maxon winters ❄ jon snow. (stargaryen) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2019-08-14 20:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, * kit, * terri, c: danielle drake, c: maxon winters |
WHO: Max and Danielle
WHEN: Saturday, July 6, 2019; Early Evening
WHERE: Danielle’s apartment
SUMMARY: Max has been talking to a therapist but realizes he really needs to talk to his girlfriend
WARNINGS: Mentions of loss, GoT spoilers, grief
Max had known before Lyllianna had brought it up that he needed to talk to Danielle about where his head was at, even while talking to a professional. It was so much easier said than done, though, when a large part of the reason why he needed to talk to someone at all was the guilt and grief that stemmed from how Daenerys' story had ended. Her forgiveness and her gratitude felt so undeserved, and it felt impossible to reconcile how Jon felt with how Max felt. But Max loved Danielle. She was one of the most important people in his life, his Queen in her own right, and someone he'd imagined sharing his life with before they'd even remembered their relationship from Westeros. And, right now, he felt the constant jeopardy he put that future into with each passing day that he talked without really talking. He was no stranger to loss, in this life, or the next, and he wasn't prepared to let himself lose her, too. He wouldn't let himself make mistakes that cost him everything, not in any way like Jon had. And so, after one particularly raw session with his new therapist, Max had left the office and headed straight to Danielle's apartment where he'd embraced her the moment she'd opened the door. I love you, he'd said, and it was time for him to show it as much as he said it. Now sitting on the couch, two of the three cats lounging noncommittally in his general vicinity, he ran his fingers over their fur and dropped his head. Taking a deep breath, he looked back up and over at his girlfriend, wanting to see her, to look her in the eye as he finally confided in her the way he should have been doing all along. "I'm not okay," he started, swallowing hard. "And I know how obvious that is. And I don't know how to talk about the fact that I'm not okay, but I want to do it anyway. I never want to get to a point where we can't talk to each other, Dani. And I'm sorry that I haven't been doing exactly that." “I know,” Danielle’s reply had come easily, and encompassed all of those things that he had said in the beginning of that confession. It was just the beginning of one, or should have been. There was a lot that needed to be said, and she hadn’t been certain how to approach the topic. As the weeks had worn on, it had begun to feel more and more as though she’d lost her window of opportunity to naturally bring up the events that it seemed like everyone was trying to bury instead. In truth, the last month had been very lonely for Danielle. Even though they had still seen one another often, she had been painfully aware of how little they really said to one another. Their conversations had been more like those of passing acquaintances than those of a couple deeply in love. She had never planned to withdraw or abandon Max as he came to terms with the actions of Jon Snow, but it did not make the waiting painless. For someone who had spent her life desperately trying to ensure that she was not a burden to others, she felt as though she’d become an unintentionally heavy weight upon his shoulders. “It isn’t easy for me either, Max. Mostly because I know how badly this has hurt you, and I’m deeply sorry for my role in that...in either lifetime,” she bit the inside of her cheek, dropping her gaze for a moment to a loudly purring Drogon who had stretched out on the cushion between them, “I don’t have the right words to say to make it OK, Max. I wish that I did. I wish I knew what to say...because what I have said obviously wasn’t right. I’ve just made things worse. So...if you would like to talk to me, I would like to listen.” Max shook his head. “Dani, no,” he started, taking a deep breath. “I don’t think anyone has the right words to make everything okay, so this is not on you, not even a little bit.” Reaching out, he took her hand in his, taking what comfort that touch gave and hoping it gave some in return. “And it’s not even just...what happened between us. Everything just feels so heavy like the momentum that carried me from one shit memory to the next finally ran out and everything that my family and I suffered from the moment we left Winterfell slammed into me, knocking the breath out of me, and I have no idea how to process the grief, and the…quiet. I don’t even know where to start.” The words weren’t enough, he knew. He felt the vastness of the loss, and grief, and suffering that they’d all experienced and his words were barely the tip of the iceberg of that. “And completely separate from Jon’s feelings,” he added, “is my own guilt for being so unable to move past this…mountain that I feel like I’m letting you down for not being there for you. God, Dani, I’m so sorry for that.” The connection of their hands did bring her some measure of comfort, though she was careful not to squeeze too tightly in case he needed to pull back. She bit the inside of her cheek as he spoke, though she understood - probably better than most - what meant. Daenerys and Jon had both suffered immeasurable losses. She mourned for family that she had never even actually known - her parents and Rhaegar - and for those that she had loved and lost along the way. The