"There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so." - William Shakespeare
Like a badly scratched record, Sara's mind kept playing their day in the countryside, a small picnic in the sun near her great aunt's manor where she'd eventually fallen after her father's death and her time in the sanitarium.
They had perfect weather - sunshine, light breeze...But their carriage passing through the gates was a Pandora's box creaking open, the gilded house holding a flood of doleful memories. And she realized that bringing John "home" represented an intimacy between them, one step closer perhaps than she was ready to take, making him even more privy to the past that shaped her.
John packed an art kit that he never opened, too absorbed with just sharing her company. And she cherished their talks, as well, in her own quiet way. But as hard as she tried, too much of her past tainted the present.
Going there returned her to a darker place and her worlds collided, but she couldn't tell John that the city was what had finally made her whole, that their lovely day in the countryside had been a mistake, that she felt more broken in that fresh air than she had even in the darkest days of their first investigation.
She wanted to believe in the bright day's perfection. She loved his deep laugh, how the sun brought out the green in his eyes…the sandpaper warmth when he pressed his lips against her cheek and let them linger.
Maybe some people could find it idyllic, but it only reminded her of everything she wanted to do and become, the hard growth that she had to force, the memories that still needed to heal. And how finding a man was, in some sense, the easy way out – a weak woman's white flag. And she was not weak.
She was just another chase to John Moore, a flight of fancy. She had to be. Why else would he express interest in her when she terrified most men? Additionally, he was an indolent dreamer and a hopeless romantic. Nothing about John Schuyler Moore was responsible or practical. Or necessary. She didn't need a man, let alone one with no direction whatsoever, especially not when her future had so many hand-built roads cobbled before her.
So when he pulled the ring from his pocket, she said, "John, no" before he even opened the box or words left his lips; his expression more than the crestfallen sigh he'd given when she'd rebuffed him in days past for other insistent declarations of love.
She knew in many ways he was just as broken, and the hurt in his face crushed her. But she just smiled at him, not sorrowfully but fondly. Poor John, who just couldn't see that she wasn't what he needed. She didn't know what he did need, but maybe if he could look past her for a bit he could find it.
She was doing both of them a favor.
On the carriage ride back, they rode in silence, his head leaning slightly against the glass, gaze looking forward. When she took his hand tentatively, he softly squeezed it, even brought it to his lips for a small kiss…fleeting, like he didn't deserve the consolation.
And he kept her hand in his for the ride back, although his eyes stayed fixed on the world as it passed them by through the murky windows.
Author's Note: This is a nine-chapter fanfic, and the chapters will be short. Please review or follow if you enjoy it, I'll try and get it completed by mid-June!