Sasha understood where Iona's questions were coming from but he also recognized there were many different perspectives to the situation.  He shook his head and straightened slightly, leaning forward on the couch. 

Somehow, he needed to find a way to convey this in a reasonable and coherent manner; he knew he wasn't the best at expressing his thoughts in coherent sentences under the best of circumstances and everything about this conversation was just awkward.  Especially when the audience was the near stranger - slash - near constant presence over the last four months - slash - dead person possessing your girlfriend. 

"People choose to be surrogates and give birth to someone else's child all the time.  Sometimes because they can't have their own.  Sometimes it's for someone else who can't have their own.  I know there are a lot of people who would only ever consider having a child for themselves who was genetically theirs.  But, there are others who would and have done so.  Sometimes it's for money.  Sometimes it's because they recognize the value of family and they're willing to help others who need it." 

Slowly, he shook his head.  "I'm not saying find someone who's planning on having a child and having you just ..."  He couldn't find the right word but whatever it was, he knew that wasn't an option he'd consider.  But, in the absence of a more eloquent wording, he shrugged.  "... move in like a hermit crab taking a new shell.   I mean ... it would be someone going into it knowing the baby would be you.   We could hire a surrogate and ... the genes could even come from your family.  Or -"

Sasha hesitated a moment, blinking, trying to find the flaw in his own idea before he verbalized it.  He couldn't, immediately, though they'd already established there would be no perfect solution to this problem.  Just a lot of crazy ideas with varying degrees of imperfection - up to and including a dead person 'walking' willingly to her second death. 

And, as if this conversation weren't awkward enough ...

"If ... if we knew where your body was and there was still ... if it was viable enough to ..."  Talking to someone about their own dead body was a level of discomfort he never thought he'd find himself in.  "Maybe we could clone your genes.  Use a surrogate.  You'd be a witch and it would be you.  And ... there would be no other soul to displace or bar because it was and would have been ..."

Sasha's voice trailed off as he watched the obvious shift in Iona's posture.  He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze and took a sip of his cocoa, grateful for the distinct harshness of the alcohol.  "I don't think -" he started to clarify but stopped short at Iona's question.

He froze, both from the continued intensity of her gaze and the impact of the question.  He didn't want to answer that question; at least, he didn't want to dive into the specific details.  Partly because he hardly knew her and it involved a level of vulnerability he wasn't sure he was comfortable with.  He didn't know her the way Abby did and, yes, he was well aware of the hypocrisy under the circumstances. 

But, it was partly because it involved reasons that he hadn't discussed, directly, with Abby; her plate was full to overflowing and he'd decided she didn't need his own demons and fears piled on top.  Hearing them second hand, through the pentral, felt unfair.

"Even if it was just because you'd saved her, that would be reason enough," he offered, attempting to dodge the question with answers to which both Abby and Iona had already been privy.  "Also because you're important to her and she's important to me.  By extension, that makes you important to me.  And -"  he hesitated a moment, dropping his gaze to the mug of cocoa.  "Because all of this is unfair and ..."  He faltered, again, reflexively shying away from the other cache of reasons. 

"In the end, does it matter?"

Iona thought she understood what Sasha meant about surrogates, but she wasn't in a place to listen carefully. She could see that he was trying, that he cared. When he went on to mention cloning and genes, she drew back another inch, her arms crossing more tightly in front of her. Shaking her head, her mouth formed a tight scowl.

Not likely. It wasn't a matter of exhuming her, but fishing her out of the lake.

She didn't want to think about it. She couldn't think about it. She pressed a hand to her mouth and gave a slight, stiff shake of her head.

He froze at her question. Iona couldn't tell if he felt guilty or uncomfortable or both. She'd been socially out of touch for the past few decades, yet even she picked up on the way he started and stopped his sentences.

Normal... when nervous, Abby thought.

Iona just didn't know him the way that Abby did. Sitting here, having a conversation about how to save her life brought forth so many memories and tragedies she'd been trying to avoid.

