Her arms were scrubbed almost raw; she had not been merciful. But now she could be certain that she smelled only of dish soap, and nothing of the blood she'd just destroyed. When Aidan spoke, every word tugged at those long-buried feelings - the ones she'd tried to distance herself from, even while sharing them, by attributing them to her younger self. It hurt. It all hurt. She didn't want to feel this; she'd run from it for so, so long. Over a year now. A year without Aidan Waite, and here he was clinging to her like she was a life raft. Her damp hand gently stroked through his hair and down the back of his neck. She shouldn't be doing this. She shouldn't be touching him like this. God, Aidan. Even now, she'd die for him. Without a single hesitation.
Evey swallowed hard, reached down deep inside herself, and pulled herself back on track. She knew why she came, and even now that hadn't changed. She would not betray her younger self, nor would she saddle Aidan with the shadow of the woman he loved. That was not what would happen here today.
"She," Evey said firmly, her voice quiet but unwavering. "She. She's the one you love, and she's the one who needs you, and she's the one you are fighting for now. I'm the ghost, Aidan, and you need to forget about me. That's why I came here. To tell you this."
There was one more thing she should say. The words were unfamiliar with disuse, and the feeling that went with them was different from any other feeling she'd ever harbored. It wasn't the same as it had been with Aidan, but it was there all the same. She'd recognized it a handful of nights ago, when she looked over a plate of spinach and vinaigrette to the stern and quiet man sitting across from her.