Love, it has no guarantees
Which muse will lay its hands on me?
We said the words, we knocked on wood
And I'm still here waiting to see what could be
What if the closest I get to the moment is now?
- Katie Herzig, "Closest I Get"
v. Lily
Emmaline Vance told her that the worst part of pregnancy was the morning sickness. Molly Weasley told her the worst part of pregnancy was the exhaustion. Lenore Tearson told her the worst part of pregnancy was the labor and delivery.
Lily was prepared for the morning sickness. She had ginger root in her kitchen and three different anti-nausea potions by her bedside. She'd warned James that if the smell of certain foods made her sick, those foods were not allowed in the house, no matter how much he liked them. And she bought several packages of breath mints.
She was prepared for the exhaustion, too. She refused to take sleeping potions because those had not been adequately proven to be safe for the unborn child, but she bought a new mattress for her bed, and new sheets and pillows. Mary offered to do housework and Cynthia offered to do the shopping and Marlene insisted that Lily have some time each week to indulge in herself with bubble baths.
She did not know how to prepare for the delivery, but she was convinced that she would make it through. She knew how lucky she was to have James and this unborn child, to have a family, and in the midst of the chaos of war, she told herself the pain of delivery would mean nothing, because she had what mattered most to her and there was nothing she would not do for her family.
But Emmaline, Molly, and Lenore… they were all wrong. The worst part of pregnancy was not the morning sickness, and it was not the exhaustion, and much later on after Harry was born, Lily would be able to say that it was not labor.
It was the waiting she hated, more than anything else.
"…was just incredible!"
"Of course it was incredible, Prongs. I was there. How could it be anything else?"
"Bet we still could have gone faster if you'd let me drive, Padfoot."
"Could not!"
"Want to bet on it?"
Lily closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall as she listened to the sound of her husband's voice floating towards her. She didn't need to see him to know that his face would be flushed with laughter and exhilaration, and his eyes would have that bright look to them. He would look happy, like he used to at Hogwarts before the war.
She let out a breath and slid into a sitting position, pulling her knees into her chest. He'd sent the Patronus earlier in the evening, telling her that the mission had been a success and he and Sirius were going to a pub to celebrate. She'd felt relief crash over her in a powerful wave - relief that he was alive, that no one had been injured, that the Order had actually succeeded at something…
But the relief had faded, and she'd been left with a simmering anger. It had been there for days, or maybe even weeks, months… years? She didn't know. She couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when the anger had appeared, but now it was so much a part of her life that she couldn't figure out what she would be without it.
"…got any more of that Firewhiskey Moony gave you for Christmas?"
"Christmas was months ago. And you're already drunk, Padfoot."
"Am not."
"Yes, you are."
"Could a drunk person do this?"
Lily's eyes flew open at the sound of a crash, and something shattering against the floor. She heard Sirius curse under his breath and then James roared with laughter. Sirius had tried to prove he wasn't drunk, and had obviously failed at it.
"Shh…" James whispered after a moment. "Lily is asleep."
The simmering anger flared for just a moment. Did he really think she was asleep? Did he think she ever slept while he was away? How could he be so oblivious to what his absences did to her, to the nights she spent lying awake in bed or pacing back and forth along the floor of her bedroom, waiting for him to come home?
She was always waiting for him. Their child had been an unplanned accident, but after the terror at the realization that she was going to be a mother had faded away, she'd been giddy with excitement. She had been so busy planning for the future that she hadn't thought through what this would mean for her now, and as the pregnancy continued and the war raged on, she found herself being slowly left behind.
She was pregnant, and if she fought it would be risking their baby's life and she couldn't do that. So she just… waited.
She rested her hands on the slight bulge of her stomach and sighed. She wanted this child. She loved him or her already - loved the child so much that it scared her.
But she hated what it was doing to her. The pregnancy and the waiting. The endless waiting.
Waiting for James to come home.
Waiting for the child to be born.
Waiting for news about each mission for the Order.
Waiting for deaths and disappearances reported in the newspaper, waiting for funerals and whispered words of comfort and condolences, waiting for this all to just end.
The door swung open and James and Sirius stumbled through. James stopped, his face lighting up like it always did when he saw her, and she wished she could return the sentiment. But the most she could muster was a smile that she knew lacked any warmth.
He didn't seem to notice, and that was the first clue that he was more than a little tipsy. He was usually so much better at picking up on her moods, even if he didn't know what to do about any of them.
Even if he didn't know what to do about anything anymore.
