He could hear the sniffling.

He looked at her. She was still crying, but he could tell she was more composed than she had been.

His voice was as gentle as he could make it. "Sweetie?"

He wasn't really sure what to say. He wanted to console her, to be there with her and for her, like she always was for him, but the right words always escaped him.

She didn't say anything. Just raise her hands out, asking for a hug. That, at least, he knew how to do.

He racked his brain, trying to imagine how she felt, what she needed.

He could barely hear her when she finally spoke.

"I know what I want."

He pulled away to see her face. He wasn't sure where this had come from.

His eyes locked with hers.

"I know what I want." She repeated.

He found his voice.

"What do you want, my love?"

"I want to be the best."

And it was his weakness that he did not understand. But he trusted her, as he always did, so he asked, "what do you mean?"

She took in a shaky breath and furrowed her eyebrows at him, "what?"

"You want to be the best." He said, "okay. Then you and I, we'll work side by side to make you the best. If that's what you want. But I don't understand right now, what being the 'best' means. There are a hundred thousand different reasons to want that. I don't even know if you want my help." He was kind of rambling, he thought, he should just shut up and listen.

"Just, the best. At something... anything"

"It's a competed spot. For any category. There can only be one. But you are already the best. You're the best for me, my love," he said after a moment, "you are the best."

He knew it didn't really help in the moment, but he wasn't sure what else to say.

She clung to him.

"That can't be right. I can't be the best for you. I can still be better."

"That's perfect." He said immediately, "perfect can't be better. Best just means better than everyone else."

"No one is perfect," she said after a beat.

"Yeah."

He waited a moment to see if she was going to say anything else.

She just held him in a hug.

"Sweetie."

She shook her head and kept it buried into his shoulder.

He held her there for what seemed a small eternity.

"I love you."

"Love you too."

He held her a little longer.

"I don't want to be the best, then. I want to be perfect."

He nodded.

"The best is a goal that is very very difficult, but achievable. And there's a hundred thousand smaller goals along the way. Perfect is impossible. You'd have to be mature enough to accept you'd always fail that goal.But you can try, forever. And there's infinite small goals along that path."

"Yeah," she said, "but you're perfect." She pulled him even closer. She seemed rather miserable. Like she wished he wasn't. And he wasn't, of course. And he felt rather miserable too.

"No. I'm not." He said at last, "I intend to be perfect. And I will fail. But I still will try."

"You're perfect for me."

"Not perfect." He repeated, "we're... two halves of one, milady. I'm the only one, for you. The best. And you for me. The only one and the best."

She didn't answer, just burrowed her head into his chest. He shifted a bit and burrowed his own head into her shoulder.

"We're one messed up pair, aren't we? Deeply imperfect."

"This is perfect." She tapped his shirt. "Us."

"Not perfect. We can always work on being better. It's just... complete."

A small smile ghosted her lips as she nodded comfortably.

"Yeah," she said, "I want to be complete, not perfect."