He gave her a tight smile. "I love you," he said softly. "Love doesn't just dry up."

"No," she agreed. "It does not." She put her hand to her side. "I'm sorry. I keep saying that."

"What?" Marcello asked. "That you love me or that you're sorry?" He shook his head. "I know both of them. I'm sorry, too. If I-- if I were more flexible, maybe, this wouldn't have happened."

"Stop it. You didn't--oh, ne'er mind." She curled around herself again. "I couldn't stop. This is my fault. You didn't do anything wrong. Ever."

Marcello shrugged. "Niabheara, I've done plenty wrong," he said. "People don't-- if I were perfect, you wouldn't feel as if you had to be unfaithful. I don't--" He gave her a hesitant look. "I can't be a woman," he said uncomfortably. "If that's something you need...it's always going to be like this."

She squirmed away, looking uncomfortable. "It's nothing to do with that. I love you, as you are. The gods know it's not as if we haven't stuck together in every other combination possible."

Marcello cleared his throat. "I didn't think it was about the sex," he said frankly. "Just about whom you need to love."

Her face burned. "That is not what I meant," she said a little crossly. "You were you through it all. I was I. It shouldn't matter."

Marcello flushed a bit, but he didn't apologize. "You're right," he agreed. "It shouldn't matter. Will I...should we say goodbye now? Or will we see each other before we leave?"

Niabheara nodded. "I'm still going to miss you. I wish . . . ne'er mind what I wish." She passed her hand across her face, brushing aside a strand of hair. "I think we'd might better just say it. If we see each other again ere we leave, we can say it again. There's no harm in saying it twice."