"Lily," he said, taking a step towards here, her name slurring on his tongue. He was grinning stupidly and she wanted to slap the smile from his face.
"You had to go to the pub? You couldn't just have come home?" she demanded, her words sharp. She hated how it sounded, hated that she'd somehow fallen into the stereotype of the shrill housewife who was constantly berating her husband, but she didn't know how to stop.
She watched as he reeled backwards, still sober enough to tell that she was upset. With him. And then she saw the confusion play across his features, and the hurt. He was giving her a wounded puppy look, one that quite clearly conveyed that he had no idea what he'd done wrong.
She climbed to her feet.
"Lily?" James asked, half-walking and half-stumbling towards her. "Lily, I'm sorry…"
"Madam le Fey!" Sirius interupted boisterously, using that ridiculous nickname that she only barely tolerated.
"You're drunk," she snapped at him.
"Nah," Sirius protested, grinning like an idiot. "I can hold m' liquor."
Lily turned away.
"Lily, come on," James said, pleading. "I'm sorry." He reached out and caught her arm, the warmth of his fingers a stark contrast to her cold skin. "I… we… we stopped an attack, Lily. We caught a Death Eater, Lily."
Lily, Lily, Lily.
She wrenched her arm free from his grip, the force of the movement causing them both to lose their balance. She was so damn tired of this; of the missions and the bloody war, of Remus' distance and Peter's silence, of the way Sirius smiled when he was drunk, of the sound of her name repeatedly falling from James' lips.
She looked at James. Her husband. The man she loved more than any other in the entire world.
She wanted to hit him.
"I waited," she said softly, her words laced with bitter sadness. Why couldn't she make him understand?
"I sent the Patronus…"
"I know," Lily interrupted. "I just…"
What? What could she say? How could she put into words what it felt like when she at home waiting for him? How could she adequately describe the sound of their grandfather clock echoing in the unnatural silence of the house, or the fading smell of his shampoo on their pillows, or sofa cushions that were cold to the touch because he was never home long enough to sit on them?
How could she make him understand what it was like to wait?
"Sirius and I took his motorbike out for a ride," he said. "Just to blow off some steam after the mission. It was... we were... it was incredible, Lily. You should see how fast it can go." He was grinning again.
"You drove drunk?" she asked disapprovingly, latching onto the first thought that came to mind because it was far easier than contemplating the fact that her husband had preferred to spend his spare time with a motorbike rather than with her.
"No, that was before the pub," Sirius interjected helpfully, blinking repeatedly at Lily. "But Prongs won't let go of it 'cause he thinks we coulda gone faster."
"Oh," Lily said. She really had no idea how to else to respond.
"Lily," James said again.
Her name. Did he really think repeating it would help?
"I'm tired," she said finally, looking for an excuse that would end this confrontation. "I'm just tired."
And she was. It was an exhaustion that sunk into her bones and wrapped itself around her soul. It was a feeling that trailed her everywhere, every minute of the day. It was a constant presence - just as constant as the feel of their child moving in her womb, just as constant as the morning sickness that plagued her, just as constant as the fear that she had no idea how to be a mother.
Just as constant as the war.
Just as constant as the waiting.
She stepped backwards, away from James. "I'm going to bed," she said.
"I'll be there in a moment," James said.
Lily nodded, and didn't say that she would be pretending to be asleep when he came to bed, that she would be curled on her side, away from him. She didn't say that she would be blinking back tears, didn't say that she would be biting back anger.
Every night went the same way. She pretended, and James let her pretend, and in the morning nothing was better, but they still pretended anyway.
She glanced at Sirius. "Make sure you get him settled onto the sofa," she said to James, irritation creeping into her voice. "He's in no condition to Apparate home."
"I'm fine!" Sirius protested.
Lily ignored him and turned away again to walk back to her bed, to the pillows that smelled faintly like James' shampoo.
She paused at the doorway to her bedroom and listened to the sounds of James and Sirius moving around in the living room. Sirius was muttering something under his breath - probably more declarations that he was not drunk - and James was trying to shepherd his best mate to the sofa.
"Morgana didn't seem happy to see me," she heard Sirius say, his voice suddenly louder, his words a bit more distinct.
James sighed. "When does Lily ever seem happy to see you?" he countered.
"Hmm… clearly, she's no good judge of men," Sirius replied, slurring again. "I mean… she married you."
"Oh, shut it."
