"Would you do it again?" Galvin asked, sipping at the whisky dram in his hand. He leant an arm over the back of the couch to reach her, curling a length of her hair around his finger.
"Do what?" Mina asked, knowing full well the answer. She plucked the curl from his grasp and tucked it behind her ear.
She didn't have an instant answer for a question like that. Of course, it was something she had gone over again and again in her head over the years. So many other questions came from those five little words though - would I do it again. Would they come to hate me for doing it? How many innocents might die? Would they become the same as Quincey? "That's not a black-and-white answer, Rupert."
"Yes, it is," he pushed, as usual. "Imagine it was Luke. Some vile half-life has him at the brink of death. There are merely seconds left before he dies. He's spitting blood, his body shaking, he's pleading for you to help him. There's only one hope - you. Would you do it?"
"I don't know, Rupert!" Mina shouted, her hands shaking, tears threatening to fall. Memories flooded back from 1915 like they were made but yesterday. The all encompassing sense of helplessness, the fear that would watch her precious child die before her eyes like her beloved husband had, the impending potential loneliness. Then the years after, when Quincey embraced his second life like Mina never had. She saved him and lost him in just one action.
"Okay, okay," he whispered, sitting up to cradle her head in his hands. "I'm sorry," he stroked gently at her cheeks looking straight into her heavily lidded eyes. She placed her palm flat against his chest, feeling his heart beating rhythmically beneath. She sighed deeply and lay her head next to her hand. He sat back against the couch, his fingers threading through her silken dark hair.