Hushed Willows My girl don't want me cause of my dirty laundry

Staying vague! Roughly dated to a week ago

It was a slow thing, her recovery; Reverie spent days in a haze, plagued by blinding headaches and spells of confusion, sleeping more often than not. Many times she woke in tears, reaching for @Boone when he was near and calling for him when he was not. He and Blossom became her only true sources of comfort. Her new reality was overwhelming. So much of her freedom had been taken from her; even standing brought pained tears to her eyes, and so she avoided it when she could, though there was no true respite in lying down either.

But gradually the fog was beginning to clear. She woke early, just as the sun began to rise, and pressed against her husband with a low whine. Reverie buried her muzzle in Boone's chest fur, taking a moment to breathe in his scent and remind herself that he was here, by her side, caring for her faithfully. Then she started to groom his fur gently, a morning ritual she had fallen into as a way of comforting them both through the hardships of her recovery. I love you, She murmured into his fur, wondering in spite of herself how long it would be before he abandoned her as Lestan had.

In the days that passed since the woman @Meadow had so graciously offered her service, Boone had, admittedly, cast himself and his own feelings aside.
His wife was injured; he, too, had not come away from his fight with the stranger unscathed, but whatever he had sustained was much less severe than whatever the hell had happened to her.
And these injuries upon her body, from what he could tell, were not caused by that man. These were of her own doing. And this— tendency, of hers, to run away from things she did not tell him about; to scare him half to death and to have him drop all else and run to her; this fear that gripped him that one day she will succeed and he will never even find her body; all of it struck him deeply with a primal, driven terror.
He had begun to grow angry.
She clings to him, and he allows it. He brings her food, water, medicine; he carries her into the sunlight for fresh air, they talk over the sunset and daydream of what this place will one day become.
But it was already stained with a horrible, horrible memory.
Nevertheless, even with the shard of bitterness lain deep behind his eyes, he sleepily replies: I love you too.

Reverie had sensed his upset, his bitterness, and yet she had wrongly attributed it to her own carelessness. After all — if she had never left, she would not have stumbled upon Amalia. She would not have been hurt so terribly, and Boone wouldn't have been injured, and —

When - when that cat was chasing me - all I could think about was you. You and Blossom, waiting for me forever, Her eyes filled with tears, and she pulled away, seeking to meet his eyes. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone so far. I - I won't do it again. If I hadn't... then that cat never would have found me, and you wouldn't be hurt, and - I just - I'm sorry.

I don't wanna hear it right now, Reverie.
Excuses, excuses; his eyes roll to darkness.
Why are you so convinced that I'm gonna-- that I'll hurt you? Or that I'll leave? I'm not Lestan, I'm never gonna be Lestan. I mean, it-- the way you keep takin' off, without even tellin' me, that... it hurts me. It scares me too, that one day you'll never come back. anger, roiling, and he wasn't quite sure when or how it took over, why it so suddenly seemed to punch him so violently.
Nostrils flared, his paws tuck close to his chest, and he holds them there; a gentleness found even in animosity. You very well could'a died back there. I could'a lost you for good. You don't-- I don't think you see the goddamn consequences to your actions, and I'm gettin' real tired of it.

She hadn't expected it.

But maybe this was what she deserved; a blow harsher than any fall, cutting more deeply than any cat's claws. Reverie pulled away from him abruptly despite how it hurt her, sucking in a sharp breath as her eyes filled with tears. And he went on, digging that knife ever deeper; Lestan.

He'd promised. He'd promised never to say that name to her again.

And she saw his hurt, of course she saw it, but now Reverie was too filled with her own to even think of reaching out to try to soothe it. Her throat constricted. Her tears turned cold as they soaked into the fur at her cheeks. What else could she say that she hadn't already? Of course she knew the gravity of what she'd done; wasn't she living with it now? The constant pain, the struggle of drawing every breath, the guilt when she looked into the red-rimmed eyes of her daughter, the shame each time Boone brought her a meal or carried her from their den.

For a long time Reverie was silent.

I'm sorry, She said finally, voice shattering, shattered, in shards.

But now she was remembering Akavir;

“And save your act — I don’t give a shit about your tears.”

Reverie stifled her sobs, and cried in silence.

He hadn't realized what he'd done until it was now too late.
He'd said it; said the name.
For a long stretch there is a loss for what to say, until a soft wait, baby, I'm sorry comes flying from his mouth. He reaches for her before he stops short yet again; the anger, the one he held so viscerally only seconds ago. Where had it gone?
No. He must hold onto it.
Look, he stifles himself down into a rumble. I'm not tryn'a hurt you. I just need you to understand. Do you understand? What I mean, when I say that it-- that I'm scared too? but it felt as if he was talking to a wall; there was nothing, no recognition as far as he could tell, only her own spiral.
Why was he doing this?

I - She took in a breath and tried to steady herself, tried to bring herself back to here and now. I'm not trying to hurt you, either. And I - I meant it, when I said I won't go so far again.