"She's a bit touchy though, isn't she?" Sirius continued, completely oblivious to the fact that he was now talking bluntly and somewhat drunkenly about a delicate and personal subject. "Lately. She's been… I dunno… moody. Not Moody like Mad Eye, but moody like… upset."
"I know what you meant," James said. "She's just… the war… it's…"
"It's pregnancy, is what it is," Sirius said flatly, simplistically. The alcohol had apparently taken all the complexities of war and boiled them down into something purely biological. "Pregnant women go completely barmy. Everyone knows that."
Lily had heard enough. She had no idea what James would say in response to that, and she didn't really want to know. He didn't understand, and she couldn't make him understand. She could say that she was tired of waiting for him to come home, and he would whisper apologies and reassurances, but…
It was more than that. Ever since the pregnancy had started, it felt like all she ever did was sit around and wait, but in truth, she wasn't waiting for James to come home. Not really.
She was waiting for the night James didn't come home.
Her hands were shaking.
The teacup rattled against the saucer, calling attention to the tremors she had been trying to hide. She pushed the cup and saucer quickly onto the counter so she wouldn't drop them, and closed her eyes.
"Lily?"
"I'm fine, Cynthia." Lily opened her eyes and took a breath before turning to face her friend. Cynthia was leaning against the kitchen table, watching her in concerned silence, and in that moment, Lily wanted so desperately to unload everything that was weighing on her.
But she couldn't.
Cynthia wasn't in the Order.
"Here, you sit down and let me finish making the tea," Cynthia instructed.
Lily pressed her hands flat against her trousers, running her palms over the fabric, and nodded. "No tea leaves," she said in a hoarse whisper, a hint of sarcasm lacing her words. "I don't think I want to see the future."
When had she become so bitter?
"As you wish," Cynthia replied, ushering Lily towards the table and taking her spot at the counter.
Lily watched in silence as Cynthia pulled down the container of teabags from the cupboard and the pitcher of milk from the refrigerator. She moved around quickly, adroitly, as though she was familiar with every inch of the kitchen.
She probably was - she'd been here often enough.
Once the tea was made and Cynthia was sitting across from Lily at the table, the blonde broke the silence.
"Is James alright?"
Lily jerked her chin up, surprised.
"It's the only reason I can think of that you would be this upset and he wouldn't be here, at your side," Cynthia explained patiently, taking a sip of her tea and continuing to study Lily over the rim of the cup.
"He was injured," Lily admitted slowly. It was probably alright to tell Cynthia that because the other witch worked at St. Mungo's and could just figure it out herself if she wanted. James' injuries were hardly Order secrets - but the mission he'd been on was.
"Was it bad?" Cynthia asked.
Lily chuckled darkly, and replied, "Is seeing your husband covered in blood ever good?"
"But he's alright?" Cynthia pressed, furrowing her brow in concern and leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table.
"Yes," Lily answered, biting off the word. "They were able to patch him up at St. Mungo's. He's just fine."
She looked down at her cup, slowly swirling the tea with her spoon.
James was fine, and she knew she should be grateful for that. She was grateful for that. There was very little in her life that had been as painfully terrifying as those minutes standing in one of the white-washed hallways of St. Mungo's, waiting for someone to tell her if her husband would live. She had sunk to her knees in sheer relief when James had stumbled out of the room, still bloody and bruised but alive, and he had wrapped his arms around her and whispered I love you over and over again into her hair and for that brief second everything felt right.
And then Dumbledore had arrived and needed James' report, and he'd followed the Headmaster to Hogwarts to talk to McGonagall and Moody as well, and Lily had returned home to an empty house and more waiting.
"So there was no lasting damage?" Cynthia prompted, still obviously searching for more details as to why Lily was so upset.
"Nothing that couldn't be fixed by some healing spells and a blood-replenishing potion," Lily answered, running a hand through her hair.
And she knew how very lucky that made James. Lately the Death Eaters had started causing damage that was harder to cure, using curses that left behind permanent marks. Moody's scars were proof enough of that.
But what did it say about the world when a person being nearly murdered made him lucky?
"I hate this," Lily murmured, more to herself than to Cynthia. "I hate everything about this war."
Cynthia's lip curled into a sardonic smile. "Most sane people hate war," she replied.
Lily blinked. "Yeah." She chewed her lip, then said, "When I found out I was pregnant, I knew I had to stop fighting. I had to hide, to help the Order in other ways. And I thought that it would be alright… that I was alright with it. But I'm not."
"Why not?"
