[Once more, a handwritten note left on Jill's bedside table, undated:]
Jill,
I wanted to write to you again but I cannot decide what is more mortifying. To imagine you reading this at all? To imagine you thinking ill of me for being unable to respond to your thoughtful reply? To delve into my own thoughts? But I must try.
I have never been good at letters, have I? In my solar there is a box of old letters I've kept & I've reread them from time to time when I feel poorly, but I cannot say there is a soul in the Hideaway who knows what my handwriting looks like. It's terrible. I think every tutor I've ever had would switch me across the palms if they saw. I am sad to think about it.
I do not like being in one of these fierce moods where all I wish to do is wallow, but they come upon me all the time now, in a way they haven't since I was first freed. One night, when you were still under Tarja's care, I found myself in one & unable to sleep. I was upset at having a bed, in particular that a bed had been spared for me when so many others could have used it. In the company of people who had taken great pains to make me feel welcome & cared for, I thought it would be ungrateful to sleep on the floor instead. How can a man be so miserable when he has escaped much worse? Cid set me right, of course, telling me off for making it so complicated & setting me right to work. What was said between us did not matter so much that he sat & listened to me at all.
Do you miss Cid? I knew him so briefly that it feels foolish to care so deeply, but he changed the course of my life so firmly that any other path I could have walked was cut away entirely. I wonder what he would think of me now, & if it would make him cross to see what a mess I've made of Valisthea, all for nothing, & brought that pain & suffering to this place. I would hope not but I cannot help but believe if he was the one smacking me upside the head I'd quit wallowing & make things right. I loved him fiercely for the time I knew him.
There is no need for you to assume the worst. That you bring yourself to write to me is enough. I understand that it is difficult for you, and so I have no need for a response to my reply. An embrace tells me all I need to know. I hope we are both learning more about you through these letters. After all this time, there's still more to uncover. I see that as a good thing. I want to know every part of you, Clive. Even the parts you wish to protect me from, for you shouldn't feel the need to carry anything alone.
That said, my replies may be delayed as I must interpret your handwriting.
(I jest. Did I make you smile? My heart flutters whenever I manage to make you laugh. I would not have been able to keep a straight face in person. Your handwriting is perfectly adequate, but I will gladly tutor you if it robs you of sleep.)
I also miss Cid. He would enjoy my joke, I think. I wish he and I had more opportunities to speak with one another. There was much I was still uncomfortable to speak of to you, let alone him. I owe him my life as much as I owe it to you. Much like you, he inspired me. He gave me a purpose that was more than slaughter. I would sometimes pray that he watched over us, and knew that we would carry on his legacy and keep Mid out of too much trouble. Both daunting tasks.
I wish he was here with us now You're right--he would make sense of our troubles. I believe he loved you, too. He believed in you, and he was not wrong in that. He would be proud of you. I know you must already be denying that in your head, frowning as you read my words, but it is the truth. You have accomplished so much, and there is still more yet to do. My faith has not always been strong, especially here, but if anything I believe in you. I have found myself in dark places, but I am determined to regain my hope in Valisthea.
You are very quick to think Joshua, myself, or Cid would think ill of you. Joshua does not. I do not. Cid would not. Again, I know you do not want to hear that because you do not believe it to be true. You are very much like Cid, and not because you took on his name and his cause. You are both remarkable and unique men that put their entire being into what they do. I admire that. I have always admired you.
If ever you are in a mood and wish to wallow with the comfort of company, you are welcome to come to me. Come into my bed and I will wrap my arms around you as you try to find rest. I would like to offer you that much. We need not talk if you do not wish to speak of your troubles, but I will always listen. I wish to be better at listening with you.
[He comes to her in the early morning, just before sunrise. He hasn’t slept at all, even after hunting, and it’s clear in the dark circles under his eyes. He shouldn’t disturb her rest, either, but it’s been long hours stewing over her letter and he doesn’t want to be alone anymore.
In boxers and a t-shirt, he slinks into her room, rounding her bed and lifting the covers carefully. He cannot hope to not disturb her, and he fears her permission isn’t enough, but crawls into bed with her just the same, laying down to spoon her.]
[She'd hoped he would come to her room, but did not think he would. When she hears the floorboards creak, she finds herself awake and moving over just enough so that his ass won't hang off the bed when he curls around her. She shifts to fit herself flush against him, tugging his arms snugly around her like a blanket. It's still warm out and he's ever a furnace, but she's missed this and she isn't ashamed to show it.]
Are you alright?
[It's all she'll ask in a whisper, keeping her head on the pillow and eyes on the window.]
I care for you more than you care for yourself. [That's no revelation.] It saddens me because so often you are a blessing to those you meet. You are to me.
[Jill is quiet again, breathing slow and deep, soaking in the comfort of being in his arms. She'd like to roll over and kiss him, but that's a dangerous door to open. Better they simply talk and fine comfort in one another's warmth. No distractions.]
I hate what your mother did to you.
[An abrupt statement, but one she keeps returning to over and over. His father was complicit, but she dares not to say that and risk upsetting him.]
She was always so awful. No wonder you always put yourself last when that was how you were raised.
[There are no excuses for his mother. He knows it, but it wounds him terribly to voice that, lest he finally let go of any possibility of misunderstanding or change.
But there can't be change, can there? His mother is dead.
He swallows his breath.]
I still wonder what I could have done differently.
[Her hand slides up his wrist to take his, touch gentle, yet firm when she laces their fingers together.
