Aiden Shepard [ Abraham Van Helsing ] (arcere) wrote in bellumlogs,
"It is." So she'd figured it out, too. Well, that summed things up neatly. Made it a little easier for him to deal with this, which was not something he regularly dealt with. She wasn't looking very good, and he really, really didn't want to wind up responsible for a sick or dying woman in his room when it had been Helsing's fault in the first place. Er, and the building, but he was pretty sure any issues would come from a severe blow to the head, not his blood, since as far as he knew there was nothing wrong with him. "I know what you've told me, but that's the limit."
And what he knew of Lucy. Of her incarnations, so tempting and playful and murderous as they were. Aiden didn't drink his tea yet, either, as if waiting for it to cool down, though at this point it would reach tepid before he even picked it up.
"You aren't," he said, a little more firmly than expected. "Whatever happens during those nights is them, not us. We aren't them." He looked at the wall, hoping for an answer and getting only his badly-marked calendar. "The things she does aren't your fault. Even though it feels like it, most of the time."
It surprised him, how willing he was to reassure her that it wasn't her fault he'd been bleeding. Normally the would have been at least a little more sarcastic, but ... maybe it was the fact that she seemed so determined to be at fault, and the fact that he hadn't responded to her letter, and the idea that she was forced into something really awful - at least Van Helsing wasn't a monster - that he could, ostensibly, prevent just by being who he was. Maybe it was because he'd done so little overall.
(Or maybe it was some other reason, something he didn't quite want to realize just yet.)