"They gave up," she repeated, quietly. Damn him. He didn't know how right he was. He didn't even know what he was right about. Damn him to Hell. Meg bit her lip, looking at him. She loved him. That was it. It was new, and untested, and more confusing than anything had ever been in her very long life, but she loved him. It was also impossible. Those were the sorts of emotions Hell took from a girl. She'd never questioned it, never missed it, but there it was. She'd loved Lucifer, but it hadn't been the same. She'd loved him as her leader, her champion, her God. But this man that sat beside her, in all his flawed perfection, she loved him.
And she would never, ever say it anywhere but inside her own head. And even there, inside those safe walls, she wanted to lock it up in a box and forget about it. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. This was a mistake that she could not make, and yet already had. Damn him. Why had he cared about her? Why had he bothered? If he hadn't, if he had looked at her like every other being always had, this never would have happened. But he'd been kind, devoted. He'd looked at her, seen her true face, and called her beautiful. Who the fuck does that?
She reached her hand towards him, almost forgetting her rule, almost touching him...but froze before making contact. Her hand hovered in the air between them like an unfinished thought.
"We should..." but she didn't know how to finish that thought. She didn't even know which thought she was trying to process.