Vegetables abandoned, he carries her across the house, feeling a lightness in him that is much brighter than he is often comfortable expressing. He takes her upstairs, to the room she’s made space for him in.
"It may just be my eyes," she teases. He's handsome every day, even when he comes home covered in muck, but she can tell something in him has been put at ease even with the looming conversation to be had with Joshua.
She takes advantage of being held in his arms to examine his face. The blue eyes under his mop of hair have always been her favorite, but she has a fondness for his scruffy beard and even the scar that mars his skin.
She already thinks of it as their room. It's the way it should have always been--they may have needed their time apart, but it's only now that things in the home finally feel right. And it isn't only because of Joshua's arrival.
Clive is met with Jill's feeble attempt at bowling him over, arms going around his middle in a hug. She is quite determined to nuzzle in against his neck and get as close as physically possible.
Clive closes his eyes briefly, settling under her and letting himself sag into the mattress. He lets his hands wander up and down her back, slow and reverent. He hums:
She's more interested in kissing the spot between his shoulder and neck, not eager to lull herself to sleep with the sound of his pulse just yet.
"I thank the heavens every night." They're rebuilding, she supposes, the relationship between them. She's grateful that he wants to be in her bed, and each night he crawls in behind her and holds her she thinks they might be okay.
How fitfully did he sleep, even just weeks ago, an arm around a pillow and a heart throbbing from residual adrenaline? Enough, he thinks, to tolerate it, but on the better side of time, he isn’t sure how he managed. He could have slept wound into her and felt her warm under his touch. He could have held her.
His hand wanders back down now, fingers just barely inside her waistband.
"Down in the abyss I have not changed the sheets in weeks," he says, amused, hand settling where it is, as far down as he can reach without moving her.
"Why would you? You sleep here. This is your bed," she says, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. The basement is still his, and she thinks it good to keep it as it is so that he can take time to himself if need be. Sleep there, if he worries too much about waking her with odd hours. "This is our bed."
He hasn't thought of it as their bed –– hasn't dared to, really, but it feels like the opposite reason that he didn't nearly a year ago. Then, it was a matter of waiting to be excused to death, having failed everyone and everything. Now, it's a fear he won't get to stay.
He tries it anyway: "Our bed is a great deal more comfortable than that one, too."
It's bold to say when she's deemed it a thing to revisit once Joshua knows the truth of what occurred at Origin, but in a way, this has always been their bed. They shared it in that small apartment, and she agrees that it feels much more comfortable with Clive in it now.
"This scarred, hard body is more comforting than a mattress this fine?" he replies, putting his other arm around her, holding her tight to him. He knows the answer, but he can still tease.
She knows he knows, but she smiles at him as she lets her hand find the bottom of his shirt, sliding under and up to touch his bare skin. Her thumb brushes over the line of an ab.
"Yes. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and it keeps me both safe and warm."
Perhaps warm isn't the best thing in the summer, but she'll cope. Winter was miserable for a number of reasons.
"Just as well then that I sleep better with you here," he says, sighing comfortably. He loves her hands, her touch. "I've never slept so soundly in my life."
"Why do you think that is?" She asks, just idly caressing his skin, no scar beneath the thumb that moves back and forth. "Sometimes I think I might accidentally crowd you off the bed."
Is that question intended to be serious? He doesn’t know. He’s not sure he wants to delve into why, not from the safe shore of being here because she’ll have him. He replies, deliberately light: “My body is seldom handled so gently.”
She knows she lacks the strength to physically knock him from the bed by here mere cuddling. Besides, she'd likely go down with him with how much she tends to hold onto him.
"I'm glad that you've seen less scars here," she tells him, hand sliding up to his ribs. "You deserve a gentle life."
So eager to save everyone but himself, to serve, and so quick to brush off kind words. These things don't surprise her. They make her sad, but Clive is set in his ways.
"Your mere existence makes my life better. Sometimes I still can't believe that I'm so fortunate as to get the opportunity to sleep in your arms."
He imagines briefly what it would be like if he could find another job, and be here every night. She wouldn’t go to bed without him or rise before he did. How terrible, to be so useless at so many other things.
“Jill,” he says, and he has nothing more to say, so he just tilts her chin up to him so he can kiss her, long and slow.
She doesn't think he'll find anything else to tire him out and scratch whatever itch he has. By now, she's come to terms with his schedule and his need for that time away. She's come to cherish waking to the sound of him trying to be quiet, anticipating the moment he slips into bed behind her and holds her close.
Her eyes flutter shut as they kiss, and she scoots herself up so that they can kiss more comfortably. How nice it is to take their time and enjoy one another, upset and heartache put behind them. Moving meant letting his shirt fall back down, but her hand is now free to cup the side of his neck, tender in the way her thumb brushes his skin there, too.
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"You look especially handsome today," she tells him. He looks happier.
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“I wonder why today in particular,” he remarks.
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She takes advantage of being held in his arms to examine his face. The blue eyes under his mop of hair have always been her favorite, but she has a fondness for his scruffy beard and even the scar that mars his skin.
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“Best get you to a doctor soon, I think.”
He turns them sideways to enter her room, and there he sets her down on the bed and crawls in after her.
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Clive is met with Jill's feeble attempt at bowling him over, arms going around his middle in a hug. She is quite determined to nuzzle in against his neck and get as close as physically possible.
She's been happier, too.
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“Are you going to rest too?”
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And she's never more at ease than she is when she's in his arms.
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“It’s yours to lay upon.”
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"I thank the heavens every night." They're rebuilding, she supposes, the relationship between them. She's grateful that he wants to be in her bed, and each night he crawls in behind her and holds her she thinks they might be okay.
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His hand wanders back down now, fingers just barely inside her waistband.
“I think I’m in the heavens.”
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"I'm glad the heavens have freshly laundered bedding." She had him help her change the sheets this morning.
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He tries it anyway: "Our bed is a great deal more comfortable than that one, too."
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"It is. You make it so, for me."
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"Yes. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and it keeps me both safe and warm."
Perhaps warm isn't the best thing in the summer, but she'll cope. Winter was miserable for a number of reasons.
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"I'm glad that you've seen less scars here," she tells him, hand sliding up to his ribs. "You deserve a gentle life."
Is that this life they're living now?
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“There is no one who deserves a gentle life more than you,” he says. “So I’m glad to make my life whatever serves that.”
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"Your mere existence makes my life better. Sometimes I still can't believe that I'm so fortunate as to get the opportunity to sleep in your arms."
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“Jill,” he says, and he has nothing more to say, so he just tilts her chin up to him so he can kiss her, long and slow.
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Her eyes flutter shut as they kiss, and she scoots herself up so that they can kiss more comfortably. How nice it is to take their time and enjoy one another, upset and heartache put behind them. Moving meant letting his shirt fall back down, but her hand is now free to cup the side of his neck, tender in the way her thumb brushes his skin there, too.
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Let it pickle
BABE WE CANT
JUST SAY YOU WANT A DIVORCE
DOES THAT MEAN WE’RE MARRIED
YES 🥹
YAY 🥹
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jill remembering this later like nvm
im already takin notes for later
that's my girl
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