It was harder than ever listening to him talk. Freddie wasn't one to talk about feelings, not really. She'd worked long and hard to get him to open up to her over the years. With his home life, she never blamed him for closing up. So hearing such raw emotion from him was almost too much to take. He was right. About most everything. Except one and she wouldn't let him go on thinking it, either. He deserved more. "I never would have laughed at your expense, Freddie," she said quietly. "Nothing in Merano happened the way it was meant to. I had a few other things on my mind than who won and who lost." A bitter laugh escaped, then she turned her eyes up to him.
Her eyes closed instinctively when he squeezed her hand in his. It was so bloody familiar and Florence could almost pretend nothing had happened. It was 1978 and things hadn't completely soured between them yet. They were still head over heels and yes, they fought from time to time, but nothing like those last few battles that had torn them apart to the irreparable stage. And there was no Italy to worry about yet, the Championship had been somewhere else entirely that year and his opponent had been good but no Sergievsky and he'd certainly not been Communist. And he'd won easily and they'd celebrated and why hadn't it stayed that way? Maybe if she could figure that out, they wouldn't be having the conversation that they were.
"You're not the only one who had a lot going on then, you know. Who was dealing with a lot, then." She tried to give him a teasing smile, but it probably came out more sympathetic than anything. "You think cleaning up after your verbal messes was easy?" She squeezed his hand tenderly once more before letting her fingers slip from his. "I snapped. I couldn't deal any longer and yes, we both know now I should have tried harder. But I was frustrated and angry and hurt..." Florence sighed, then finished the drink from the cup in front of her. Which was actually the last thing she wanted. It had given her a distraction, at least.
"I know this is my fault," she countered a moment later, looking up to study his expression. Sometimes, every now and then, he was like an open book, at least to her. But he could also be impossible to read, too. She thought she knew. She thought maybe there was some forgiveness in his face, some compassion, maybe even hope? But she could be entirely wrong, too. "I'm not saying I did it all alone," she reminded him, but there was the barest hint of a smile on her face. "But it isn't like I don't know I'm at fault, so please quit making it sound like I don't."
No, being able to admit her fault wasn't going to be what kept her from him. Not being able to look him in the eye and feel she'd forever wronged him...that would. Not being able to be with him without feeling as if he thought of her as tainted? No, that would pretty much keep anything from coming back to the surface.