I Can Cope With Torture {Della}

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A lot could happen in inumerable months away from home.

A lot had certainly happened to Westley. It seemed from the moment he returned from his first bout at sea - only to be told that his beloved was engaged to that buffoon, no less - his life had been determined not to let him have a moment of peace. Before he could so much as beat Humperdinck to a bloody, unrecognizable pulp or anything like that, the Revenge had gone and gotten captured all over again. Westley could remember word-for-word the wire he'd recieved from First Mate Ryan. "Captain Roberts. Stop. Nicaraguans off the coast of Paraguay. Stop. I swear this is the last and final time. Stop. Please advise and/or rescue?; high urgency. Stop. -1st R". What choice did he have? His men counted on him, whereas Buttercup seemed to need a lesson on that faith. So, he'd packed off.

It had been a long, dangerous, and very inconvenient task - Nicaraguans weren't the most civilized negotiators. But Westley, in his dapper persona as the Dread Pirate, had done what he does best: haggling, bargaining, and a little bit of swordplay. (And he was fairly sure that 'mystic' woman he'd run into on the way back had rewound his age by about a year, but that wasn't important.) And this time, before he'd come back, he'd sat down with First Mate Ryan and had a nice long chat about what to do when another ship raises the 'enemy' flag. After a long process, Ryan finally seemed to understand that the answer wasn't "sail over and say hello."

And now, here he was - returned from the seas only to find that Avalon Academy was nothing more than some sort of dystopian wasteland. (Couldn't this damned academy ever just stay still while he was away?) It had taken weeks beyond his original absence, but he'd finally navigated his way here, to the new normal, to Tintagel. This was going to take some getting used to.

If only he knew what to get used to!

There was only one person Westley really trusted anymore to give him a straight answer. And as soon as he knew where to find her, that was exactly where he headed, pounding on the door of her dorm room. (Hopefully she was still her, and not as angry at him as last time. Buttercup was most likely still engaged to that oaf: the last thing he needed was for Della to have a second head or something.) She opened the door, and in greeting, he asked - even demanded - the one question he was hoping she'd have the anecdote for.

"Will someone please explain to me what the devil is going on?"

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Della had not, in fact, grown an extra head. In fact, nothing even close to that insane had happened in Westley's (third or fourth) absence. Sure, Hermes was now hell (Hades?) bent on getting in her pants and then there was her and Panic...on her birthday...nevermind, that wasn't important. Compared to this school's usual shenanigans, this was freaking Paradise.

As for the move that had so confused her newly returned brother, of course she had noticed. She was just too busy being grateful they weren't surrounded by dinosaurs or cannibals to care all that much, so when she opened her door to see Westley again, all she said was, "Hello to you too, think you're gonna stick around this time?" with a wry "hey, missed you...again." while she let him in.

"And I'm assuming you mean the new place? Yeah, it took me a while to get used to it too. But you know how things go around here. Blink and you miss the Apocalypse." Then she shrugged. It was sort of weird how calm she actually seemed. Maybe she really had become desensitized to this madness.

"Oh, and your future wife fake promised herself to the demon jackal, I told her it was a dumb idea, but does she listen? Anyway, my turn; this Ryan guy taught you how to be The Dread Pirate Roberts and yet you can't leave him alone for five minutes? " With a weird sigh/laugh hybrid, she then said, "Anyway, I believe that's about it...welcome home?" Because there was no way on this green Earth that Della was going to tell Westley what happened with Panic. Nope.

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He cared for Della as if she were his sister in blood, but for once - and maybe because of that - Westley wasn't concerned with the trivialities of a proper hello. Not this time anyway. (A man returns from having to talk his way out of a "slow and satisfying beheading" to find his home relocated, go figure: forgive him if his first words weren't a civilized howdy-do.) He moved past her into the room when she invited, giving her a grateful nod and a distracted "Thank you." In the back of his mind he pictured the constant verbal abuse he'd endured back in Florin when he'd worked on the farm. Now that was nice, at least it was something to look forward to in the morning...oh, come off it, Roberts, delusion won't add to anything.

