Everything a man's vows should be in a wedding. To honor and keep her, for better or worse, in sickness and health, wealth and poverty, until death part us. I promised all of it, in front of God and witnesses, and put the ring on her finger myself.

[and he had sealed his own doom by it. letting what might have been happiness wither and rot on the vine, to die there and poison the rest. and here, he feels choked by what he does want, and it makes him drink more so he doesn't voice what he wishes, how he wishes that hand could touch his skin-

he's back in the church, in his mind, reminding himself that all he wants is merely left to cold stone.]

If she took a lover, she'd have a chance to be happier. To be regarded in the way she wants to be. I could rest easier, knowing that at least she was warm at night.

I'm not giving her away. I'm hoping she realizes she can have a far better man, and takes it. A decision she will realize on her own, hopefully from my absence.

[the touch of that palm is seared into him, makes him want to press against it. his brain supplies a wild fantasy of laying across the couch, and Andersen atop him, his weight resting on him like an anchor -

he has to stop. he has to remember how to be alone, even as every part of him wants to scream and reject the concept. they've weathered this before. they found the wake of the storm, where things go colder and numb and peace is a watered down apathy.]

You're right. I am a coward.

Because I cannot break that one piece of her heart.

[the words are soft, bitter, like bad medicine. he gulps down the rest of his wine, and it would be disrespectful if he was not pouring out his agony on the floor, a man wringing his shirt out from the rain.]

...Once, I intended to place her in the care of those who loved her like their own kin. She said if I should leave her, she would die. And she did not mean it to reproach me, only to be truthful as to the depth of her feeling and intent. Even so, I could not bear the possibility of her blood on my hands. So I married her, and hoped that somehow I could grow the affection she sought. That I could bring her happiness and preserve her life.

[closing his eyes, he sighs.]

You bear witness to how well that turned out. When I see her face, all I feel is shame and the urge to apologize. It chokes, suffocates - it makes a mockery of what could be a home.

I don't know. I cannot bring myself to ask her. She still smiles when she sees me, but I know not if it's out of habit or genuine.

[bowing his head, he makes himself keep breathing.]

If she found comfort in someone else's arms, then I would know she could live without me. I would give her anything she wanted - a separation where I am at fault, wealth of her own, all of it - if she would but ask.

What a miserable, pathetic coward I am, that I cannot even offer.

...you're right, even if I do not even know where to begin.

[he'd stay like this for hours, if it means Andersen's hand stays there, pressing like it does.]

I could be told to argue against the Pope himself, and I would appear arrayed for battle, but in this...I am lost.

...Ages and ages ago. I'm not very fond of the headache it causes, but perhaps it will be more tolerable than the one I'm already nursing.

[looking up, he feels chilly despite the fire, with the absence of Andersen's touch.]

We'll probably need another of those, though. I'll pay for it.

[holding out his glass, he tries to shake off the shadow of everything he just admitted.]

As my contribution away from this wretched talk.

Whichever packs more of a punch. Although, if it's falling into a stupor we want, there are other methods that might pique your interest.

[his hand dives into his vest pocket, and he removes a small enameled box, holding it up.]

Though considering that what I have is made for my tolerance levels, I would recommend a touch of caution.

No, certainly not. At the worst, you'll pass out and wake up feeling somewhat dehydrated.

[and to prove there is no danger, he opens the box and takes out two of the pills that he's made himself, swallowing - see, he has no fear.]

I've compounded them myself, so I know exactly what's in them. I know what is safe, and what can be tolerated.

If you trust me...[and he picks up one more] Open your mouth.

[leaning up enough that he can reach, Dantes puts the pill on Andersen's lips, nudging it in, and then gently shutting his mouth for him, chin up until the close. there. easy, just like that.

there's something oddly floral about it, but slightly earthy, like the world's strangest candy. in that moment, Dantes realizes he's lingering, and then pulls back to return to reclining, slipping the drugs back into their hidden place.]

When the world is too much - when I must quiet the endless sound inside my skull - this is what I retreat to. Kinder on the system than drink, I've found.

[he does not get up. Andersen will have to try for real to rouse him - for how, his wrist is in the man's grip, and he only raises an eyebrow.]

And just what are you saying happened? Even if you took my strength of a dose, you'd not feel the effects so fast. You have to give it a minute or so.

[just relax? let it happen?]

Was it to your displeasure?

[he'd barely registered what he was doing until he did it, moving on base instinct and trying to not be so obvious. clearly, something had been noted - but if Andersen wants him to never do such a thing, then he ought to say.

please. they can't work quick enough for Dantes's tastes.]