not knowing where to go, wanting to go to him, and have him embrace her just as he did when he comforted her after Silas Hunt's death. “But now I know who you’ve chosen. You made that perfectly clear last week after 'whatever it was she interrupted'.” The image of him following after Daffodil without a second glance behind him flared in her mind, clear as crystal. Her heart heaved in her chest, and she wiped the tears away with the sleeve of her rain-soaked blouse. “So I must choose myself before I have nothing else left. I must put myself first because no one else will.”

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Elias Grimstone · July 30, 2023 – 3:23 AM

If he had been about ready to march out, he had waited a beat too long – he might as well have thrown open the door and let the thunderstorm inside.

She came at him like lightning, every word she said racing down his spine like electricity. He flinched at her setting down the box hard enough to splinter it – he flinched at her talk of vampires – flinched as she brought up Evangeline and brought up family and flinched again as she started sobbing.

Elias stayed where he was, tensed on the spot, wholeheartedly wishing he could sink through the floor. His anger had been a flimsy thing compared to this: Irene’s had been dredged up over so much longer than just a day, a mere quarter of an hour. She had mined her pain for years, and he could feel it there in the room, as if her gasping breaths might rend the floor in two.

He understood her better now. He couldn’t possibly make her stay to endure this. He didn’t deserve to say anything else to her now, and he wasn’t sure he was allowed to go to her either, although he wanted to, although restraining himself when she was in a state like this had the same effect as wrenching his heart from his chest. By the time Irene was talking about all her choices – and his, the choices he had made without knowing – Elias felt sick to his stomach, and half-close to tears himself. He bit down on his tongue again, clenched his hands so hard they hurt, shuddered slightly where he stood. “Irene,” he said desperately, his voice cracking now, and every word scraping its way up his throat. Don’t say anything else you’ll regret, Elias tried to tell himself – for Merlin’s sake, let her go lightly.

He put his hand to his face for a moment, trying to clear the pounding in his head or settle his pulse or breathe through the constricted feeling in his chest. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely, half-convinced he should be on his knees (and so dizzy by all she’d said, the room swimming a little around them, that he wasn’t convinced he hadn’t dropped down, the better to beg). “Believe me, I never meant to make you hurt this way. I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you wanted. I know you can’t stay,” he choked out, reaching out to try and catch her hand, though he knew he shouldn’t, half expected that she would flinch away. But, whatever they were, however this had ended, he couldn’t stand here and look at her suffering like this and just do nothing. “I’m sorry I didn’t see.”

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