"I ought to," he grumbled - and to grumble in general was typically uncharacteristic of him, but who could blame him? Ryan was getting on to forty-seven years old; if he couldn't bail himself out by now, Westley certainly couldn't do it forever. A man could get old this way. "I've missed you as well. You wouldn't believe the difficulty in trying to strike up a conversation with a drunken deck-hand while he mops. Pirates frown on most words longer than six letters." And that was the least of his problems, not that he was going to go around listing them or any such thing like that. He was a man, not an infant. There were recourses. He just had to find one.

Della explaination as to the move to Tintagel was vague, as if no one were really sure what had caused the dissolution of Avalon, and that sounded about right to Westley. He nodded - it certainly fit the place, whatever the place was now. Normalcy almost would've scared him. Which, at this point in his life, applied to basically everything. The updated news on Buttercup, however, caused his eyes to widen a fraction of a degree, then narrow as he processed. "So, she's playing along now," he said, more to himself than anything. "Suppose it's for the better; he'd probably have her killed if she didn't, and that'd be horribly inconvenient to undo..." For a moment he considered the thought that Buttercup wasn't just playing along, and that she really had promised her hand to Humpty-Doofus...but he waved that away in his typical stubborn manner. Unlike Buttercup's occasionally-flagging faith in him, Westley had faith in her. She was merely offering a device to stall for time. Now all he had to do was rescue her.

Easy. Hopefully. Right? Yes, of course. Possibly.

Della's mention of First Mate Ryan caused another involuntary anomaly from Westley - he rolled his eyes. "Yes, well, most of us believe it was a year or so ago, the 'shovel-to-the-back-of-the-head' thing. Normally there's no incidents, but every now and then he'll forget his direction mid-order or sometimes shout 'Lion' in the middle of the Gulf and no one really has any better explanation for it. Tends to forget the trade; he's got medication now and a few watchers, he'll be fine." He'd better be. Westley could never forget the time when Ryan had been a damn good Roberts himself, and as long as he was here, he hoped it would kick in again. Otherwise, bluntly, the Revenge was screwed.

For the time being, Westley put that thought to the back of his mind; the ship was in better hands now than the last few times he'd left it altogether. He let a beat pass, then he finally seemed to relax, pushing his hair from his eyes and letting out a breath. "Thank you for that," he accepted. He looked over at Della for a long moment, and said (sincerely but somewhat dryly), "I realize I ask this all too often, I'll try not to need to for a while, but: I trust you're well? And, if you aren't, I will find out anyway." Yes, he knew her, all right. Better to preempt these things.

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Now, see, the last time Della had seen her brother, he wasn’t exactly in a chipper mood either, which was probably why she wasn’t too surprised by his less than Westley-ish frustration that he was practically radiating at the moment. She felt for him, she really did. She had half a mind to give Ryan a good scolding, but she had a feeling that would just end with someone getting hurt, and it probably wasn’t going to be him. Just because she was a good shot with the AD-52 didn’t really mean all that much…come to think of it, since Redd’s disappearance, she had been sort of out of practice. That wasn’t going to do at all, least of all in a school that could easily be mistaken for a medical experiment. She was going to have to ask Alyss to practice with her somewhere…maybe there was a shooting range around here or something…and it was probably best that she kept that sort of thing to herself. It wouldn’t have improved Westley’s mood in the slightest, she had no doubt.

She winced a little as he mentioned how the deck-hand was possibly the world’s worst conversationalist. “Ouch…oh, sorry, that was also less than six letters,” she half joked. “I’ll try to pull out my SAT words as much as possible, Wes.” Would it actually work in making him feel better? She really couldn’t be sure, she never was sure. But she was getting a little better at guessing, at least. She probably had him to thank for that, at least in part.