Gilded eyes searched for the dark gaze Reverie had come to love so much. I know you're scared. I - I never meant to scare you, or hurt you, and I'm sorry. I guess I just - She hesitated, struggling to find the right words. Maybe it's stupid, but I don't - I don't really know how relationships are supposed to - work. I don't know what you... need from me, really. And I know you aren't - him, but he - he was the only one, before you. I spent so long trying to figure out what he needed - and when I finally asked, he -

Her voice broke again, and fell to a near-whisper. He told me that he needed to be away from me.

Her gaze dropped. I guess I just thought - if I spent too much time with you, then - Then you would need to be away from me, too. Reverie swallowed hard, and her eyes flicked back up, something panicked and frantic brewing in them now. I can't - I can't lose you. I love you - I love you so much that it - it scares me, because I - I always ruin everything when I love someone too much. And maybe she'd already done it again; maybe Boone was realizing even now that he couldn't handle this, her, the life they'd promised to build together.

Panic rose in her throat; choking; burning.

Against his better judgment, he listens.
And it sounded so crazy, that this woman would think fucking off to high heaven was what he ever could have wanted; to think that disappearing without a word was what he wanted. His breath comes in slow, jagged pulls before he speaks again.
Babydoll, one paw reaches out in search of hers, to hold the white-tipped digits in the pale heft of his own; as was routine when fear seemed to shake her by the shoulders. don't you go on just assumin' these types of things, first of all, okay? If-- if I needed space, I'd tell you I need it, because that was how this was supposed to work, wasn't it?
He waits for the recognition to spark behind her eyes before he continues. and I never, ever, in a million, billion years want you to leave, or-- or ignore me without tellin' me. Ever. Not after this. as he thought of it, she'd be lucky if he let her go anywhere alone again. you hear me? I love you.
Was this not what love was?

And just like that, he was gentle with her again; holding her paw and speaking sweetly, telling her that he would never want to be parted from her. It still hurt to think of the way he'd brought up Lestan, the way he'd taken that small piece of trust she'd given him and thrown it in her face during a moment of vulnerability — but he was right, wasn't he? He was so unlike Lestan in every way, yet part of her was still caught in the past, still reacting to all of the ways she'd failed her first husband and, perhaps, overcorrecting.

Reverie nodded as he spoke, throat still aching with emotion too much to respond in words. She tucked herself against him and her heart raced; her healing ribs throbbed uncomfortably. I - I always want to be with you, She confessed, feeling foolish now. I just didn't think - Never would she have thought that anyone would want her around so often, not after Lestan. If he could love her so much and still be overwhelmed by her, how could anyone else feel differently? But there was no sense in rehashing what she'd already said, and so Reverie cut herself off and only said, again, I'm sorry.

She buried her face in his fur, still crying, though not so much as before.

He hadn't sought an apology in all of this. What he sought was a change to this behavior, this rocket-speed descent into a madness he, admittedly, foolishly, had not been prepared for.
I don't want you to apologize, his tongue flicks quickly over his lips in a release of tension as he instinctively snakes an arm around her shoulders. I want that to change. From now on, you talk to me when you're feelin' like that, alright? You can talk to me.
Had she not, always? Had this not been what was agreed upon that day they wed between the evergreens? Were they not meant to be partners?
He rests his chin in the space between her ears and allows his eyes to come to a close. Are you hungry?

You can talk to me, he said. But how could she? Even now she couldn't get it out of her head, the harsh way he'd spoken to her. Why hadn't he brought this up sooner? Why hadn't he talked to her? Instead he'd waited for a tearful moment, waited to tell her that he did not want to hear what she had to say, that he was tired of her, the way he'd promised would never happen. He'd promised.

She'd been a fool to believe him.

Okay, Reverie murmured nonetheless, wanting desperately to leave this hurt behind even as it burned ever-brighter in her throat and her chest. How could he demand her trust even as he shattered what little she'd given him? But she loved him; she wanted to forget that this had happened.

Her eyes ached and her head throbbed. When he asked if she was hungry, she immediately felt nauseous. No, She said quietly, haltingly. I just want to stay here for a little while. Here, in his arms, where she hoped that the warmth of his embrace might somehow erase the hurtful things he'd said to her.

Okay.
His intuition told him that it was not. It was as if he could feel it, feel her cave in on herself before him; but what was there to do? Was he meant to sacrifice himself, his wellbeing, for the sake of her own? Was he meant to let her fall into deathtraps and pull her from their grasp without so much as a complaint?
What did she expect of him?
And for the first time, he asks himself; what really happened with Lestan?
He says nothing else. He merely engulfs her in the stretch of his embrace and settles back down in the hope of sleep finding them once more.

He held her, as she'd wanted. Reverie closed her eyes and focused on the rhythm of his heart, the warm scent of him. After a time, the hurt started to fade; there was too much love in her to hold on to it, too much desperate need for his presence in her life. Eventually sleep found her.

When she woke again, she told herself that it would be okay. Everything would be okay. It had to be.