"In the end, does it matter?"

Her hand fell from her mouth. Her eyes flashed.

"Yes, it matters," she snapped.

If she couldn't understand his reasons, or suspected he was withholding information, then how could she trust the outcome? Iona stood suddenly from the couch, glancing around the living room. She picked up her mug of cocoa, then hesitated.

What are you doing?

"I'm putting this by the sink," she muttered to Sasha, annoyed at Abby's question, the reminder to tell people what she was thinking or feeling or acting upon. Sometimes her words lagged behind her actions. And by that time, people made assumptions or waggled their wands warningly.

She was leaping to assumptions, she considered as she retreated into the kitchen for a few seconds.

It just sat funny with her, that Abby and Sasha had gotten together so soon after she and Abby had escaped the lakehouse. Iona had tried to stay out of their relationship, except for those odd times in August when she was still adjusting to being half-alive and still afraid of everyone finding out her name. But she'd been there, silent in the background when Abby had called Sasha her boyfriend. Without her pentral presence, did he think things would change between them? If Abby lost someone else important to her, she might grieve in any number of ways. She might lean on him more. She might step back.

Iona poured herself a glass of water, watching it flow from the faucet until it almost overflowed.

Was he desperate to keep Abby? She'd been with someone like that. Someone who was desperate to keep her. No matter the cost. Only the end result mattered.

Iona returned to the living room and set the glass on the table, then perched on the couch.

"I want to live. Part of me really wants to live," she met his eyes again.

The hope hurt more than the bitter feeling in her chest.

"I don't trust it or like it, but I don't see any other option other than Level Nine's. They're offering an answer. It's not favorable to me. But they never had to help in the first place. They're helping Abby. You're trying to help us both. I don't understand it, I don't know how to trust, and I can't help but think there's some nefarious reason for it-"

She cut herself off and took a sharp breath, her brow furrowing. Not the point, not helpful.

"I don't know anyone, other than Yavin, who is in a position to offer alternatives. Who has the expertise to deal with... souls?" She glanced at the water she'd poured, but had no interest in drinking.

"Do you know anyone?" Iona looked doubtful even as she asked. "Or do you think we can convince him? Is this... not just talk?"

Her eyes were pained, yet hopeful. No time. Was there time? She rubbed at her throat. She must seem ungrateful.

Sasha refrained from asking about the pentral's unfavorable response to the idea of cloning.  Maybe it was more of the same: uncertainty about what something so drastic would look like in the end.  Maybe it was the expected uncertainty of a culture that was, as a general rule, suspicious of muggle sciences.  He wasn't entirely sure what his role was supposed to be but he knew it wasn't elaboration or clarification if it hadn't been requested. 

Especially when the pentral jumped to her feet and went towards the kitchen with a quick retort, followed by a simple narration of her actions, leaving Sasha sitting quietly in confusion.  "I can respect that," he offered quietly.  "I'm sorry," he offered into the awkward silence, at a loss for what else to say.  By declaring she was cleaning up, was she awkwardly attempting to indirectly state cocoa time was over and he should leave?  If so, was that just Iona or was it Abby, as well? 

The back turned to him at the sink didn't offer any more clarification, though he could hear the sound of water flowing.  Whatever the intention had been, Sasha felt compelled to lean forward and set his own mug back down on the coffee table. 

He met her gaze when Iona sat back down, though it felt even more uncomfortable than it had before and, after a few moments, he abandoned the attempt and dropped his gaze to his hands folded in his lap. 

"I want to live. Part of me really wants to live."

"I can only imagine," he offered, quietly.  He would, of course, never be able to understand what this process felt like for Iona or Abby, even with his own experience of being trapped in a situation where you knew you were about to die.  "And, if there was any fairness in the world, you'd be able to." 