As for the Buttercup situation, well, she supposed Westley had a point there, but still, the idea of risking actually marrying the jackhole was just so…unfathomable for her. What if Westley, God forbid, hadn’t shown up with plenty of time to actually rescue her. I mean, dear God, she had been ready to be their maid of honor for over a year now, and Westley just kept on getting pulled away to The Revenge, which could easily mean that they could be doing this dance of “Let’s Rescue Buttercup/Let’s Rescue Ryan” until their hair turned gray (although considering hers and Westley’s stress levels, that might not take very long at all). Still, she supposed that was better than Humperdinck killing her, although that would give Della a legitimate excuse to kick his rior for breaking her soon to be sister in law…still, her being alive was more ideal.

And now Della just had to give her brother a bit of a “Wow” face in response to why his former mentor was proving to be so incompetent as of late. Well, it explained a lot, and if she developed a fear of shovels as a result, it was all Westley’s fault. Still, when he started seeming more relaxed, she offered him a proper smile…and of course he had to ask her how she was and point out that he had a way of figuring out if she kept anything from him. Although she really didn’t want to get into too many details.

With a sigh, she settled down on her bed. “I’ve actually been doing pretty well, at least in comparison to how things normally are around here,” she began with a wry smile, even though deep down she was kind of terrified. “Just got the new Communications teacher who happens to be the messenger god up at Olympus flirting with me and…well…” How the hell did you explain to one of your oldest friends that you wound up making out with one of your other oldest friends and now things were weird between you?

“I…think Panic’s in love with me…”

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Sarcasm, of course. He ought to have seen that coming. At least some things never changed, which was comforting. Westley pulled a face that was somewhere between amusement and general weariness. "Don't worry; of all people, I've never troubled over your vocabulary and I don't intend to start now," he tossed back. "We'll call it a free pass." Really he was just grateful for the distraction. Whether Della knew it or not, she was starting to be one of the only steadfast things in Westley's world that didn't go changing about on him. He was more grateful for that than she realized.

But, now wasn't the time for that. (Now wasn't the time for a lot of things. It seemed like now would never be the time for anything at all, but wasn't it always 'now?' All right, no need to get a headache over it.) At the moment, he was more concerned for what'd been going on with Della and her life. Even at their most dramatic, tales like hers couldn't possibly cause him any extra grief. If anything, they gave him a project; something to fix. He always felt better being able to fix things. Had to be that whole 'servitude' mindframe cropping up again. (Now was that a good or a bad thing? Good, if it worked.)

Her comment about the teacher only caused Westley to raise an eyebrow. "We are talking a magical academy here. I can't say I'm entirely surprised," he noted. "If it becomes a problem I'll handle it." Though honestly he didn't see that happening. If Westley had a dime for every educator here who flirted shamelessly with the student body, he'd be...well, he was a rich man, but, you know. From piracy.

When Della finally told him the real matter, though...well. He hadn't seen that coming.

...Wait a moment. Actually, come to think of it, yes he had; he had seen that coming.

What was it, a year ago now? A year and a half? As many as two, maybe, but certainly not more than that. Westley had happened upon Panic in the woods, confused, trembling, and generally living up to his name. The adoration that Panic had for Della was almost painfully obvious, at least to a love-savvy old soul like Westley; their odd little shapeshifting friend had all but admitted it.

"You mean that's only just coming out now? My God, he certainly took his time working up the courage, didn't he."

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Indeed, sarcasm really was the best medicine. Della had been self prescribing that stuff since she was about seven or so. And yes, she knew exactly what the word meant and learned to spell it fairly quickly. That was the funny thing about Della: she could have easily been mistaken for a genius when she was a child, but something about puberty sort of stunted her mental growth and…well, yeah, she wasn’t an idiot, but there were definitely times when she felt like one. That never used to happen when she was a kid. Sarcasm was one of the few things she had left that made her feel quite as sharp as she once was. And if it helped out her rather overwhelmed brother, how could she ever complain? Instead she laughed a little at his comment about her vocabulary, which was comforting, considering, again, she didn’t feel as smart as she did growing up these days.

