"Steven is good." There's no doubt in that, just absolute certainty in the firm quiet of her voice. "He . . . tries."
Not "tries to be good" -- though certainly he does. More . . . tries to do good, always, even if he doesn't succeed. Even when he doesn't have enough information.
Even when she doesn't want him to.
There's something -- a lot -- to respect in that.
She doesn't necessarily trust J -- not in the sense that this moment has slammed open the door, declared Trust, and stuck a flag in it. Actions and their intentions will always speak more loudly to her, and Steven is too important to trust to mere promises that may not go fulfilled. This man, this human . . . he doesn't know Steven, doesn't have any of the same ties.
But.
Her eyes soften, the muscles in her shoulderblades easing.
There's still a lot to be said for someone who believes in Steven too.
"I don't know if I can get him back." There's a flicker of that same anxiety, but still it's supplanted by the firmness in her voice. "I just . . . have to try."
"I can't . . . leave him. Like that. Not remembering." Her tone takes on a faintly wistful note. "Steven's life, everything he has in it . . . he deserves to live that."
It's possible she's sounding cryptic here without trying, filling the space with platitudes. The words are absolutely meant . . . but there's more that Steven's experience echoes here than she's able or willing to touch.
no subject
Not "tries to be good" -- though certainly he does. More . . . tries to do good, always, even if he doesn't succeed. Even when he doesn't have enough information.
Even when she doesn't want him to.
There's something -- a lot -- to respect in that.
She doesn't necessarily trust J -- not in the sense that this moment has slammed open the door, declared Trust, and stuck a flag in it. Actions and their intentions will always speak more loudly to her, and Steven is too important to trust to mere promises that may not go fulfilled. This man, this human . . . he doesn't know Steven, doesn't have any of the same ties.
But.
Her eyes soften, the muscles in her shoulderblades easing.
There's still a lot to be said for someone who believes in Steven too.
"I don't know if I can get him back." There's a flicker of that same anxiety, but still it's supplanted by the firmness in her voice. "I just . . . have to try."
"I can't . . . leave him. Like that. Not remembering." Her tone takes on a faintly wistful note. "Steven's life, everything he has in it . . . he deserves to live that."
It's possible she's sounding cryptic here without trying, filling the space with platitudes. The words are absolutely meant . . . but there's more that Steven's experience echoes here than she's able or willing to touch.
She's trying.