What she says, what she means

Summary: Accompanying piece to 'What he says and what he means;' this is from Nadia's POV. Ok, so I suppose technically it's a two-shot all in all.

Rating: K

Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be.

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They've been 'together' for nearly ten months now. Tumultuous months of occasional anger, frustration, confusion... but mostly happiness- the kind of which neither of them has ever felt before, even given the circumstances.

When she looks at him, sees his struggles as he sometimes falters with even the most basic of tasks, she still itches to help him. She never does though. He refuses to get dependant on her. A stubborn sense of pride, but she admires his resilience nonetheless. She always says: "you don't have to see me helping you as a sign of weakness."

She means: You don't have to do this alone.

He once, in a rare moment of vulnerability and honesty, told her he was being selfish, dating her when he's blind. He thinks that he's preventing her from getting on with her own life, from being with a guy who can treat her right, not to mention see her when he kisses her and makes love to her. She's missing out on "normal" dates- the movies, dancing or the theatre; he worries that she is resentful of their sometimes stilted dinner dates where he struggles to guess what's on the menu (he usually orders steak or chicken to by-pass the trauma of having to get her to read out all the entrees) or their lazy walks on the beach on a Sunday afternoon. She sees how hard it is for him to let down his guard, and is quick to correct him. She values their time together, any time spent with him is special to her. She likes their walks on the beach most of all- it reminds her of when they first got together.

Her eyes are frightened and she's almost glad he can't see her fear, when she says: "Don't be stupid. I wish you wouldn't think like that. You're not preventing me from doing anything."

She means: Please don't be having second thoughts about us, not when we've came so far.

He's been out of the rehabilitation centre for four months and he's coping pretty well after endless months of getting used to his total lack of sight. The depression he had at the start, following the accident seems to have abated and she's glad. He's now living in a ground floor apartment a couple of blocks from hers; they discussed moving in together actually, but both of them feel it's a little too soon for that as on occasion they still squabble (heatedly) and tensions still mount. Both of them have had their own space for far too long. Usually flared moods are quickly cooled- it helps that he now has the temerity to say when he is being a pig-headed idiot and she can admit to her frustrations without either of them making the other more upset.

Being blind has made him more humble.

He's better at reading Braille now too, something that proved a huge problem for him in the beginning. She's fascinated sometimes, watching his fingers fly over the pages of the latest novel he's hooked on. Reading is something he has time to do a lot more of now and he finds he enjoys it. It gives his brain something to do, works his quick mind. He finds he misses some aspects of television though which surprises him- he was never a huge fan of satirical comedies, biased news shows or inane sitcoms (he hates canned laughter); but he finds that sports commentaries now are never quite adequate enough to fully absorb him in the latest Lakers game or what's happening with the World Series. Nadia's taken to curling up beside him when the games he wishes he could see are shown. She hates sports, detests ESPN with a passion, but when she ventures her own description of what's on screen, talking about the "men in the yellow shorts" and he cracks that rare smile of his, suddenly it doesn't seem so bad anymore. She always says: "ugh. Men and sports. Lousy combination."

She means: I'm glad something so small can give you some semblance of normality.

So, on a day to day basis he's getting by more than adeptly and she's impressed with the way he's adapted to the cruel disability that was suddenly thrust upon him. He's able to work-out, clean and cook with ease. Food labelling did prove problematic at first and they've had a couple of bizarre meals, but he's finally hit on a system that works and he knows where stuff is by its shelf position or its location in the refrigerator, and of course, the smell. Same with his clothes- his closet is arranged in such a way so that he knows exactly where everything is, and he's even stitched buttons into the tags so he knows what is what. Occasionally he winds up with odd socks, but as most of them are black or navy anyways, it's not too much of a problem. As long as she doesn't move anything accidentally (which she did have a tendency to do at the start) things are just fine.

As for work- he's hating being 'unemployed.' He doesn't sit at home brooding though, he's too active for that; always has been and doesn't intend to change his routines now. Nadia admires the way he helps out at his old rehab centre a couple of times a week with the new residents. Or on other days he heads to the gym, she drops him off on the way to work, he finds his own way back. She sometimes feels him slipping away from her as he grows more confident again and hates how selfish she feels when she says: "don't you think maybe you should slow down a little? You always try to do too much at once."

