[A text, at four in the morning, when she's sure not to see it right away:]
I'm going to leave a letter for you. I tell you this because I do not want you to be frightened of it, but I am sorry if it leaves you saddened or uncomfortable just the same.
[A handwritten note on both sides of a single piece of paper, folded neatly once and quietly left on Jill's bedside table, undated:]
Jill,
It took me a long time to work up the courage to write this. I still do not know if I have the heart to send it, but I know my writing hand will fare better than my voice, despite how rarely I take up the pen. I hope you'll forgive me.
Reuniting with you in 873 was the end of a dark chapter of my life, but it was hardly a reunion with the light. When Cid led me back to the Hideaway, I felt little different from when I was taken by the Imperials thirteen years prior. No one ever needed to chain me because I accepted whatever punishment they laid upon my head — the only crown I was ever worthy of.
But there was you. When we were under a looming blade, I grasped you. I wanted to die holding the only living thing I cared for. But the more time I had to reckon with my new reality, the more my hands shook at the thought of touching you again. Cid fed you water & massaged your throat until you swallowed. Goetz lifted you so tenderly. Much as I wanted to, I could not help. I walked so many miles just watching your feet dangling from the litter, swaying with every step.
We found ourselves at the Hideaway, you in fragile health, I a cornered animal, fearful & ready to bare teeth. They put you to bed. I was sure Tarja would see right through me if I begged to stay with you. I couldn’t have. I was so ashamed that I considered my presence an infliction upon you, a death knell for what lingered of your life. A life I'd almost taken, my own still completely undeserved. What right did I have to sit at your bedside? But Cid never suffered idle bodies, so I did not have much choice & was sent out straight away.
I cannot make sense of my thoughts at the time. My memory seems to have slipped away from me, leaving me with only little moments, white hot & terrible, twists of blades I didn't know were stuck in my body. I cannot recall what happened first. But we did travel a little while you recovered. Cid & Gav & I. I felt very unwelcome despite their best efforts. Too far gone from kindness. But I saw bits of the world that were not battlefields or barracks or the myriad of poorly places Imperials keep the enslaved, & I was traveling with Torgal. We crossed a bridge. It was high above a chasm, the rocks below so far I could not tell you the true size of them. I felt I was captive to people who were ambivalent to how much I craved punishment. They wanted me to make something of myself, but I had no way left to serve but a revenge that seemed beyond my grasp. I thought to throw myself on the rocks, dash my skull into parts, spill my blood into the river. I thought it might be a relief.
Torgal whined & it called away my attention. Even then I could have made him bear witness to it & felt no consequence, but you were at the Hideaway, still. I felt shamed to even consider doing that to you, & I thought I'd like to see you again.
I am almost at the end of this paper & my hand has begun to cramp. But I thought you should know: there has never been a time in my entire life, no matter how dark, where I haven't wanted to see you again.
[Clive will find a letter folded on his bed. The paper is very cute.]
That you felt the need to write to me at all gives me heart. I appreciate this more than you know. For the longest time I felt my spoken words to be weaker than what my hand could write. They seemed stronger on paper. I understand how quickly the heart can pound when putting down words in a place where they can live forever. I do think there is much merit in this, and so I will happily read whatever you wish to share with me, Clive. Thank you for leaving your letter. I am glad you did.
You write of the very first time you saved me. When you walked through that door, I was almost certain I was dead, my suffering over, and I had finally found you in the afterlife. Unmistakably you, but so many years older than you were the night of Phoenix Gate. I was not dead, but given a second chance and a purpose. I had spent many sleepless nights wondering what became of you. Then you told me, and I could feel how much you hurt. I knew the wounds were deep. I only wished to support you and ease the pain as much as I could. That is still my wish but we have no Phoenix Gate to journey to, no ruins to explore, no truth to discover. We only have one another and our efforts to rebuild our foundations stronger than they were.
We need not discuss our letters in person if you find it uncomfortable. I will respect that and not be the first to bring them up. Of course to hear of your pain saddens me, but I knew it was there because I recognized what I felt was so often there in your eyes. I would relieve the weight of your heavy heart in any way I can. I have always wished to hear not only your thoughts, but your feelings as well. They matter to me. I love you.
[He can't write back. The first one was hard enough, and as encouraging as her response is, he knows he will need time to muster up the wherewithal for another. It guts him. It leaves him feeling carved out, his guts exposed for all to see, even if it really is just her. Founder forbid Joshua find it around the house.
Outwardly, he's calm. He walks with Torgal and runs errands as asked and does a little lugging-around in the garden. He's friendly and conversational at dinner, coming and going at his usual hours. And in a moment of quiet, Joshua in the other room reading and Jill at the counter doing dishes, he sidles up to her and slips and arm around her waist and presses himself to her turned back and embraces her, breathing in deeply against her spine.
[He moves very quietly for such a large man. The arm around her has her breathing out in soft surprise, one hand holding a sponge and the other holding a cup. The front of her apron is damp from leaning over the sink and scrubbing a stubborn pan.
Still. She can't shoo him away for any reason. Not when she knows he must feel raw. Ashamed, even if nothing in the letter surprised her more than the existence of the letter itself. He hasn't brought it up, and this is still not him speaking of it.
