Regret

He tried to consciously level his voice, trying not to escalate things further. "Let me get this straight. And, correct me if I'm wrong, because I really hope I am. You've decided that I don't want you anymore because, what, because of the miscarriage? And you expect that I'm leaving because of it. Is that about the size of it?" He winced, realising his attempt at being level had failed, badly. She looked away, refusing to meet his gaze, her cheeks flushed, and she was so infuriatingly beautiful in that moment that the butterflies in the pit of his stomach suddenly lurched back into flight. She bit her lip, and suddenly he couldn't take it anymore – he needed her to look at him. To see him.

He leaned forward, and instead of meeting him in the middle, she stepped back. And then again. He gave up and lifted her chin, only to have her close her eyes to evade him again.

"And you believe this to be true because...?" He did better at keeping his tone neutral, this time.

Her eyes flew open, finally. Her outraged expression might have been cute if he wasn't so hurt. "You have barely touched me since. You haven't kissed me. Hell, I threw myself at you – twice – and you declined. I don't exactly need you to paint me a picture, Alistair."

He gasped a breath, trying to ignore the flash of irritation he felt. But instead he caught a whiff of a scent – mint, and lavender, and something more feral than that too, the scent that was Sierra's alone, the scent that drove him mad in the night when he held her. It flooded him with images, scenes from nights that they'd spent together, her head thrown back as she'd cried out in ecstasy – and he couldn't even help it; he needed more of that, even as he wanted to shake her or go hit Zevran again. He couldn't stop himself from breathing in closer to her skin, savouring the scent and the fast little breaths that told him she'd noticed their close proximity too.

It didn't stop him from trying – again – to explain, though it did probably rattle his brain a little so that he made less sense than he intended. "Did it ever occur to you that I was being a gentleman?" He had trouble focusing on his words with her body so close to him. Regardless of how he felt, his body knew what it wanted when they were together. "That maybe it had nothing to do with my desire, but more with what was right?"

She scrabbled for a response, and he couldn't help it. He had to kiss her. It was imperative to his continued survival. The ache in his heart and the irritation in his hunched shoulders couldn't overcome his need to taste her, to feel her against him. She surrendered to him, opening her mouth and making an adorably confused noise, and he could feel himself hardening in his trousers, even when he didn't want to.

"Because there has never been a time when I didn't want you." He tugged her against him, even as his subconscious shouted at him – they needed to talk, not have sex in their sitting room. He kissed her anyway, against his better judgement, and without even thinking about it, found himself pinning her to the wall, plundering her pliant mouth. He had intended the kiss to be brief, reassuring rather than passionate, but as usual, being with her was overwhelming, and he found himself ignoring his pain, his frustration, and pouring everything into the kiss.

Even as she clung to him, moving against him, their hands roaming familiar curves and touching all the right places, his inner voice got louder and more insistent. This wasn't going to fix anything. Sex had never been their problem. And if he ignored this – if he let her distract him, regardless of how enjoyable the distraction – he would regret it forever, especially the next time she ran from him. And maybe they wouldn't be able to fix it by then.

Even thinking about it, imagining the pain he would feel the next time she took off, was enough to bring him back to his senses. Tears had erupted from his eyes, streaming down his face in a way they hadn't since he'd been at the monastery, alone and bitter, and he pulled away before she would notice. No matter how he felt, he wasn't trying to make her feel worse – he just needed some time. Some perspective.

He needed some distance, he realised. He'd rushed this confrontation, but he wasn't ready to finish it. He needed to think, to organise his feelings – to put the worst of them aside so they could talk without his anger or hurt ruining it. He needed to be sure, completely sure, that he wouldn't say something in anger that he couldn't take back. He'd been down that road before – lashing out in anger – and he wouldn't do that to her again.

He let her down, holding her hips until she got her legs under her. She made a bereft little noise as their lips separated, and it tore at something inside him; he kept her close, not wanting her to see his pain or his tears, but she raised her hands to his traitorous, wet face, and he cursed inwardly.

"You ran from me, Sierra. You didn't ask, didn't wait, didn't listen. What happened to giving each other the benefit of the doubt? We've talked about this, remember? How we'd been through too much to let anything come between us? Instead, you assumed, and you ran, and you decided I was going to divorce you without even talking to me about it." He dropped his hands, hunching his shoulders against the pain of it. "You don't trust me, and I don't know what else to do. How do I convince you I love you? How do I prove to you I'm never leaving you? Every time we hit a bump, every disagreement or misunderstanding, you run. You run, and I have to come find you."

She opened her mouth – he could feel the breath gust out as she went to speak – and he put his finger over her lips to stop it. He wasn't ready to hear apologies or excuses – and she didn't need excuses for how she felt. She didn't feel safe with him, and that was his fault. That was the part that hurt the most. He would do whatever he had to until she trusted him – but he needed time first.

"I don't blame you. After all, I did leave you. I set the precedent, and I guess this lack of trust isn't entirely unearned." He pressed his forehead against hers so they could see each other, but still wouldn't let her speak. "But it still hurts, Sierra. I thought...I wanted us to be past this." He pulled back and kissed her forehead, a visceral reminder of their separation during the Blight and the kiss he was sure would be his last. "Tomorrow I'll be up to trying again. I'll find a way to prove it to you. I'll earn your trust, one way or the other, because I will never leave you again." He wracked his brain for the most outrageous examples he could think of. "Not if you turn into a homicidal ghoul and start eating our friends. Not if you sleep with every man in the Keep. Not if we are never able to have children and it's all your fault. Never. I'm with you to the end. But I...it's too much. I just need one night to put this pain back where it belongs. Tomorrow is a new day, a new start. I will try again. But for tonight...I just, I need to..."

He could see that he was hurting her, and Maker, there was nothing he wanted less than to cause her pain...but his urge to cover pain and irritation with snarky humour would only hurt her more if he stayed. He'd say something only a quarter true, all sarcastic and bitter, and she'd take him at his word... No. He had to get away before he made it worse.

He left her standing there and went to grab a blanket and a pillow, with the intent to find somewhere else to sleep for just one night. He pulled a blanket out of the wardrobe where they kept their travel gear and grabbed the first pillow he saw off the bed. As he rolled the pillow into the blanket for carrying, her scent wafted off both – he'd grabbed her pillow by accident. He pressed his face to it, taking a shuddering breath, wondering what he'd do if she chose not to let him back in the next day. But he was sure that if he stayed, it would be over – sooner or later. He squared his shoulders and went back out to find her evidently glued to the spot he'd left her.

He wanted to touch her – to pull her into his arms and beg her forgiveness, to make love to her until she screamed his name loud enough that the Architect heard her...but he could barely see her through his watery eyes. "This isn't me leaving you. You understand that, right?"

Walking out that door was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

He just had to hope that if – when – he walked back in, he'd be able to find a way to make it work.