"No. I haven't told her. I don't know how to." What's he supposed to say? How can he tell her that he couldn't save her? That Curzon lived so long and she dies so young in a war she's never heard of?
The physicality of it helps center him. He feels better when there's something tethering him to his body and this conversation.
"There's no point, is there? If she's returned to her timeline, she won't remember this place, will she? It will only ...it would be unfair." He drains the last of his glass and leans against Crais, eyes closed and resting? Thinking?
"I don't think I ought to answer that." It hurts him not to tell her, but it will hurt her to know it.
"Don't push me on it, please." Odds are he'll get there when he gets there. "And I know that if she does decide to contract with me, I'll tell her well in advance of that."
"Why are humans like this?" He does not entirely not-understand at this point, but he also doesn't understand.
Not that he - He kisses Bashir's shoulder, since that's where he is. "I'm not going to push you. I may yell at some point but I will try to give the illusion that I'm mad about something else."
"Because we're a collection of evolutionary gambles applied to a group of stubborn apes." He hums, scritching at the sides and back of Crais' neck, enjoying the closeness. "I appreciate your yelling."
"D'you want to sleep now?" Bashir tends to get a bit dozy when drinking. A little loose-limbed, lazy, and ...okay, he will gnaw on some part of his friend that's close.
Well, that makes as much sense as anything ever has.
He grunts and pushes off Bashir to sit up. He is irritated about the loss of contact and the scritching and gnawing, but-
"Not here. In your bed."
He pauses sitting on the couch waiting for some lightheadedness to pass and has one more question. "How important do you think telling people you love them is?"
Definitely bed. Bashir stands and he's only a little wobbly around the edges, but it's fading quickly.
"I don't know. It's probably quite important. I know it's often seen as the correct thing, but just as often, it's unwelcome." He offers a hand to help Crais up off the sofa, so they can go to bed. (And he suspects that it was a very wise thing to have set out a ewer of water beforehand.)
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The result is about the same.
Probably.
"I have never been good at letting go, but Cyram does occasionally get something right. Does Jadzia know she's dead?"
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"I need to. I know."
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"Why do you need to?"
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"There's no point, is there? If she's returned to her timeline, she won't remember this place, will she? It will only ...it would be unfair." He drains the last of his glass and leans against Crais, eyes closed and resting? Thinking?
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Look.
He is not a good person.
His people will always trump abstract ideas - or ideals, or morals.
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"Don't push me on it, please." Odds are he'll get there when he gets there. "And I know that if she does decide to contract with me, I'll tell her well in advance of that."
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Not that he - He kisses Bashir's shoulder, since that's where he is. "I'm not going to push you. I may yell at some point but I will try to give the illusion that I'm mad about something else."
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"D'you want to sleep now?" Bashir tends to get a bit dozy when drinking. A little loose-limbed, lazy, and ...okay, he will gnaw on some part of his friend that's close.
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He grunts and pushes off Bashir to sit up. He is irritated about the loss of contact and the scritching and gnawing, but-
"Not here. In your bed."
He pauses sitting on the couch waiting for some lightheadedness to pass and has one more question. "How important do you think telling people you love them is?"
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"I don't know. It's probably quite important. I know it's often seen as the correct thing, but just as often, it's unwelcome." He offers a hand to help Crais up off the sofa, so they can go to bed. (And he suspects that it was a very wise thing to have set out a ewer of water beforehand.)
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He does not let go of Bashir's hand, just goes to bed and, well, predictably sprawls out all over Bashir.