“Eh, it’s Hermes. I’ve done my reading on him, and seeing as he’s a god, I somehow doubt there’ll be much you could do. I’ll handle it just fine,” she assured him. After all, just because he thought that it’d be impossible for a girl to resist him hardly meant it was true. Della was an expert at resistance, after all.

Another fun fact about these days, it was getting harder and harder to surprise Della. Honestly, you’d be lucky to get more than an arched eyebrow if you opened your mouth and something unexpected came out, or just popped up with two extra heads. Unless she knew you, that was. Then she’d blink a few times and decide that they had to figure out a solution immediately. As was said before, it really did seem as though the girl who had nearly lost her mind over discovering that her friend was dating the Robin Hood two years ago was really getting used to expecting anything but what was expected.

That said, her eyes all but bugged out at Westley’s response to her revelation about Panic being in love with her. Her whole expression actually resulted in looking a bit like one of those models that pretended to gasp at something oh so scandalous. Except less slutty, obviously, but that wasn’t the point. “You knew?” she cried, standing up at this point. And why a technicality decided to turn up in her brain now, she would never know, but she went on to say, “And by the way, he didn’t actually say anything, I said he might be because we kissed. On my birthday. A lot.”

Unfortunately that was around the moment that she realized that this was probably the very last thing that Westley needed to hear. After a second of that awkward realization, she shook her head, waving her hands around like that would somehow erase said awkwardness, and she stated, “Never mind, you didn’t need that, now can we get back to the subject that you knew? How long, Wes? And…and what am I supposed to do? I really don’t know what to do here, because it has been insanely awkward ever since this happened and…damnit, I might be on the verge of hyperventilating now.” And so she sat back down, taking a deep breath and reminding herself that, no, keeping something like that from her wasn’t entirely uncalled for. It was shocking, sure, but she could get that. I mean, really, would Panic really want her to know? He barely could bring himself to let her kiss him for crying out loud!

After regaining her composure, she turned towards him, a sinking feeling reaching her stomach, one that said that this wasn’t some new revelation. Mostly because Westley had hardly been around long enough for any new revelations from Panic of all people, but also because…if her instincts were right, she had been doing the one thing she vowed to never do even when she wasn’t making out with Dodge while he had sustained an injury at his hand. In other words, she absolutely failed as a friend, forget about…whatever the hell they were supposed to be after that kiss.

“Well? My former questions do still stand, even if I’m not going to wind up passing out from shock any time soon.”

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Hermes. A god. Right, of course, because who would expect any different? Westley nodded - at this point, he just supposed he should be grateful that it wasn't a far worse problem, like being enslaved by some sort of octopus-person or being forced to swallow fire or something. Well, sure, just a god flirting with you; not very high on the scale of bizarre happenings... If only he'd heard himself think those words five years ago, when he had no friends and the oddest thing that happened to him was being gawped at by the milkmaids. He probably would've checked himself into some kind of therapy.

Actually, come to think of it, it would probably be best to worry about that later. Much later, if Della's current pitch had anything to do with it. Westley stopped still, processing her shock for a moment, nevermind the fact that he suddenly found himself in the middle of a quickly-escalating conversation and there was no way out of it now without egg on his face... Well, you probably could've done with a bit more tact that time, farm-boy, not your most brilliant plan... Not that he would consider anything he said to be that brilliantly thought-out, anymore. At the rate he was going, he'd be lucky if he ever had a decent idea again.

"You didn't?" he gaped. (Like that. Bad ideas just like that.) Westley cleared his throat, recovering quickly, training his own voice back to a normal volume. "Sorry. Sorry." He raked a hand back through his hair and walked back and forth a bit, just the once, like pacing but without all that 'repetition' nonsense. He was trying to make heads or tails of all her questions, here. "All right, all right, give me a moment now...ah."

