[ closed starter for @inthisfire-ifindrain ]
West hadn't said anything, catching Fiona outside behind the house, praying to gods he thought she had left behind in Caeser's camps. He hadn't disturbed her at all, waited until she was done and quietly walked around to the front door again, waiting until she was back inside to "come home early". It wasn't the surprise he was willing to upset. He kissed her and just went about their usual day. Fiona said nothing about it. Neither did West.
He wasn't upset she was hiding this from him. He was upset with himself that she felt that she had to.
This wasn't the same as her occasional blood lust and ruthlessness. It was a slightly different shade than West's could be and he didn't fault her for that. Her learned hatred of ghouls and synths was something he didn't tolerate, arguing with her over that "Legion thinking". West could compartmentalize and pick and choose what to love about her and what to ignore and what to show her was a better way of living...
But something like this he felt was his fault. How much did she really trust him? Maybe she was afraid of him, in a way, not that he would harm her, but that he would without love or leave her entirely.
He couldn't see a world where that would happen. He thought of it, imagining the absolute worst thing Fiona could do, reminding him of her past, her 'old ways' but it was always Fiona leaving him because he couldn't handle or accept it. That he was too weak. Not the other way around.
The book he had found because he'd gone looking for it in some old abandoned library he liked to scour on occasion. The Dewey Decimal system was a bit hard to suss out with the faded signs, but he managed. West didn't want to just confront Fiona about what he'd seen that day, her little ritual that she probably did when she knew he'd be gone for a stretch. That felt like some kind of betrayal or secret, too.
"Hey, babe?" West called to his wife one morning as she had ventured out of the bedroom, letting him dig in the dresser, under his clothes, pulling out a book wrapped in torn fabric. A present. It was a book of Greek and Roman mythology.
"I found you something yesterday."