"Because I feel so helpless!" Lily snapped. "Because if I'm not out there fighting, then… then what am I doing?"
"You are protecting yourself and your unborn child," Cynthia replied soothingly. "And you're helping in other ways, aren't you? Sorting through intelligence and doing research…"
"What good is any of that?" Lily demanded. "I can't fight. I can't protect people. I read things in books and newspapers, and I listen to what other people have learned and offer theories, but how does that help anyone? How am I… how is this… how is it right?"
It was hard to ask those questions, hard to put her feelings into words, because underneath all of it was the fear that feeling this way made her a bad person, and no matter how much she trusted Cynthia with her secrets, she hated having to admit to this weakness. What kind of mother resented the fact that she was being forced to put her child's safety first?
Cynthia asked softly, "Because the only thing a truly good person would do is fight?"
Lily realized too late how her words had sounded, and quickly opened her mouth to take them back. But the apologies and backtracking got stuck in her throat and refused to come out. She hadn't meant to go down this road with Cynthia, but now that they were here, she didn't know how to get back.
Or did she just not care enough about Cynthia's feelings to put in the effort, and if that was true, what kind of friend was she?
Cynthia sipped her tea silently, clearly having no desire to give Lily a way out of this one, and Lily wondered vaguely how Cynthia felt, being on the outside of the Order. Did it hurt? Did she feel left behind, left out? Did she have the same kind of anger, of helpless aggravation, that Lily experienced every day.
Did she feel judged?
But Cynthia had made her decision. Dumbledore hadn't asked her to be in the Order, true - but she knew that it existed, she knew that Dumbledore was behind it, and Lily was confidant that if Cynthia had gone to Dumbledore and asked to join the Headmaster would have accepted her without hesitation.
But Cynthia never had.
Finally, in frustration, Lily practically growled, "James could die any day. All of us could."
"Yes, Lily," Cynthia agreed. "All of us could. Not just James, not just those in the Order." She set her cup down and met the redhead's gaze, and continued, "I know James is in more danger than the average person. His missions put him in danger, and the Death Eaters will target him more because they know he's in the Order. But most of the people who come into St. Mungo's aren't Order members. They're shopkeepers and barristers and bureaucrats and housewives and children. And Muggles."
"That's why we're fighting! To stop this, to protect them!"
"And that is why I want to be a Healer," Cynthia answered calmly. "To help the people you don't protect, the ones you can't reach in time."
"You can be a Healer and be in the Order," Lily protested. "You wouldn't even have to go out on missions. Dumbledore could have things for you to do in St. Mungo's."
"Or I could just be a Healer," Cynthia answered. "There is nothing wrong with that." She hesitated, then said, "This fighting, Lily… this need to always feel like you're doing something. That's you. And I understand, I do, because if I suddenly found out I couldn't be a Healer, it would… I don't know what I would do." She hesitated again, then said, "But I know what I wouldn't do. I wouldn't assume that the only worthwhile way to fight this war is through Healing."
Lily opened her mouth to snap back, to retort with an insult or a sharp remark or something.
But Cynthia continued, "The Healers who saved James' life today - were they in the Order? And Remus and Peter - they are in the Order, but don't most of their tasks not involve actual fighting? Don't they try to talk to people?"
Lily closed her eyes. "I… you're right. You are, and I know that. But I still hate this," she whispered. "It isn't me."
She felt Cynthia take her hands and squeeze them gently. "I know," the blonde murmured. "I know it isn't you, and I hate all this, too. And sometimes… sometimes I think that even if we win, this war is going to leave us with a broken world and broken people."
Lily opened her eyes and gave a strange, strangled laugh. "Yeah," she agreed. She pulled one hand out of her Cynthia's grasp and dropped it to her stomach, resting it over what she thought might be her child's heart.
But she continued to hold onto Cynthia with her other hand, grasping the blonde's fingers as though they were some sort of lifeline.
And they sat there, the two of them, and waited for James to come home.
They found her body - broken, bleeding, face filled with signs of pain and fear, and the Death Eaters had clearly enjoyed what they were doing - amidst the rubble of a ruined book store.
The invitation to the funeral came on a cream-colored card stuffed in a black envelope, and Lily chucked it into the fire the moment she had finished reading the words.
James was staring at her, and she wanted to say something - anything. But the words were stuck in her throat and jumbled in the wrong order and she just couldn't…
"Lily," he started, and then stopped, and then started again, "please talk to me."
What was she supposed to say?