Westley sat himself down on the edge of the nearest chair and leaned forward on his elbows, looking up at Della as he spoke, thinking maybe she'd get off the ledge if he led by example. (Calmness in every situation was always key; you learned that quickly as a captain.) "It'll be all right. I found out over a year ago," he held up his palms to keep her from exploding on a nuclear level at that one, "But the only reason I never told you was to protect Panic's confidence. He asked me not to tell you before he could - if he ever could - and I gave him my word. Otherwise you'd have been the first to know. The only reason even I found out was purely by chance." (There was no need to get into the full details of Panic's...well...panicked episode. Wouldn't do any good to worry her further.)

And that was the moment Westley's brain decided to catch up with itself. (What was all that about being sharp, again?) He did a very literal double-take, eyes widened at Della like she'd just said there was an ROUS in the closet and it was really quite friendly. "Wait - you what? You and...Panic?"

A, he'd never expected either of them to act on anything between them. B, that was an image he'd never needed to carry.

The Revenge life was starting to look uncomplicated.

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She knew exactly what Westley was trying to do when he settled down and stopped being quite at the pitch she was, and in spite of her worries, she really appreciated it. Westley always seemed to be the saner one of the two of them (except when it came to a certain jackhole prince, but they weren’t going to concentrate on that just yet. It wasn’t out of selfishness, but out of the fact that it seemed like now that she had let this sort of thing slip (all his fault, by the way, damn him for being so concerned and such the perfect brother), he was going to want to assist her here before they even thought about eviscerating Humperdinck, then maybe asking around what you had to do to get vultures to pick out his liver), and she appreciated the world out of it. When he explained how he knew about Panic’s feelings, she just nodded, because she had come to a rather similar conclusion already. She could certainly live with that, she could be calm…

And of course, now Westley had to realize just what Della had told him about her and Panic and honestly, since she was passed the word vomit state of mind, she hardly had the patience. “Yes, and I’m sorry you had to find out that way, I really am, but you’ve got to understand that you kind of caught me off guard. Slip ups were bound to happen,” she pointed out. She massaged her temples, trying to get the image of that boy out of her head for just a second, was that so much to ask?

The fact that Westley had asked that question like Panic’s feelings for her were so clear was bothering her, even now when they had both calmed down from that minor freak out session. Yeah, they were clear all right; clear as mud mixed in with some oil! Della spent a good amount of her time knowing Panic trying to figure out what went on inside his head. No, she didn’t mean all the fear and agony, because that she definitely got. She meant the specifics, especially the things that could, hopefully, stop the fear and agony. She had clarity for the first time on her birthday, and, well, we know what happened there, now don’t we, Westley included? Now she was pretty much back to feeling clear as that mud/oil concoction she dreamed up, but it wasn’t about Panic’s feelings: it was about her own.

Now, kissing Panic, that had felt...wonderful, actually, if she was going to be honest, but that didn't necessarily mean...did it? And if it did, what did that mean for them? She knew precisely what her track record was. If she really did…how the hell could she even deserve him after the pain she caused him? Not to mention, what if she just…fell out of love with him? It seemed that she did that sort of thing, and for most others, she could handle that, but Panic? She…she couldn’t hurt him with her poison. If she weren’t so concerned with this, she would have realized how her inner thoughts reeked of irony. As clueless as she was, she knew for a fact that Panic felt this way about her. She had just always rejected it. She could survive a lot of things, she knew that, and if she died for Panic, well…she could deal with that…but the thing was that he couldn’t die, so if she ever hurt him, that would stay forever.

“I’m no good at this, Westley,” she murmured, taking her hands off her face, staring down at the rug like it somehow held all the answers. Of course, she soon realized that the poor rug’s only involvement was that it was a path that Panic had to take before they were kissing on this very bed and…yeah, she was going to move away from that thought for the sake of not having another word vomit moment around Westley. Besides, there were more pressing matters at hand. “I’m really no good at this.”

