"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.
He pauses, cool cloth pressed against her bicep, and he looks up at her with barely contained longing.
"I miss you too," he says. But would he ever be welcome in her life again, after what he did to Dion? Even now he cannot dreg up any regret, not after all they lost. His other hand settles on her bare thigh as a long breath slips from him, tired, missing the little glimpse of simplicity they'd shared. "I miss holding you. I miss eating with you."
"I hate that we are once more broken," she says miserably. As many times as the heavens bring them together, it tears them apart. She searches his eyes and sees the man she loves so deeply, but now it comes with guilt. "That hurts more than anything the road did."
She misses Dion, too. His friendship was important to her, of course, but only now does she realize how much she relied on him for company.
"We forget the past month and carry on," he says. "We put it in the past, like my mother, and Imreann, and everyone else who has kept us from each other."
Her eyes shut tightly as she leans into his palm. She misses when they did this out of joy.
"I want to," she says, a whisper. "But I don't know how. Not when I've made Dion so many promises. And now I feel in order to keep them, I would break every one I've made to you. I don't wish to do either, to choose a side..."
Yet she's been told she already has. She rests a hand on Clive's wrist, squeezing.
"I cannot make amends with Dion," he says, sore to say it but sure it's the one thing that cannot be repaired here. "Even for your sake, it cannot be done. But if you cannot live with what I did, or if holding to his friendship will ensure you are better cared for in the longer term, then you shouldn't leave your heart with me."
He shifts a little closer, kneeing his way between her thighs.
"But I wish you would. I wish you could choose me."
"Joshua does not share my cause." He emphasizes: "Our cause. He couldn't understand. But even if I am doomed to not be understood, I will not stand Don's attempts to control what I do or when any longer."
"Dion did not do what he did to spite you," she says softly. She had been furious, hurt, that he had not even thought to speak to her before telling Joshua everything. She still is.
But she reminds herself it was never about her to begin with.
"We all wish to save Valisthea, to see it freed... and the truth of what happened at Origin needed to be shared. He is eager to see his home saved. His loved ones safe. I can't fault him for that."
She sighs, regarding Clive solemnly even as she reaches out to touch his cheek in turn.
"And yet I know that his intentions do not change how you feel. I understand that. The burden is always on you, isn't it? I've seen what it's done to you."
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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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"I miss you too," he says. But would he ever be welcome in her life again, after what he did to Dion? Even now he cannot dreg up any regret, not after all they lost. His other hand settles on her bare thigh as a long breath slips from him, tired, missing the little glimpse of simplicity they'd shared. "I miss holding you. I miss eating with you."
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She misses Dion, too. His friendship was important to her, of course, but only now does she realize how much she relied on him for company.
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"We don't have to be broken," he says. "We could fix this, Jill."
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"We forget the past month and carry on," he says. "We put it in the past, like my mother, and Imreann, and everyone else who has kept us from each other."
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"I want to," she says, a whisper. "But I don't know how. Not when I've made Dion so many promises. And now I feel in order to keep them, I would break every one I've made to you. I don't wish to do either, to choose a side..."
Yet she's been told she already has. She rests a hand on Clive's wrist, squeezing.
"I know well that my heart is forever yours."
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He shifts a little closer, kneeing his way between her thighs.
"But I wish you would. I wish you could choose me."
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But she reminds herself it was never about her to begin with.
"We all wish to save Valisthea, to see it freed... and the truth of what happened at Origin needed to be shared. He is eager to see his home saved. His loved ones safe. I can't fault him for that."
She sighs, regarding Clive solemnly even as she reaches out to touch his cheek in turn.
"And yet I know that his intentions do not change how you feel. I understand that. The burden is always on you, isn't it? I've seen what it's done to you."
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He turns his face in her hand just enough to press a brief kiss to her palm. Under the faint copper of blood on her skin, he can smell her hand soap.
"I have borne the burden best I can, but how can I not balk when he seeks to force my hand whenever I do not fall into his line?"
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