Despite his discomfort with delving into his reasons for wanting to help, he could understand Iona's hesitation and distrust.  "I want to help because Abigail asked me and I took that to mean neither of you were completely at peace with the plan. And, I -" 

Again, he looked up from his hands and towards Iona.  "I don't know, for sure, if any other option will work.  I really want to believe it and ... maybe I'm an idiot and I still haven't given up on the right thing prevailing at least once.  I also know, in the end, there's a change they are right and ... their plan is all there is.  But, if either of you are asking for Hail Mary's, ... it means that you're not at peace with that option.  And that -"

He hesitated a moment and looked back down at his hands, rubbing his hands together.  "Earlier this year, I thought I'd lost everyone.  What made it worse was knowing that I was responsible ... every one of those voids was my fault.  I know what it's like to spend the rest of your life wondering if you could have done more.  I know what it's like to be responsible for taking someone's life.  I know what it's like to have someone put the blame on you at their death and never be able to ask forgiveness." 

"But, even I don't know what this would be like."  He looked up and met Iona's gaze, again, trying to ignore his trembling hands.  "But, I can guess, if you go into that Death Chamber and you aren't at peace with that decision - she'll feel all of your doubt and fear and regret and pain in a way I can't imagine.  I ... I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.  If saving you can avoid that, or if ... considering more options makes it easier to be at peace with passing on, then ... I'll do what it takes to help both of you.  Because you deserve to be in control of how this plays out just as much as Abigail doesn't deserve to bear the guilt of what was done to you by someone else." 

Surprise registered in his expression when Iona asked if he knew people but, after a moment's hesitation, he nodded.  "Potentially.  Maybe.  But, what good is that if you think I'm going into this with ... bad intentions?

Sasha couldn't meet her eyes. Iona glanced away and listened as best she could.

She hadn't thought to ask her family to save her. The initial reunion had been heartbreaking enough, and she hadn't expected them to have missed her so much.

If they weren't at peace with her dying, if Abby wasn't and she wasn't, then wasn't that the way of the world? She'd felt angry at Sol for his determined ignorance, his tidy wrapping up of the issue, but she was a nuisance. She was unexpected. She made things messy, messier than magic and the Ministry could allow.

Yet she wanted to live, and she related to this serious, regretful side of Sasha much more than the other sides she'd seen. Her brow furrowed as she glanced at his shaking hands. Abby wanted to reach out. Iona couldn't. She'd retreat if she tried.

Everything he said still set off alarm bells in her head. Feeling responsible, feeling like he'd lost everyone. That feeling, she knew it well, and it made people go to extremes to find meaning in impossible situations.

"I believe you care," she said slowly. His vague allusions confused and concerned her, but he hadn't owed her an explanation.

"Most won't see it the way you do, Sasha. Do I deserve to be in control just as much as Abby does? No, my life has ended. I'm hoping for a second chance. Abby's so close to my thoughts, to me," she struggled to explain, "that she's already bearing the guilt. My death would fall on the same trajectory that this has been taking. She knows, she expects, she already grieves."

She paused for just a moment. Iona didn't know if Abby would be ok. All she knew was that Abby would have her life back, if the death chamber went according to plan. The current plan.

"You're grieving," she stated, with a twinge of empathy. "You feel responsible, you wonder if you could do more. You have regrets and want forgiveness," she summed up what he'd told her. "I'm sorry for everything you've been through," Iona tried to inject more feeling into her tone. "It's hard for me to trust when compassion can so easily turn into obsession."

The wary bitterness was easier. Saving either or both of them wouldn't save him in turn. She glanced up, looking into his eyes, trying to understand the soul behind the familiar pain she'd glimpsed in so many people still living on this earth.

"There's no perfect answer. There might be a more difficult answer. I want to know. Intentions mean nothing if we can't find anyone willing to offer alternatives," she said, finally answering his question.

She might believe he cared but, somehow, that didn't necessarily translate to trust.  He'd already accepted there was a good chance she never would trust him but that uncertain disconnect between belief and distrust didn’t sit easily with him.   So much of that distrust seemed to focus on this question of his intent and motivations; she kept insisting they mattered but Sasha still struggled to understand it.

