A month ago, she would have laughed at him scooping her up. Now, she tenses, partially because she's sore and partially because she doesn't know what is happening between them anymore.
Hold on or risk getting grabbed somewhere that's unpleasant right now--so she holds onto him, biting her tongue.
She hasn't been in his arms in a month. She hates how she immediately wants to sink into him the moment she's there.
"Very well," she murmurs, resigned, and doesn't look at him.
He can feel the tension radiating off her, and he’s sure it isn’t all the injury. He ignores it for now, lifting her off her feet with one arm around her upper thigh and the other laid carefully along her abdomen. She isn’t hard to carry.
But she does smell nice, her hair so close to his face.
He spirits her up the stairs and to her bedroom, and he doesn’t set her back down on her feet until he’s at her bedside.
Unnecessary, but she thanks him all the same once she's on her feet. There she remains only a moment before sitting, turning her arm to look at her ruined sleeve. No wonder she was encouraged to get leathers. Going any faster and she might not have skin left on her arm. As it is, it's more filthy than bloody, and she begins to gingerly pull the fabric away from her skin.
It hurts. It's clear in the pinch of her brow, but she grimaces and carries on.
She's not sure what to say to Clive. She hasn't known in weeks.
He excuses himself quietly to retrieve the first aid kit and turn off the lights to not disturb Joshua, and when he returns to Jill’s room, he closes the door behind him.
“Let me do that,” he says, kneeling before her and slowly reaching for the fabric.
“Tell me what you need for a new one and I’ll bring you cloth or coin or both,” he murmurs, finding an edge and beginning to peel, hands cool to soothe.
"I was," she admits. There's nothing worth keeping secret anymore. Her mind was on him, on Dion, on Joshua. "As bad as being sleep-deprived, on the bike."
"Oh, Jill," he says, with a sigh. He glances up at her, away from the mess of her skin, with a softness behind his eyes that he just can't hide. "I'm relieved you're in one piece."
That look pulls at her heart. She can't stop herself from lifting her good arm to ghost her fingertips over his hair, dropping her hand onto her lap after.
He has to avert his eyes when she touches him in turn, as if his expression could guilt her into too much undeserved tenderness. He just swallows his breath and unbuttons her blouse to remove it entirely.
Not long ago he'd be unbuttoning her blouse to lay her back onto the bed, to kiss and make love to her until something called them away. She's quiet, studying his face, wishing she could kiss him now because she misses him and she's been so terribly lonely.
"It hurts, but not as bad as it looks," she clarifies, and gingerly rolls her shoulders to get the blouse off. "I'll be fine with some rest. Torgal's done worse."
She's sure he dislocated her shoulder with the leash, once.
She doesn't push him away, so he continues, as business-like as he can. It doesn't take long for him to steal a look up at her face as he helps her ease the blouse back, careful to hold it away from her skin as she passes her arm through.
"Not since he was a pup." When he didn't realize his little teeth were sharper than any blade man could craft. Jill leans forward to help Clive help her, feeling the telltale warning of an ache in her back. She's glad to not remember the moment she hit the pavement.
"I've endured scrapes worse than this."
Though not within the last year. It's a strange thought, realizing just how far removed she's been from fighting.
"Yes, but few with the indignity of a mere accident," he says, standing up and tossing the shirt to the laundry basket. While he's up, he leans around her to look at her back and winces. "Do you want help getting your trousers down, or should I go get a cloth to clean you up?"
"I can undress myself," she says, and patiently at that. She has no fight in her tonight, no urge to make him feel bad. If she allows herself to realize it, she's glad to have his help, because she feels stiff as a board. She could manage, yes, but this is easier.
"I do, yes," he says, looking at her just long enough to acknowledge her and then slinking off to the bathroom.
There, with his back to her, he allows himself a brief grimace to swallow down his frustration –– at the stupid fucking bike, at the distance between them, at everything barring him from just cradling her.
It's difficult to get up silently, but she does it. Shoes and jeans are shucked off as quickly as she can, but the denim scratching over the raw skin on her hip and thigh makes her momentarily see white.
She leaves them on the floor and has to sit back down.
It would be nice to be held, she thinks, but this feels fair. Her mistakes don't call for coddling.