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At this point, Westley was profoundly grateful that Della's common room featured a couch. He sat on the very edge of it with an uncharacteristic heaviness, rubbing at the corners of his eyes. I've had more desirable mental images of being eaten by EELS before. That was possibly not the best way to find out, no. "No no, I do understand that, I really do," he said, and it was the truth, even if his position at the moment spoke everything to the contrary. "I'm happy for you both. Truly..." Then, thinking about it, he looked up/over at Della. "Unless...you aren't happy with it." There was a blank there, and he hoped she filled it for him sometime in the near future.

Clearly, even if Della and Panic were a couple written in the stars, Della hadn't seen it yet. If they weren't, she didn't seem to be seeing that yet either. She just looked...lost in all of it. And from the miserable way she spoke of herself, his guess couldn't have been clearer if he'd had psychic powers. She was a love-battered girl who, put simply, had no idea what was gong on. It gave him the direction to get back on his feet, and he exhaled softly, making his way over to the girl he called a sister, wrapping her gently in a hug.

"What are the chances you've missed my maddening doses of optimism?" he joked quietly, breaking a tiny grin. He grew serious after that - joke or not, he intended to make good on it. "No one is," he assured her. He could practically sense her disbelief coming, so he made sure to continue, "Not even I. You think it wasn't years before I'd worked up the courage to even talk to Buttercup?" He chuckled lightly, nostalgically at the foolishness of his younger self. "She was a goddess, and me...I was only the help. Who was I to think I had any right to court her?" He got himself out of the memory and back to the point. "The answers tend to come on their own, whenever we're least looking for them. As does the courage to act, if that answer is Yes."

Westley moved back a bit, looking Della in the eye. "The only mistake in love you've ever made is to trust. That isn't a mistake in my eyes. Only a sign of strength of heart." He gave her a small smile, doing what he could to make it better, even if, to him, it was never nearly enough. "If you love Panic in return, if you're meant to, then you'll know when the time is right. If you don't, he'd never think less of you. And neither will I. And do you know why?" He couldn't help but grin a bit wider now, building up the pause before the inside joke that had seamlessly become their own language. "Because you're tall." Because there's never been a person quite as smart or kindhearted as you. "You will figure it out. That's one of the only things I'm sure of."

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She had to admire his powers of perception, she supposed, even if there were times when she really wished that he didn’t have them. Hell, this whole conversation could have been avoided if it weren’t for his powers of perception…and yet…out of all the people in the world she could have gone to, wasn’t Westley the one she had been waiting to talk to about this? Like she had said, she was no good at this, and Westley most definitely—wait, what did that crazy pirate just say?

The very idea of Westley being less than a genius when it came to love sounded almost blasphemous in Della’s mind, to tell you the truth. I mean, sure, logically, there had to have been a time when he wasn’t at all sure, especially with what she knew about his and Buttercup’s courtship. How for the longest time, the blonde was rather cruel and almost like a slave driver to him, before she got jealous of how this count’s wife was looking at Westley, and the rest was history. But that meant for a good long time, Westley didn’t say a damn word about his feelings…it was kind of mindboggling, when you thought about it, especially since Westley was…well, it was already very well known that he was her hero, but he and Buttercup’s relationship kind of served as a model for her, a way to decide how certain relationships ranked. She hadn’t quite done that when Dodge was in the picture, but that was because, well…maybe even then, she felt like she didn’t deserve that sort of thing.

And now…well. That was really all she could say on the matter, even with Westley’s very well meaning and very easy to believe advice…and their little inside joke. No matter how much Della went through at her time at the school, she was pretty sure that she’d gladly go through it all again if it meant that she could be reminded of that little tidbit. “And you’re just as tall as I remembered, if not more so,” she answered, before letting out a little sigh, getting more serious.

