Of course there had been a war. A continuous cycle of wars. She wouldn't have said it if it wasn't true, whether he'd remembered it or not, it had happened, to both of them. Over and over and over again, dying and having their memories purged or surviving but always another war following the ending of the last. She only remembered the last cycle - but she knew what it had been and what she'd done her best to give her companions another chance to stop. Somehow it seemed impossible that anyone would forget that or question whether it had happened or not.
Except he didn't remember. The tips of her fingers could feel the worn leather of his glove, feel the solid strength of his hand under it, the warmth that had soaked from his skin into the fabric. That was real. Somehow more real to her than anything else. The war. Here. His hand was solid. Her fingers curved to his in his grip and the look she gave him when she raised her eyes again was somewhere between puzzled and an old familiar affectionate humoring her head didn't entirely understand. 'You sure are messed up' hovered just on the edge of her mind but didn't form entirely. She hadn't thought he would tell jokes, somehow she wasn't surprised when he did.
"The war was real. Every time it came." She couldn't help it, searching his face and his eyes, comparing it against what little she'd been given the last time they'd been together that she remembered. "But we weren't from there, the place we all fought. We were all called from somewhere else. Somewhere elses. We just couldn't remember them." Holes. Great voids in all of them that they never talked about, rarely gave voice to because it was so horrible, so private, so intimate an invasion. Her fingers tightened on his. "But you remember now." Forget the wars and the costs and the lost companions but remember your past - and your future. Who'd balanced the scales that way and judged the weight fair? The trembling hope was back. "And - our worlds, yours and mine, they were the same?"
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Except he didn't remember. The tips of her fingers could feel the worn leather of his glove, feel the solid strength of his hand under it, the warmth that had soaked from his skin into the fabric. That was real. Somehow more real to her than anything else. The war. Here. His hand was solid. Her fingers curved to his in his grip and the look she gave him when she raised her eyes again was somewhere between puzzled and an old familiar affectionate humoring her head didn't entirely understand. 'You sure are messed up' hovered just on the edge of her mind but didn't form entirely. She hadn't thought he would tell jokes, somehow she wasn't surprised when he did.
"The war was real. Every time it came." She couldn't help it, searching his face and his eyes, comparing it against what little she'd been given the last time they'd been together that she remembered. "But we weren't from there, the place we all fought. We were all called from somewhere else. Somewhere elses. We just couldn't remember them." Holes. Great voids in all of them that they never talked about, rarely gave voice to because it was so horrible, so private, so intimate an invasion. Her fingers tightened on his. "But you remember now." Forget the wars and the costs and the lost companions but remember your past - and your future. Who'd balanced the scales that way and judged the weight fair? The trembling hope was back. "And - our worlds, yours and mine, they were the same?"