This time, he can can take as long as he needs to find his courage.]
[He's quiet a beat longer, shoulders hunched, willing her to keep washing the dishes –– he can't talk about it, not even close, and she promised not to but she must wonder –– but he finally breathes out. His voice is soft:]
Hello. I'm sorry, I just–– [He peels himself off her a little, a hand going to the counter's edge just under her arm.] Had to.
[She doesn't take her hands from the sink, but she does turn just enough so that she can plant a brief kiss to his cheek. Then it's back to washing the cup.]
[The vaguest smile flits at the corner of his mouth, tugging at all that scar tissue, and he briefly turns his head to look towards the doorway. Just in case. His other hand roves along her hip, politely resting at her waist.
Get yourself together, Rosfield.]
I'm glad, then. And dinner was very nice, thank you.
I'm happy you liked it. I never thought seeing a clean plate would be so satisfying.
[Clive and Joshua are a pleasure to cook for, fortunately. If there are complaints she hasnt heard them, and Clive certainly knows how to put food away.]
Mm. [He knows he'd still clean his plate even if it was near inedible, but that it's good is certainly inspiring. He reaches to smooth her hair over her shoulder, just for an excuse to touch her, and then he eases out of her space.] You could have made twice as much and I still would have.
[She glances his way when he moves, knowing short doses are less likely to have them falling into one another too quickly. He's right to put distance between them. She rinses the cup and sets it aside to dry.]
If that's a hint, I'll take it into consideration for tomorrow's dinner.
I don't know, yet. I was going to decide in the morning. I suppose I'm open to requests...
[She's slowly but surely working her way through a stack of cooking magazines, but a proper cookbook is sitting oj the counter. The possibilities are endless as long as you know how to measure correctly.]
[Or anything with meat, really, but a man loves beef like nothing else. He also doesn't want to stretch his imagination to anything else; he's still looking at her, worried that he's revealed too much, even if she liked it.]
[Boys!!! Jill shakes her head, laughing still. She takes her hands out of the sink and dries them on a towel before grabbing a paper bag from the end of the counter.]
Here. I bought us pastries for dessert. The inside is colorful and he won't complain.
[She hands the bag to Clive, smile wide.]
He must still be hungry if he's got an ear to the kitchen. You should bring these to him with haste.
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I'm going to leave a letter for you. I tell you this because I do not want you to be frightened of it, but I am sorry if it leaves you saddened or uncomfortable just the same.
[A handwritten note on both sides of a single piece of paper, folded neatly once and quietly left on Jill's bedside table, undated:]
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Outwardly, he's calm. He walks with Torgal and runs errands as asked and does a little lugging-around in the garden. He's friendly and conversational at dinner, coming and going at his usual hours. And in a moment of quiet, Joshua in the other room reading and Jill at the counter doing dishes, he sidles up to her and slips and arm around her waist and presses himself to her turned back and embraces her, breathing in deeply against her spine.
He doesn't say anything. He just lingers there.]
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Still. She can't shoo him away for any reason. Not when she knows he must feel raw. Ashamed, even if nothing in the letter surprised her more than the existence of the letter itself. He hasn't brought it up, and this is still not him speaking of it.
This time, he can can take as long as he needs to find his courage.]
Hello there.
[Her voice is soft, the smile audible.]
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Hello. I'm sorry, I just–– [He peels himself off her a little, a hand going to the counter's edge just under her arm.] Had to.
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[She doesn't take her hands from the sink, but she does turn just enough so that she can plant a brief kiss to his cheek. Then it's back to washing the cup.]
I wanted a hug.
[Clearly, he must have sensed it.]
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Get yourself together, Rosfield.]
I'm glad, then. And dinner was very nice, thank you.
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I'm happy you liked it. I never thought seeing a clean plate would be so satisfying.
[Clive and Joshua are a pleasure to cook for, fortunately. If there are complaints she hasnt heard them, and Clive certainly knows how to put food away.]
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If that's a hint, I'll take it into consideration for tomorrow's dinner.
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What are you planning to make?
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[She's slowly but surely working her way through a stack of cooking magazines, but a proper cookbook is sitting oj the counter. The possibilities are endless as long as you know how to measure correctly.]
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[Or anything with meat, really, but a man loves beef like nothing else. He also doesn't want to stretch his imagination to anything else; he's still looking at her, worried that he's revealed too much, even if she liked it.]
But anything is good.
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Steak it is. I doubt Joshua will complain.
[With a side of potatoes. No carrots.]
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[He doesn't bother dropping his voice; if Joshua hears that, so be it.]
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I heard that!
[Definitely from Joshua's room.]
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Clive's not wrong...]
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Of course!
[He is, however, the only person permitted to eavesdrop.]
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Here. I bought us pastries for dessert. The inside is colorful and he won't complain.
[She hands the bag to Clive, smile wide.]
He must still be hungry if he's got an ear to the kitchen. You should bring these to him with haste.
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Did you already have one?
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[Joshua is to be pestered by them both, thank you.]
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[He reaches over to her to squeeze her shoulder before heading out of the kitchen.]
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