Chapter Text
Sun filtered in through the gritty windows. Tilly and you sat in silence on the piano bench in the front room of Shady Belle. You held her hands in yours and with a wet cloth, you gently clean the wounds of today’s horrors. Her knuckles are split and bruised. Grit and blood are embedded under finger nails. She shakes slightly… or maybe you’re the one whose shaking… it’s hard to tell. Your hands are no better off than hers, but she had little left in her to fight your urge to take care of her first. Her eyes are red and puffy and wet lines through the dust that settled on her skin proved all tears she had shed.
Your breath comes in shudders, partially from the sadness that hollowed out your insides and partly from the fatigue. Hours ago, fury had raged through your veins like fire; you’d been an unstoppable force. You’d felt as if you could tear a man in half and you nearly had… but now all that energy and anger had faded and you were left skittish and desperately wanting to hold the woman you loved.
But she didn’t want to be held. She didn’t want to be touched. So you watched her hands intently, ignoring the water that dripped from the cloth onto your skirts, and memorized every feature, your hands moving as gently as you could manage. She stared out the window over your shoulder, watching the sun as it sank low and as a gentle breeze rocked the trees that drooped lazily around the crumbling plantation home.
You both ignored Arthur, who had spent the entire time you had been back in camp hovering about the halls; pacing up and down and walking past either doorway so he could check on the pair of you. He was like a hound dog: reliable, persistent and empathetic, and ready to scare off anyone who might disturb you two. His constant footsteps made a comforting rhythm, cutting through the incoherent cacophony that was buzzing insects, bellowing gators and Dutch’s gramophone upstairs.
You finished working on her hands and began to focus on her wrists, burnt and cut from the ropes that had bound her. She hissed as you touched the cloth to the ragged, injured skin. “I’m sorry.” You say quickly.
You move to pull away to give her a moment, but she grabs your wrists, keeping you close. “You know,” She said quietly, eyes meeting yours, “I… I could never thank you enough for… for coming for me.”
Fat, hot tears stream down your cheeks and drop down, splashing against your blouse. Thank you? She didn’t need to thank you! You should have been more vigilant! You should have been faster! She didn’t… Emotions well up inside you live a flood, overwhelming your thoughts but you take a shaky breath and swallow them. “No.” You say firmly, “No ‘thank you’s. No ‘I’m sorry’s. I’ll have none of it.” You said as sharply as you could manage, “I did not beat a man near to death because I expected an apology.”
You watch her as she looks at you, taken aback, for a moment trying to gather all the of the right words to say. “I love you, Tilly. I do what I do because I love you. Having you back… knowing you’re safe… that’s all the I need.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks once more, but this time they were accompanied by a relieved smile. “And you,” She said softly, leaning forward and pressing her forehead against yours, “You’re all I need.”
A relief washes over you. She sounded more like herself. You were about to say something when you could hear a small voice from the next room over. “Uncle Arthur… are you… crying?”
You and Tilly both remain still, remembering that Arthur would have heard everything you had said to each other. “No.” Came Arthur’s hastily grunted reply.
You both giggled softly to yourselves, knowing he was lying. The man’s heart was soft, even if he would never admit it. “I love you, Tilly Jackson.”
She sighed, looking relaxed for the first time since you had got back to camp. “And I love you.”