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When Ahkmenrah extends his invitation for the exhibits to join him on the journey, Sacagawea immediately recognizes every single problem this scenario will create. And there are a lot of them.
But it is the one she suspects she already knows the outcome of that strikes her the most deeply.
She looks at Teddy, twisting the ring on her finger, and she knows he’s realized it too.
“My dear,” he says, and gestures towards one of the exits. She takes his arm and they walk away from the chaotic sea of arguments and excitement and joy and fear that is bubbling up around them. It seems to bubbling inside of her, as well, at almost exactly the same rate.
Together they adjourn to an empty alcove, filled with painted trees and soft light, and she takes her husband’s hands.
“I want to go,” she says.
“I have to stay,” he replies, a tremble to his mouth.
“Why?” she demands.
“You know why,” he says, and she does, but she wishes she didn’t. “It’s what we are, what we were meant to do. To teach and inspire. To remind people of how important their history is.”
“And we can’t do that from any place other than a museum?” she asks. “Sitting there as motionless displays? Come with me. There can be any number of wax models of Theodore Roosevelt. But there is only one I love.”
He smiles, as he always does when she says that, but it cracks along the edges. His eyes close, and he looks away.
“You could stay, too,” he suggests.
“I couldn’t,” she says, shaking her head, and his hands tighten around hers.
“I know,” he admits. “It’s one of the things I admire most about you. You’re always looking forward. Sometimes I feel like we’re two sides of the same coin. You’ll always reach for tomorrow, and I’ll always live in yesterday. Back to back, staring in opposite directions.”
She places a hand on his cheek, and gets him to look at her again. For a moment they simply stare at one another. She doesn’t realize she’s crying until he reaches up to brush the tears away, with a gentleness that would astound anyone who saw him at his most boisterous. But she thinks his best traits are the ones that are his and his alone, not borrowed from anywhere else, or put on for any show or display.
“Yesterday will always be where you left it,” she tries. “Come with me.”
For half a second, she thinks it’s worked. But when he leans in to kiss her, she knows that it hasn’t, and her heart drops into the pit of her stomach.
“I can’t,” he says. “The museum’s too important. If everyone leaves, what will become of it? Whether I’m awake or asleep, I feel the wonder of this place. It has knowledge and reverence and echoes of the past. It’s what I’m meant for, and I can’t abandon that. Not even to be with you.”
She swallows, but the choked sob escapes her anyway.
Her husband folds her into his arms, and she grasps him tightly, almost wishing he was different, except that she can’t – she never could.
“I love you,” he assures her. “I don’t know why fate brought you to me, but I am eternally grateful for it. You deserve someone so much more-”
“Do not,” she snaps, squeezing him once in reprimand.
“As you wish,” he says.
They lapse into silence. Eventually, she loosens her grip on him. Eventually, he steps back, and takes her face in his hands.
“It’s not ‘goodbye’ yet,” he reminds her.
“No, not yet,” she agrees.
“We shall have to make the most of the time we have left.”
Sacagawea lets out a long breath, and leans in for another kiss.
“We shall.”