She means: I'm worried that one day you'll wake up and realise you won't want to be with me anymore.

He senses her trepidation and what she's really trying to say. Unspoken words and sentiments are the norm with them. He runs a gentle hand down her cheek and says: "don't worry. I just don't want to sit around getting bored and unfit."

He means: I need to feel useful in some capacity and prove to everyone that my blindness won't stop me living my life. I don't want to be a burden to you in any way.

She hates the self-doubt that intermittently plagues her- her worries over their fledgling relationship. She's always been independent, so sure of her emotions and able to hide them if necessary. More controlled than anyone else she knows. Her feelings for Mike Doyle scare her in their intensity sometimes; she never expected to fall so hard and so fast. She knows he cares for her; he shows her often enough, even if he doesn't express it vocally. She just doesn't know why she's so insecure and she wishes the unsettled feelings would stop.

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He's been having a bad week this week, for reasons he doesn't elaborate on and she senses his terse mood so pulls back and gives him his space. Things get on top of him sometimes, he has problems sleeping. He's off his food. Grumpy. Cantankerous. He wakes up every day in a hellishly bad mood and takes it all out on her. She's upset by how callously he speaks to her, pulls away from her in bed. She says, and her voice is imploring, almost begging, which she hates to do, because surely she has more pride: "talk to me."

She means: Please talk to me.

His voice is colder than she's ever heard when he says dismissively: "It's nothing. Really."

But as he turns away from her his unseeing eyes burn with fearful intensity and he means: I'm afraid to tell you every mundane and pathetic emotion I'm really feeling because I'm scared you'll leave me if you find out how screwed up I really am. Especially now that I've realised I'm in love with you.

A shock to his system. He's never been in love before. Why did it have to happen now? He's so certain she'll never love him back.

As he showers, goes about his daily routine with a faked nonchalance, she sobs silently into her pillow. She realises she's losing him and it hurts her more than she'd ever thought was possible.

Things finally come to a head on Sunday night. They're eating a takeout- Chinese (her choice) and sharing a bottle of vintage Merlot (his choice). The silence is palpable, awkward even and he seems even more distracted than usual. He's been antsy all day, was moody when they went to the beach, went grocery shopping. His sulkiness is getting to both of them, and he curses impatiently when he knocks over his stem glass and the wine immediately soaks into her pristine white carpet. She's waving away his apologies and mopping up the stain, when with his head in his hands and his voice faltering, he says: "I don't think I can do this anymore."

He means: I don't think I can do this to you anymore.

Her head jerks up in shock at the words she never wanted to hear and she wonders if she's stumbled into someone else's relationship by mistake.

Her expression falters, though she knows he can't see it, and she says: "What the hell are you talking about?"

She means: What the hell are you talking about?

He says: "I don't think we should see each other anymore." He winces at the Freudian slip, but doesn't back down. Not now he's made up his mind. He's doing this for her.

He then ventures weakly: "It's not you, it's me."

She says: "damn right it's you. Where the hell is all this coming from?"

She means: What has happened in the last week to change your mind about us?

His face is stony when he says: "When we got together I was in a pretty dark place and I'm not there anymore, is all. I think I need some time to step back and look at my life." Another goddamn Freudian slip. Jesus.

She realises right off that he's lying- she can read him like a book by now, though she doesn't know why he's saying such things and her face softens at his visible discomfort. She sees the misery etched on his face and his lower lip trembling as he ventures a further explanation and then she realises what's really going on. He says: "I'm not being fair to you."

He means: I thought I could do this- expect you to be with me when I can't see you. Only I can't let you give up your own life and normality to be with a blind guy.

She smiles sadly at his insecurity and realises that they've both been hurting in their own way. She says: "if you really want to end this then I can't stop you."

Only as her hands link with his and his fingers unconsciously tighten around hers and he feels the strong steady pulse in her fingertips, he knows what she really means is: but I'm hoping you'll reconsider us.

His voice is hopeful and his eyes are awed when he says in a small voice: "after everything I say and do to you, you're still putting up with me. Why?"

He means: is there even the slightest chance you can love me back?

He knows he has his answer when her lips find his and she threads her fingers through his hair pulling him closer to her. She says simply, her words ringing with sincerity and tenderness: "I love you, too."

And finally, for once, the words are actually synonymous with their meaning.

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A/N: The end. Really. Hope you liked it.