She wanted to yell at him. She'd been wanting to yell at him for months. But she couldn't, because he was never home, and when he was home just being around him required so much energy that she didn't have any left over to argue or scream.
She was tired. She was so tired.
"Do you remember when I told you I was pregnant?" she whispered abruptly.
James smiled, one of those boyish grins that lit up his entire face and reminded her of Hogwarts, of the perceptions of safety that the school offered. The world around them had been burning, but they had been happy there - they had thought that they were safe, that nothing could touch them. Even after Hogsmeade was attacked, even after their friends had lost family members…
They had been naïve.
"I remember," James said. "You were standing in the bathroom when I got home, shaking like a leaf and babbling about how you wanted a perfect future."
"I wasn't babbling," Lily protested, but it was a weak and half-hearted attempt at an argument.
Her voice had been unnaturally high-pitched when he'd walked into the bathroom, and her eyes had been rimmed with red from the tears she had cried because she could not do this, she could not have a baby in this world, she could not be a mother, she was too young.
And she'd wanted to just blurt out everything to James, but…
"Sirius had just gotten that new engine for his motorbike," James said fondly, "and I kept going on about how much fun it was."
And Lily had let him, because every time she'd tried to open her mouth and explain - she was pregnant and they were going to have a baby and how the hell had that just happened? - she'd found it far easier to just let him talk about something inane and…
"You were smiling," Lily said, frowning. "That stupid motorbike. It made you happy."
There were so few things that made them happy anymore.
"So did the baby, when you finally told me," James replied. He had a faraway look in his eyes as he continued, "You started crying into my chest and insisted that everything was fine, but I knew it wasn't. And I kept demanding that you tell me what was going on, and you kept saying that you wanted the world to go back to the way things were before the war, that the new world might not be good enough. That even if we won the war, the world that we created would be new and different, but maybe not better. I had no idea what you meant."
Lily nodded slowly and stared at the fireplace where the funeral invitation had turned to ash. She had finally blurted out the truth to James, and he had stared at her in complete incomprehension for a long moment, as though the word pregnant baffled him.
Then he'd laughed and hugged her and lifted up her shirt to press kisses into her stomach. He'd been happy, and she'd been happy and…
"That was the last time I remember being truly happy," Lily admitted.
Her words echoed in the suddenly silent room, and she could feel James' gaze on her. But she couldn't look at him. She didn't want to look at him, didn't want to give him the opportunity to say that he would make it all better, because he couldn't, and she didn't think that he fully realized that yet.
He still believed that every problem could be fixed.
And maybe that was the crux of the problem. Maybe he kept trying to make everything better, unable to accept the simple fact that he couldn't. Unable to accept that he didn't understand what this was like for her.
How many arguments had they had over his involvement in the Order? How many conversations had turned down that path and ended with bickering or pained silence? He had cut back on his Order missions, only going on ones where he was really needed, and he had thought that that would be enough. But he still went on some missions and she still waited and...
And maybe she was the problem. Maybe she just needed to find a way to live with the shape of her life because she was pregnant and he was fighting a war and what other choice did they have?
"I sit at home and wait. I wait and wait and wait and it just…" She rubbed at her eyes, angrily brushing away the tears that had started to fall. "Cynthia's dead, James!"
"I know," James whispered.
"No… no you don't!" She jumped up from her seat and started pacing, shaking with fury and grief. "The last time I saw her, we argued because… Merlin, I don't even know why. It was the same stupid argument. She wasn't in the Order and I thought she should join and I… we judged her for it. And now she's dead."
"Cynthia knew that you two were friends," James protested softly. "She knew how you felt about her. if that is why you're upset…"
She spun around to face him, furious that he couldn't see it. How could he be so oblivious?
Yes, this was about Cynthia and the argument and her death, but it also wasn't. it was about sitting at home and waiting, it was about the haunted look in Remus' eyes, it was about what Regulus' death did to Sirius, it was about…
"You could have died that day," Lily whispered. Her words rushed together and came out incoherently. "You… at St. Mungo's, I thought… and then you weren't dead, but you didn't even… you went with Dumbledore!"
"Lily…"
"And I went home and waited. Again."
"I had to…"
"I know what you had to do, James! I know that you are important to the Order, that you have to fight. I understand it, I accept it, I do. But do you honestly think that makes it any better? Any easier?" She laughed darkly, coldly. "I keep thinking that it will all be better when the war is over, but what if it won't? What if it doesn't ever get better?"