Sasha couldn’t help but shake his head when she spoke of her life being over.  This was not the first time Sasha had been struck with how very different the magical and mundane perspectives of death and the afterlife were and it was a misunderstanding that had gotten him into trouble before.  In the muggle world, the division between life and death lay firmly in the realm of the psyche.  As long as someone had some conscious presence, it mattered little the state of the rest of the body.  Religion, science and muggle ethics seemed to share a similar perspective: where there was thought and some semblance of a Self, there was hope.

 Of course, as far as he knew, a full disconnect of the body and mind wasn’t considered a possibility in that other world but that upbringing still made it hard to accept a thinking, reacting, vibrant independent entity as anything but alive. 

He shifted to sit on the edge of the couch, leaning forward, resting his arms on his thighs.  Yes, he knew Abby was already feeling the weight of guilt.  He suspected she was already grieving.  What Iona didn’t seem to understand, and perhaps he was failing to explain, was that it could get much worse for Abby and Iona was in direct control of that. 

Maybe she wasn’t ready to accept that fact because it made the next step harder.  Maybe she didn’t care. 

“It sounds like you're trying to resign yourself to an inevitability,” he admitted quietly.  “I think you have a right to some control but what I - or what anyone else thinks - doesn't really matter.  What matters is what you think and what Abby thinks.  If and when it comes to that, you should own your decision.  Just ... don't put her in a position of having to force it upon you." 

"It's hard for me to trust when compassion can so easily turn into obsession."

Sasha blinked and looked up, surprise registering in his expression.  "Is that what you're worried about?" he asked, slowly shaking his head.  For a moment, though his gaze lingered on Abby, he seemed to lose focus - trying to look at something just beyond the figure that sat next to him.  "Is ... is that just you or ... both of you?" 

He took a long, shaky breath and shifted his attention back to his folded hands, trying to ignore the uncomfortable knot of uneasiness in his gut.  "No.  I doubt there are any perfect answers.  But - I spent a lot of time traveling over the summer and ... I know different cultures look at these kinds of things differently.  I know of a couple people we could ask.  The Healer at the Ministry - she comes from a very different culture.  There's also a gentleman I met that is familiar with different types of magic.  I can try reaching out to some of the people I met while traveling.  I can't even promise they have any answers - I haven't, exactly, had a chance to talk to them about any of this.  And, ultimately, comes down to what either of you are comfortable with."

Own her decision. Iona looked away and stifled a sigh. What other people thought most definitely mattered. Sasha was the only one who'd even suggested another option. Resigning was a decision too, just not a pleasant one. All she knew for certain was that she'd make every effort not to hurt Abby when (if) the time came.

Her concerns had made an impact on him. She glanced at his folded hands. She hadn't meant to hurt or accuse him, though how could he not take it personally? As she'd said, Abby was so close to her that it was difficult to tell the difference between their feelings at times.

"I don't know," she admitted with a rueful twitch to her mouth. He'd have to ask Abby or Abby would have to tell him. Abby was off with the unicorns, letting her have space at the moment.

Abby would be back soon. Unfortunately, the beginning stages of numbness, of feeling overwhelmed settled over her. Iona hadn't kept up a conversation this long before. She hadn't been present in the world for so long before.

When he said he knew a few people who might help, Iona tried to focus. She licked her lips. She finally took a sip of water.

"I can speak to the Healer at the Ministry. Abby and I can."

She glanced at him, eyebrows furrowing slightly.

"These people you've traveled with, they seem like good people?" She wondered, missing the distinction that he'd met them while traveling. "Who is the gentleman?"

Sasha nodded his head at the ambiguity in her answer without looking up from his hands.  Doubt, worry and uncertainty had all started to swirl behind his thoughts and he doubted looking up at those eyes that were Abby's but Not Abby's would help. 

