rosarianoath

He wants to say I know, and maybe he did know. But everything felt so clear then. He had a mission ahead of him, and each part of it revealed itself to him, one after the other, leaving him a clear path. Of course he'd known she wanted him. It had been easy to give her what she wanted.

Now...

"Well, you'll have a whole garden and a man to lift heavy things for you," he says. Absently, he winds a finger around a lock of her hair, and he closes his eyes. "A man to safeguard it all."

"A man to keep me safe," she says quietly. The man that's hurt her most of all. But she tries not to dwell on that. "A man to share the garden with me. Every time I'm tired of kneeling in the dirt, I remind myself that soon we'll be able to enjoy the beauty of the flowers together."

"A whole summer of sitting on the porch," he says, vaguely wistful. "The birds and the butterflies amongst the flowers..."

"That sounds perfect to me," she sighs, eyes closing. Winter was miserable, if only because of all that happened between them. Warmer months make her hopeful that the next year will somehow be better.

He hums his agreement, just a low rumble in his chest, and his hand drifts down to settle between her shoulder blades.

"I'm glad," he says. Surely, the worst is behind them.

She lasted long enough, keeping her hands to herself, she thinks. Carefully, she drapes an arm over his middle so that she can hug him. Nothing wrong with that, is there?

"I wish every day was like today."

Nothing wrong at all. He hardly moves beyond turning his head towards her scalp a little more, even though this feels like a dangerous subject to acknowledge.

"As do I," he admits.

She can't remember the last time he was so talkative. Then again, she can't remember the last time she truly sat and asked questions about his day.

"Now, if your hunt is terrible, I will take back what I said," she jokes.

"I am sure it will be a very successful evening, going into it in good spirits," he assures her, with a quiet huff of laughter. "So you needn't worry." He runs a finger along the ridge of her spine, through her shirt. "Thank you for this."

"I was going to thank you." For allowing her to be this close, where intentions could so easily go awry. She wants him, she always does, but she's satisfied with this closeness. This peace between them.

He opens his eyes briefly, looking down at her scalp.

"What for?" he asks. Nothing comes to mind.

She can feel his gaze, but she doesn't lift her head.

"For... your time. Your company, and letting me... be here, I suppose." In his bed, with him, when the lines are unclear.

He's quiet for a moment, trying to imagine what to say to that, and he settles on: "I'm just glad that you wanted to spend time with me like this."

She shakes her head slowly against his shoulder.

"Of course I do. My heart always wants me to be by your side."

Just pay no mind to the horny organs.

Is it worth risking the peace of this afternoon, the possibility of having just one good day that doesn't end in someone angry or someone hurt? If he swallows his thoughts down, maybe it can be. Then again, those thoughts still have to go somewhere in his body.

He ventures, cautiously:

"You're not usually interested in talking."

Jill considers this in a silence that feels too heavy.

"Talking hasn't been easy between us for a long time."

"I know," he says. "But in the absence of conversation, what is left to us?"

She falls quiet.

"I want us to talk more. I miss you. Your body is the easiest thing to reach for, I suppose, but I... I miss you. I miss discussing plans and hearing your thoughts and opinions on everything."

It's been awful feeling lonely when he's living in the same house.

He pauses, fingers still on her spine.

"I feel similarly," he assures her. "I suppose part of why I've enjoyed today so much. Much as I enjoy making love with you, I confess it feels troubling when that's all it is."

He's said similarly before, in a moment of frustration. It hurt then, and it hurts now.

How terrible to feel that way. She'd never want that for him.

"Forgive me," she says, and she does push herself up to look at his face, meet his eyes. "You are so much more to me than that, Clive. My actions need to reflect that."

"I know it wasn't your intention," he says. It has hurt to be largely ignored but still reached for, and to be looked at with suspicion every time he comes home at an unexpected time, as though he could betray a person with no interest in having him. He looks at her, brow furrowed, sad. "I appreciate the apology just the same, Jill."

She wants to kiss him. It's that urge to show him, physically, what she feels rather than try and carefully collect words that used to come to easily with him.

She settles for gently pushing his hair from his forehead so she can lean down and kiss his brow, but words come with it.

"It still hurt. It won't happen again."

Clive feels reluctant to agree that it hurt. It hurts her, clearly, to have to think about having done anything untoward to him, and he doesn't want that for her. But she cares for him, too, and that has to matter more. He looks up at her and nods.

"It did," he admits, anyway. It feels a little bit like wounding his own ego, but it's true. "Thank you. I forgive you."

"I've loved you for so long... that didn't begin within the last year," she quietly reminds him, though there's a small smile on her lips.

"Oh, I'm well aware of that," he says, letting a little humour creep into his voice. "I know I haven't made that easy."

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