past months had been difficult. Not only had she re-lived the loss of a spouse, but she was sickened and heart-sore over her dragons - her children - and Jorah and Missandei. There were times when she woke in cold sweats in the middle of the night from those memories...there were times when her stomach was so raw from that grief that it rejected anything that she attempted to eat. As much as she was at peace with her own end, the profound losses were still something she was…rather silently working through. She had not wanted to burden Max further or worry Kiera and Niall even when it felt like the grief might swallow her whole. “You shouldn’t feel guilty for not being able to move past it yet, Max. I haven’t moved past it,” she shook her head slowly, her voice cracking, “The only thing that I’ve been at peace with in this whole thing is my own fate. Everything else? It’s still...looming there. Every single day. I think...we could both do a better job at being there for one another. I haven’t been as open about what I’ve been feeling as I probably should have been either. I don’t think either of us are to blame, Max...but I do think that for either of us to heal, we have to start working through some of it. Somehow. Even if it’s just chipping away at it a little every day.” Max’s eyes went wide for a moment as Danielle admitted that she hadn’t moved past their memories, either. It was both comforting to know that he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t okay yet, and heartbreaking to know that he’d completely misjudged the situation. Maybe if he’d made the effort before now to have a real conversation with her, he would have known. He couldn’t go back and change that now, but maybe he could make sure he didn’t make the same mistake again. His fingers tightened protectively around hers and lifted her hand to press a kiss against her knuckles. “You’re too important to me to not do everything I can to get back to us,” he said quietly. “Not even just for my own healing, but for yours, too. I don’t want either of us to feel like this all the time. Whatever it takes, I want to work through this with you. Whether that’s just me talking to someone professionally, or...maybe both of us doing that, together or separately.” He turned her hand in his and pressed the next kiss against her palm before letting both of their hands find rest on the couch between them. “And whatever else you think would help.” He was right, of course. It wasn’t healthy for either of them to remain as they currently were long term. They had promised one another that they would fight for each other...that their love was worth overcoming whatever obstacles their former lives threw in the way. There was a lot of emotional baggage to be unpacked there...a lot of trauma. They couldn’t do it alone, and they shouldn’t have to. “I think...I’d like to talk to someone, too. Professionally. Maybe separately to begin with, and we can reevaluate that after a few sessions? Just to get my footing beneath me,” Danielle agreed. It wouldn’t be her first time seeing a therapist, and she knew how much it could really help in the long run. She squeezed his hand gently, “I think just...knowing that there’s an open line of communication here helps too. I haven’t said what maybe I needed to because...I didn’t want to place an unfair burden upon your shoulders. Working towards talking more to each other needs to be a priority, though. Without communication between the two of us...it makes it really difficult, I think. I don’t want either of us to be afraid that...sharing what we’re going through might be damaging to each other.” These were not easy things to discuss, but healing was often messy business. Max nodded, already feeling a sliver of the burden he’d been carrying these past weeks lessen. It wasn’t enough, not yet, but it was a start and it was what he’d been searching for since the last of the memories had found him. He’d just needed to know that he could move forward, at whatever pace, even if it was a slow one. And it meant everything to him that he be there for Danielle, too. This conversation felt paramount. Moving closer to her, Max tentatively lifted his arm, shifting to put it around her shoulders if she allowed him to. He missed being close to her--physically, mentally. “I think separate sessions to begin with sounds like a good start, and I’m making you a promise right here and now that I won’t shut you out. No matter how hard it gets, I’ll talk to you. Not talking to you just makes things worse. I learned that one the hard way,” he said, taking a deep, steadying breath. Danielle leaned into him, welcoming the arm that he slipped around her shoulders. She tucked her head there against his shoulder and nodded softly to acknowledge his words. They were a soothing balm after the last few weeks of feeling other and alone. A small smile graced her lips as she promised, "I'll do the same. No shutting each other out. We do this together, Max. You and me." She lifted her hand in front of the both of them, sticking out her pinky finger in the request for a final swear. Max pressed a kiss to Danielle's forehead as his pinky finger wrapped assuredly around hers. The hollow ache that had been lingering inside of him deflated, just a little, just enough, and he closed his eyes as he let his cheek rest against her head. Tomorrow, they’d figure out their next step but, for now, this was exactly what he needed, what they both needed. "You and me. Always," he said. And it was the easiest promise he'd ever made. |