But, even without looking up, he could still feel the weight of her gaze.  It was extremely disquieting to feel the need to gain social distance from someone who, at least externally, looked like someone who had become a source of trust and support.  But, that disconnect only added a sudden visceral need to find social distance. 

"I crossed paths with them while traveling; they seemed like good people but I only knew them briefly."  He answered as he picked up his mug and pushed himself to his feet.  It was his turn to cross to the kitchen to set his mug in the sink.  "I'm not sure I'd trust them with details, let alone trying to do anything.  My hope is more that they might be able to point towards information that someone we can trust can evaluate or use."

The distraction of washing the mug only lasted so long and Sasha turned towards Iona but remained by the sink, leaning his back against the counter.  Unfortuantely, his answer to the question about this gentleman wasn't much better.  "He's someone I met once in Hogsmeade.  He said his name was Aviad.  Again, I don't know him very well but I know he has some knowledge of working with souls and -"  Death?  "-related topics.  I'd only trust him to, again, offer some direction or advise or even just if there are alternatives we haven't thought of."   

Sasha was even less inclined to trust him than The Random Strangers Met While Traveling, but their options in this matter were probably somewhat limited.  "Ultimately, I think if we're hoping to find someone who is both an upright solid citizen who has knowledge of working with souls and willing to go against Level 9, our options are probably pretty slim.  Probably only the Healer."  It was no secret among Hogwarts students that the Healer marched to the beat of her own drum but Sasha wasn't sure how likely even she was to go against the Ministry's chosen course of action.

As Sasha took a turn at the sink, Iona considered that his explanation was the best that anyone could offer in this situation. She felt a flicker of relief. It sounded sincere and realistic to hear that someone he’d met might be able to offer guidance or other ideas but not necessarily have the expertise to act.

“Aviad,” Iona murmured, committing it to her often-faulty memory. Hers and Abby’s.

He mentioned another point she agreed with, that few solid citizens with knowledge of souls would want to go against the Ministry’s doctrine.

She noticed, however, that he didn’t mention approaching Yavin as an option. Perhaps Sasha didn’t fully trust the Department Head either, or he thought it would be futile trying to convince the initiator of the exorcisms to reconsider, or he even thought it would put everything they’d discussed in jeopardy.

“Alright. If you wouldn’t mind reaching out to your,” she paused to find the right word, “contacts, I’ll see if Tulojow is willing to talk to me.”

Was she repeating herself? She rubbed at the side of her face and stood without really thinking about it.

“Abby’s coming back now. I’m tired. Thank you though, Sasha.”

She smiled wryly and then went a bit vacant in the eyes.

Abby stepped into her own shoes a moment later, gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake, and glanced around before focusing on Sasha.

She looked at his cup in the sink. “Hiding the evidence of more whiskey?”

Her teasing words came less confidently than usual, as did her smile.

Abby moved closer to him but didn’t quite close the distance, watching him to get a sense of the mood.

“How bad was it? Or should I say how weird was it? On a scale of twilight zones?”

Slowly, Sasha nodded his head.  He could certainly try to reach out to this Aviad and see if the man would have any ideas or recommendations.  Maybe, it would point them to a solution.  Maybe, it would only give Iona more reassurance that the Ministry's plan was the optimal choice. 

It would also give him something concrete to do - give him some sort of purpose in this whole mess. 

He offered a nod as Iona announced her departure, feeling a profound sense of relief.  The presence of the pentral in his relationship with Abby had been an unavoidable, unusual complication.  He'd accepted it and had tried not to worry about it too much; spectators were an expected part of any relationship, be they friends or relatives or work acquaintances. 

The more important those spectators were, the greater the impact of their opinions on the relationship.  That was normal.

But, for the first time, Sasha found himself reflecting on what it meant to have those spectators sharing a mind and thoughts with his girlfriend.  That wasn't normal and it was rather disconcerting. 

“Hiding the evidence of more whiskey?”

Sasha blinked, his eyes refocusing on the young woman approaching him.  For a minute, he hesitated.  Did he really know it was Abby?  Or, was this some kind of trick or test on Iona's part - an attempt to clandestinely further gauge his motives? 