“I guess not…I guess it’s just a matter of being able to look Panic in the eye again…even worse, seeing as it took so long to even be able to do that, especially without his eyes trying to mimic mine…” Not that she had ever minded that little quirk of his. There was something endearing about that, she wasn’t sure why…but the first time she was able to see his eyes for longer than a minute, when he explained that he didn’t want to hide anymore…God, that had been a while ago. Even before her birthday, when they apparently really decided they wouldn’t hide anymore.

“I…I always promised I’d never hurt him. I failed him once, and then I found out that I might have been hurting him since before I even knew the jackass…I can’t do that again.” God, she hadn’t meant to get so dramatic. Why did she always do that? Taking a deep breath, she then added, “And by the way, there was never a millisecond in the history of the entire universe and whatever was there before 14 billion years ago when you didn’t deserve Buttercup, Roberts.”

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It was relieving to know that some things never change. Even if - God forbid - Westley had come back from the revenge with a bump to the head and a case of severe amnesia, he still would have gotten Della's message as she returned their in-joke, simply from the tone of her voice. (That, and he knew logically that he had not, physically, gotten any taller. But that was beyond the point.) He moved back from the hug after a moment, resting his hands on her shoulders. "You see?" he smiled gently at her. "Not everything is so complicated." come to think of it, that little reminder could easily go for both of them.

He gave a quick kiss to her forehead in his usual brotherly way, then moved away from her and into (what served as) her kitchenette, grabbing her a bottle of water from (probably Alyss') mini-fridge. He broke the cap seal for her on the way back, handing it to her before taking a seat again, all the while letting her talk.

"You'll get over it, the both of you," Westley assured when she seemed finished. Then he backtracked a bit, after hearing himself. "Well, I don't mean 'get over' it. I only mean that, I'm sure the two of you will find a way to overcome whatever tension has come from this. All though if you ask me, I'm barely sure why there's tension for either one of you in the first place." He gestured toward Della. "If you're this concerned over the possibility of hurting him, you obviously care for him far beyond a level of strictly friendship. And you know by now that he does love you as well - call me what you will, but to me that sounds like a couple of people who've been in all the wrong relationships for far too long," he concluded, adding a meaningful look. "Now the question is, are you willing to give the right one its fair chance." Maybe it was beyond his bounds to weigh in to this extent, but Westley justified this one as a duty. He held himself responsible as a psuedo-brother and someone who'd learned a thing or two about love. And how.

At the flattery, Westley responded with an arched eyebrow, something between a 'You're too kind' and a 'Don't be ridiculous' look. You could tell the girl was still dealing with her own 'inadequacy' issues; oh yes, if there was anyone who could tell at a glance what this problem really boiled down to, it would be Westley. At the core of it, this was just another case of Della fearing she didn't deserve something, or wasn't good enough. Maybe the biggest case yet. That was where her fear of hurting Panic came from.

"I thank you for that - but you seem to think you're the only one ever to doubt themselves," he returned. Standing back up, he folded his arms and examined her as he took a step closer. "Have you ever considered that I doubted my worthiness of Buttercup in the identical way that you doubt your worthiness of Panic now?" It was truth, so hopefully she wouldn't be able to argue with it. He went on for good measure. "I'd rummaged up every reason in the book, did you know that? Oh, there were dozens. On the barrel. Let me see...I was an orphan. Poor. A step shy of enslaved. I slept in a stable. I'd never been to formal school - despite everything I learned on my own, by the way, but for years I never counted that. I could never offer her a life, I could never compete with the nobles, I was too short, too tall, too pale, too familiar, not familiar enough...too inexperienced, too devalued by my own circumstances... Do you see what I mean? It's precisely what you're doing now. When in reality, what truly will make Panic happy, is you. And I can guarantee that he hasn't given a second thought to any of those flaws you've imagined yourself."

Westley gave that a moment to sink in, continuing to look at Della, and then he spoke again, softer this time. "It's what you want, Della. And whatever you decide, I'll be behind you." He paused. "...But don't keep away from this if the only thing stopping you is fear."