"It will," James said firmly, and she could see from the look in his eyes that he actually believed that.
"Cynthia's dead! It won't get better for her. She won't get a future, she won't get another chance… Don't you see? It doesn't matter if the war ends tomorrow, if we suddenly win, if Voldemort just disappears! Cynthia is dead, and she is never coming back."
"Lily…"
"Stop it!" she snarled, face flushed darkly. "Stop saying my name like that, like you can actually fix this, like you can make everything better!"
"I can help you! If you would just talk to me instead of shutting me out like you have been," James yelled back, finally raising his voice to match hers. "I could help you, Lily, if you would just let me!"
She sagged suddenly, all the energy gone, and leaned against the wall. "It's like I'm watching a horror film and I can't stop it and I can't look away. I'm trapped here, waiting, and it isn't me and it shouldn't be my life. Cynthia's dead, and I hate them for taking her away and I hate her for dying. But how am I suppose to talk to you about this when every time I even think about her death, all I imagine is how much worse it would have been had they killed you?"
"But they didn't kill me," James tried to reassure her.
"But they could," Lily countered. "And how would you feel if you had to stay at home and wait every time I went rushing off to a mission? How would you feel if you were the one constantly left behind?" She shook her head and muttered, "We were so happy when we found out I was pregnant, but…"
"But what?"
She tilted her chin up to look at him, tears catching in her lashes and slipping down her cheeks, and said bluntly, "But now we're not happy, James. And what if this is it? What if this is the closest we get to being happy again?"
He stared at her mutely, and she could tell that he wanted to say the right thing, but he didn't know what it was. But knowing the right thing to say had never been one of his strong points, and she didn't know why she thought this time would be any different.
Then he said, "I'll take it."
"You'll… what?" Lily asked, confused.
"This," James said, spreading his arms wide to encompass both of them and their home and everything in it. "If this is the closest we get to being happy again, then I will take it."
"Did you hear anything I just said?" she snapped.
He stepped closer to her, and she tried to move away. But he grabbed onto her arms to stop her, and the wall was at her back, giving her little room.
"Yes," he said quietly, gazing at her intently. "I heard you. You're hurting. You are scared and angry and grieving. And it hurts me, too, because you've been like this for months and I couldn't figure out what was wrong or how to help and you wouldn't let me. Yes, Lily, I heard you. I heard everything you said and I understand. And maybe I don't know everything you are going through because I am not the one who has to wait, but I love you and it is hurting me, too!"
"Oh, shut up," she snapped irritably, yanking her arms from his grasp and shoving him in the chest to push him away from her. His words were condescending, and how could he really think that they would help her? She didn't want his pity, and she didn't want him to be looking at her with sympathy in his eyes, as though she was some hysterical little girl.
She stepped past him, turning her back so that she wouldn't have to face him.
"You don't understand it at all."
"Yes, I do!" James protested, placing a hand on her shoulder. She tried to shrug it off, but he wouldn't let go. "I know you are hurting, and I know I am hurting, and I know this whole thing just… hurts."
"Oh, very eloquent," she snipped at him over her shoulder.
He ignored her comment, and instead said, "But I'll take it. If this is as happy as we ever get, then I will take it because here's the thing; maybe this makes me selfish and self-centered, but damn it, Lily, I would still take miserable and painful with you than not have you in my life at all!"
She turned then, and he pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her tightly. She thought about trying to struggle, trying to pull away, but what was the point? He wasn't going to let her go - not ever - and that wasn't really what she wanted anyway.
"That does make you selfish," she said flatly, her voice muffled by his chest.
"I know."
A pause. "But I love you, too."
She felt him press a kiss into her hair as he murmured, "I know."
A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Even though you're an arrogant toerag."
"I know." He let go of her with one arm and brushed the hair out of her face. "Please don't shut me out," he whispered.
"I'm not trying to," she answered honestly. "But I don't know how to stop feeling this way. I don't think I can. And every time I try to say something... I can't explain it to you. I can't make you feel what I feel because you aren't in my place and..." She sighed, and tilted her head up to look at him, "You can't fix this, James. You can't make it not hurt."
"I want to," he answered softly, simplistically.
"But you can't." Lily closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her thoughts, then opened them and said, "I need you to understand that. I love you, James, more than anyone else in the world, but you can't make everything better."
He sighed, and for a moment she thought he was going to protest, but instead he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips.
"I know."
All This Waiting For The Sky To Fall by Dawnie
Chapter Endnotes: The End.