But, yes.  Of course he knew.  The outer shell may appear the same but the Iona was no more mistakable for Abby than a dish soap Bertie Botts was mistakable for a coconut one.  At the end of the day, all his uncertainty and worries about Iona were his own; Abby had more than enough of her plate and he had come here - he'd wanted to start dating her - to help, not add unnecessary complications.  One way or another, in a few weeks there would be a resolution and Iona would no longer be in the picture the way she was now.  What would come after that would come. 

Taking a deep breath, he tried to chase those thoughts from his head and forced a smile.  He was confident it wouldn't take long to become real.  "Oh - it was definitely somewhere in the realm of a pig marrying a frog weird.  But, it's fine.  She seemed ... open to information gathering - but you probably already know that.  I don't know.  But, maybe that will help." 

His grin faltered and he shrugged his shoulders.  "I wish there was more that I could do."

A pause. A forced smile. More pauses between words. Uh oh. It had gone extremely strangely, but Sasha was trying to make the best of it.

Abby nodded. She did understand, in a way, that Iona was open to discussing alternatives. It had been like sitting on a staircase and listening to their murmured conversation in the living room below. There were times when she'd been right there, on the lowest step, making grand gestures in the air to direct Iona's actions as the pentral struggled to express herself, and times when she'd been on the very top step, only getting a general feeling from Iona and Sasha.

At his faltering smile and shrug, Abby moved closer, and stood there, torn. She really wanted to hug him. Did he want her to, or did he need a moment?

She felt caught by the same hesitation that she'd felt in the cafe in August. upon seeing him for the first time in over a year. Her hands opened, palms out at her sides. Her arms lifted. Her eyebrows slanted downwards, her mouth parted ever so slightly. Then she decided this was silliness, and closed the distance and hugged him close.

She rested her head against his chest. She breathed in the warmth and comfort and steadiness of him.

"You've done so much already," she looked up, loosening her hold only a little. "You're doing so much. Really. Everything you do matters to me. You being here right now. You offering to talk to," she paused, at a loss for the name. "Healers. Just you. You being you," she managed a quick, small smile.

The seconds tick-tocked. Her mind waded wearily through the fog, picking through Iona's suspicions to find her own thoughts again.

"I'm just sorry it's such a nightmare. Sorry as in this is the situation we're in and it's no one's fault," she said slowly, meeting his eyes.

It was difficult to tell if the hesitation on Abby's part was for his benefit or her own so he remained where he was as she moved forward and then paused.  It couldn't have lasted more than a few heartbeats, but it felt like it stretched on for minutes. 

In those intervening moments, Sasha's forced smile faded into something broader and more genuine.  "You know I love you, right?" he offered into the moment, just in case Abby needed encouragement or a reminder.  He opened his own arms to her, wrapping them tightly around her as she stepped forward to hug him.  "None of this will change that."  But, then, her courting that Brunn fellow from Durmstrang or leaving to meet other potential fiancés on her parents' encouragement hadn't changed much, either. 

He pressed a warm kiss to the top of her head, letting his eyes fluttered closed as he let himself relax into the moment. 

"This is far from a nightmare," he corrected, looking back down but keeping his arms wrapped securely around her.  "And, you have nothing to apologize for.  I didn't go into this blindly and I have absolutely no regrets."  He also didn't agree that this mess was no one's fault; there were absolutely two people at fault.  But, blaming no one was far preferable to Abby shouldering any of the responsibility and there was nothing to be gained from correcting that detail.  "I'd make the same decision now that I did in August, even knowing what I know now."   

Unless, of course, Iona's concerns had not been her own. 

"Assuming-" he hesitated, again questioning whether he should broach that topic.  But, in the end, if she did share Iona's concerns, he could be inadvertently adding to Abby's plate without knowing it. 

