The Gentelman's Memory:

All Thomas could do was remember that day, almost four years prior, when his life changed forever.

It was a crying day to begin with; the heavens wept rain that left the earth a slippery gray and the air cleansed and fresh, and a girl cried drops that fell only to be mingled with heaven's tears on her dress. Thomas couldn't blame her for crying, the graveyard loomed all around them as a cage that suffocated them with longing for those past.  It was her father's grave they stood next to. It was freshly dug, freshly filled, freshly forgotten by the world. 

      Only, she hadn't forgotten. She felt the pain as poignantly as though her heart were buried with his and she had to learn to live without it. Thomas knew suddenly that he was an intruder on this private moment between father and daughter. He turned to leave, but she caught his hand and would not let him move. "You can't go." she whispered. "Everyone's gone. You're all I have." 
      His breath caught in his throat as he tried to speak. Instead, he only gathered her into his arms and let her cry on his shoulder, feeling as though he were holding the broken pieces of her heart together. That's what unnerved him; how fragile she had suddenly become and how each broken piece of her seemed to seep into his soul. 
      And then, suddenly needing to explain herself, the girl pulled back and whipped at her tears. She took Thomas's hand and starred down at the grave. "All my life he did everything I asked of him," her voice was raw with emotion, and it almost pained Thomas to hear her that way; in the way that emanates such great desperation that you can't help but marvel at the force of their soul. 
       She attempted to clear her throat, but nothing in her voice changed as she continued on. "If I asked for a dress, I'd have it. If I asked for a game, he'd play it. If I asked him to climb to the top of the world, he'd do it and bring me back his favorite star as a prize. But when he got sick, I didn't think to ask him to get better. I didn't know how bad it was until it was too late. And then those last few days when he started to get worse and I could feel him slipping away, I couldn't ask him to stay. I knew he wouldn't be able to, even if I had asked. It was the only thing I really ever needed from him, Thomas. I didn't need that dress or the game or his star, I didn't need any of it. I just needed him; and I never asked him to stay."
      Thomas couldn't think of how to respond. He couldn't comfort her: nothing in his experience compared to how much pain she was in. There was nothing he could do for her but let her lean on his shoulder.
       So when she turned to him and addressed him with that same desperation in her voice, he couldn't do anything but agree to whatever she asked of him. "Promise me," was all she could force out until she cleared her throat and tried again. "Promise me you won't leave too."
      Thomas felt again the stab of her pain. He nodded and gathered her into his arms. "I promise," he said with all the fervor of his soul. "I'll never leave you alone."
       It was at that precise moment, when she was pressing up against his shoulder and his nose was full of the smell of her, that he knew he would do anything she asked of him. And perhaps that meant he loved her, because he too would climb to the top of the world and bring her his favorite star.

Thomas now starred back at that same desperate girl whose soul had been shattered the day her father died and whose heart he had tried to mend every day since.
      But today he paused before he granted her request. "Now hold on a minute, Lia. You want me to court you. . . without courting you?"

      Cecilia rolled her eyes. "Look," she said, trying to explain for the umpteenth time why and how desperately she needed this. "It's only until this whole thing blows over; it's not like it'd be permanent damage to your reputation." 

      Reputation was the last thing Thomas was worried about. He was more concerned about being rejected by her; living as though she loved him but knowing all the while it was just a guise to her; could he really endure such torture? Thomas knew deep down inside that if it would lessen her own pain, then he could. No matter the extent of the pain, she was always worth it: even if she was the one that inflicted it in the first place. 

      Thomas sighed and ran a hand through his hair, thinking of what to do. Without warning her desperate plea filled his mind: "Promise me you won't leave too." He had promised her he'd never leave her alone. He silently cursed himself for having made the promise which now placed him in such pain. 

       He looked back up into her eyes. "We do this on one condition: you can't back out until I say it's safe." He knew it sounded extreme, but if they were going to do this, he was going to make sure it was done right, even if it did hurt.