His mother had a sad end after a sad life, but Jill will never forgive what she did to them all. But she keeps her anger at bay, heart aching for Clive. Her poor Clive.]
My love, there was nothing you could do. You were a child. It was her duty to love and nurture you. She did not do that.
The Phoenix. She was good to the Phoenix. That was the only way.
[Perhaps Ifrit would have earned him some kindness, but Jill thinks he would be just another weapon. Used as the Ironblood used her. Even Dion found himself and Bahamut used to hammer down threats--his only use, once Anabella arrived.]
There's no excuse for her. I can't imagine knowing you and not loving you.
[She draws his hand up so that she can kiss his knuckles. Surprisingly, she doesn't think about the damage they did to Dion. She's here, with Clive, wishing life had treated him better. He's always deserved better.]
It's not your fault.
[He says he knows, but she knows that isn't entirely true. One conversation won't change years of feeling like he did something wrong.]
If there was anything I would have you believe without question, it would be that.
[That he questions it immediately feels shameful to him, but it's difficult to not let his mind run through the labyrinth of ways he could have done things differently and found a way out for all of them. His mother was complicated, he wants to say. She had miseries of her own. She died terrified and alone and crippled by loss, and no doubt with her own regrets.
I always told myself I could endure her because I could have been made to scrub the kitchen floors or empty chamber pots instead of being raised alongside you and Joshua. It made her tolerable.
[She was never a mother to Jill. That made it easier. She rubs her thumb against Clive's hand, holding it closer to her chest.]
I only worry that she's influenced me in ways I can't see. When I get upset, or angry, and I think back on what I've said... I often ask myself if I could hear her saying it. Sometimes I think I can.
[His father was kind to her, warmer than she'd ever anticipated, but he was not her father. By law, she thought, were she lucky. But it never came to pass, and it was always more likely that she'd be married to some noble far from Rosaria.
She kisses his hand again. She's only ever wanted to be his bride.]
Of course. It's difficult not to, isn't it?
[As long as he doesn't see his mother in her, she's fine.]
Joshua would have wished her to come to the Hideaway with us.
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In boxers and a t-shirt, he slinks into her room, rounding her bed and lifting the covers carefully. He cannot hope to not disturb her, and he fears her permission isn’t enough, but crawls into bed with her just the same, laying down to spoon her.]
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Are you alright?
[It's all she'll ask in a whisper, keeping her head on the pillow and eyes on the window.]
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I will be.
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You don't need to be. Not in this bed.
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[He feels wired. He wonders if she can feel his heart pounding against her back.
He murmurs:]
I truly do hope he’d be proud of how many Mothercrystals I destroyed, at the very least.
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He would. He had no doubt you would go far. I could see that when he looked at you.
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I wish I could see things through your eyes as well as you do.
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I'm sorry you so often bear the brunt of my moods, Jill. You see the best of me but then the worst as well.
[He tucks his nose against the nape of her neck.]
I never supposed to matter like this.
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I hate what your mother did to you.
[An abrupt statement, but one she keeps returning to over and over. His father was complicit, but she dares not to say that and risk upsetting him.]
She was always so awful. No wonder you always put yourself last when that was how you were raised.
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It could have been worse. She ignored me more often than not. Were I not left to be my father's son... I hesitate to think about that.
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[Her memories of her mother are distant and fade more and more as the years passed, but she remembers feeling loved and treated well when little.]
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[There are no excuses for his mother. He knows it, but it wounds him terribly to voice that, lest he finally let go of any possibility of misunderstanding or change.
But there can't be change, can there? His mother is dead.
He swallows his breath.]
I still wonder what I could have done differently.
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His mother had a sad end after a sad life, but Jill will never forgive what she did to them all. But she keeps her anger at bay, heart aching for Clive. Her poor Clive.]
My love, there was nothing you could do. You were a child. It was her duty to love and nurture you. She did not do that.
[And what wounds that has left.]
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[He squeezes her hand, breathing slowly against her shoulder as he presses his mouth there briefly.]
She was good to Joshua.
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[Perhaps Ifrit would have earned him some kindness, but Jill thinks he would be just another weapon. Used as the Ironblood used her. Even Dion found himself and Bahamut used to hammer down threats--his only use, once Anabella arrived.]
There's no excuse for her. I can't imagine knowing you and not loving you.
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I know, Jill. I know. She should have loved me.
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It's not your fault.
[He says he knows, but she knows that isn't entirely true. One conversation won't change years of feeling like he did something wrong.]
If there was anything I would have you believe without question, it would be that.
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He presses another kiss to her shoulder.]
Perhaps someday I'll believe it.
[And then, concerned:]
She was crueller to you than she was to me.
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[She was never a mother to Jill. That made it easier. She rubs her thumb against Clive's hand, holding it closer to her chest.]
I only worry that she's influenced me in ways I can't see. When I get upset, or angry, and I think back on what I've said... I often ask myself if I could hear her saying it. Sometimes I think I can.
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[Could he be closer any closer to her, even if he crawled into her skin? Hearing her talk about this is painful, and yet he wants to be this close.]
I've never thought you to be anything like her. But I think of her when...
[He doesn't really want to say it. It feels like a mistake to bring it up, but here it is.]
Well, any time I encounter women like her. Strict, opinionated, rude.
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She kisses his hand again. She's only ever wanted to be his bride.]
Of course. It's difficult not to, isn't it?
[As long as he doesn't see his mother in her, she's fine.]
Joshua would have wished her to come to the Hideaway with us.
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[They scare him, and he loathes to admit he scares at all. He sighs.]
I would have let him bring her.
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