"Iona mentioned concerns about my motivations for trying to help.  Something about compassion and nefarious obsession and she wasn't very clear about ... whether that was her or you or you both.  I don't - I don't want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable.  I hope you know I support whatever decision you ... and she ... come to.  I only offered suggestions because I thought that's what you're looking for but if that's really not what you want - you can tell me.  Any time."

Sasha loved her. He had no regrets.

Abby smiled and shut her eyes for a few seconds as she hugged him, replaying those words over and over. She'd known he felt that way, deep down, but hearing him say it sent a wave of giddiness and peace through her. If she didn't know any better, she'd want to stay in this moment forever. Never changing, never moving.

She did know better, and she trusted that moving forward together could only strengthen their bond. Hadn't he said that they would figure it out together?

They would, with or without dragons and unicorns and silly doodles on napkins.

"Assuming-"

Abby glanced up at him, somewhat confused as she traced back his conversation with Iona.

Oh right. Leander. It all stemmed back to him. Lorelei had done the murdering, which was horrible in such a shocking way that it was difficult to suspect other people of replicating that exact act. Lorelei was a force who had whirled in and ended Iona's life. But Leander, someone Iona had known and trusted, had locked the door and thrown away the key.

Though Abby too, had problems due to the trauma she had experienced from the Hunts, she had trusted them for a few months, which couldn't compare to the lifetime she'd trusted her friends and family, and she'd been trapped for a year, which couldn't compare to Iona's twenty years.

"I do know you support me. And I do want to hear your suggestions," she said seriously. She'd wanted to tell him what to expect with her and what was going on with her in the dreaded month of December and also to hear his input.

"Most people who care about me just want Iona gone," Abby went on. "So she doesn't always see the nuances."

She paused. "She doesn't know that you would want to help me no matter what our connection is. And if you couldn't, if it was too much or something else, you would still want the best for me."

She met his eyes, her expression softening. "I know that."

People were good or they were bad. She had to trust when Iona couldn't, which meant trusting her family who had made mistakes, her friends who did their best, her boyfriend who went above and beyond. She didn't have room for anything else, as long as they were there for her at the end of the day.

Which didn't necessarily mean forgiving. She struggled to forgive her parents, and she had struggled to forgive her boss after that misplaced hex. Still, doubting was for those who could afford to doubt. She needed family, friends, and support more than ever.

"I also know I can talk to you. The only potential issue being that," she hesitated. "It's not always easy to sort out what I'm thinking and feeling in the moment. When I'm here but not here, or it's busy in my head, or I'm just stuck in the past, thinking. But I know one other thing."

Abby took a deep breath. She hadn't voiced it yet, just felt it. She'd thought it would mean more if she said it without the pentral's presence.

"I love you too," she told him very softly, with a sudden smile.

Sasha met Abby's gaze and nodded, occasionally, as he listened to her explanation, glad - but not entirely surprised - that she did seem to understand his intentions.  To the extent to which it mattered, at least. 

At the end of the day, Sasha did want what everyone else wanted: to see Iona gone so Abby could get her life back.  How, exactly, that happened made very little difference to him.  But, he understood that it did make a profound difference to Abby and that was what mattered, in the end. 

And, perhaps, there was a significant part of Sasha that wanted to think some greater power owed them a win. 

All worries for another time.  Abby understood and that was what was important for now.  Everything else could wait. 

He'd started to shake his head, intent on assuring Abby that there was no reason to be concerned about getting lost in her thoughts, but grew still, again. 

She loved him, too?  A broad, warm smile spread across Sasha's face and his vision blurred, briefly.  She loved him, too!  He knew she cared, but he hadn't expected her to return those words.  He understood everything was bound to be confusing and complicated and had expected things would take time.  But, to hear her say it - to know she meant it - it filled him with profound warmth and contentment. 

It made it easier to believe there were brighter days ahead of them. 

Sasha pressed a warm kiss to Abby's forehead and drew her back into another hug.  Everything else could wait.  For the moment, he was content to just hold her close.