Clive returns with a damp cloth and has to drop his gaze again at the sight of her in her underwear before he even gets around the other side to see the road rash. It can't be avoided forever, though: he shifts down to sit with her and start gently wiping away the dirt and blood.
"Did you at least enjoy yourself tonight, before this?"
Jill holds her arm out to him and watches him work. He's always so gentle with her. He would surprise people, she thinks. For all the violence done to him and that he's capable of, he handles her with a reverence and care she's yet to experience from anyone else.
"No," she says honestly. Her nights have been miserable. She doesn't wish to see Luis or Astarion or Ada or anyone with her poor mood. She's been to the amusement park and the beach and it's been a way to the pass the time, but she only feels lower once she's walking up the stairs to her empty bedroom.
"I feel the same," he admits. There is company he deeply enjoys, and conversations that have needed to happen, but it's been a long month, and it looks to be an even longer one soon. He no longer has any illusions that what's happened between them is temporary.
It kills him inside that her torn up skin is not nearly as bad as what he alone has managed to do to her four weeks ago. The least he can do is diligently care for her now, taking his time to clean her up as gently as possible.
"But I am sure you'll find your happiness again," he says. "I have hope for that."
Hope for so many things seemed to return to him with Joshua's arrival. Something that should make her glad has made her feel increasingly lost, bending under the weight of trying to remain hopeful for so long and finally allowing herself to be hopeful for their future, only to see how easily it can be washed away.
"I miss you."
She misses life in those few weeks after Joshua's arrival where he did not know he was dead and Clive and Dion could tolerate one another for Joshua's sake. She couldn't remember being happier. And then it all went away and took her dearest people with it.
love u knew the intention kept the hilarity
Hold on or risk getting grabbed somewhere that's unpleasant right now--so she holds onto him, biting her tongue.
She hasn't been in his arms in a month. She hates how she immediately wants to sink into him the moment she's there.
"Very well," she murmurs, resigned, and doesn't look at him.
Publicly shamed for comedy
But she does smell nice, her hair so close to his face.
He spirits her up the stairs and to her bedroom, and he doesn’t set her back down on her feet until he’s at her bedside.
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It hurts. It's clear in the pinch of her brow, but she grimaces and carries on.
She's not sure what to say to Clive. She hasn't known in weeks.
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“Let me do that,” he says, kneeling before her and slowly reaching for the fabric.
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"Pity. I liked this one," she sighs softly. Good thing she has a wardrobe full of white blouses by now.
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"It's fine," she says, on a sharp inhale. It hurts most where the blood has dried. "Daresay I have too many to begin with."
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"Careless mistake, that's all," she says. "My fault."
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No headwounds, at least.
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He loves her.
She loves him, too.
She only wishes it were as simple as that.
"It only looks ugly."
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"It hurts you. I can see it in how you move."
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"It hurts, but not as bad as it looks," she clarifies, and gingerly rolls her shoulders to get the blouse off. "I'll be fine with some rest. Torgal's done worse."
She's sure he dislocated her shoulder with the leash, once.
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"Torgal's never broken your skin, has he?"
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"I've endured scrapes worse than this."
Though not within the last year. It's a strange thought, realizing just how far removed she's been from fighting.
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She does turn her head to catch his eyes.
"Thank you. You know where the cloths are."
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There, with his back to her, he allows himself a brief grimace to swallow down his frustration –– at the stupid fucking bike, at the distance between them, at everything barring him from just cradling her.
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She leaves them on the floor and has to sit back down.
It would be nice to be held, she thinks, but this feels fair. Her mistakes don't call for coddling.
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"Did you at least enjoy yourself tonight, before this?"
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"No," she says honestly. Her nights have been miserable. She doesn't wish to see Luis or Astarion or Ada or anyone with her poor mood. She's been to the amusement park and the beach and it's been a way to the pass the time, but she only feels lower once she's walking up the stairs to her empty bedroom.
"Joshua feels like the only light, lately."
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It kills him inside that her torn up skin is not nearly as bad as what he alone has managed to do to her four weeks ago. The least he can do is diligently care for her now, taking his time to clean her up as gently as possible.
"But I am sure you'll find your happiness again," he says. "I have hope for that."
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"I miss you."
She misses life in those few weeks after Joshua's arrival where he did not know he was dead and Clive and Dion could tolerate one another for Joshua's sake. She couldn't remember being happier. And then it all went away and took her dearest people with it.
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