Chapter Text
They go out—pretend that nothing happened that morning—that she didn’t almost self-immolate in the bed next to him. Wants to be gentle with her, give her the time she needs, coax the truth out of her with love—but she said it had to do with the Ori.
She saw massive armies and fleets of ships powering on to greet her, that she felt the cold cut silk billow over her shoulders, and across her chest as she wore an ornamental gown, and when she gave suggestions, they listened to her willfully.
When she gave commands, they followed without a single apprehension.
She wears jean shorts and a billowing white blouse that he hasn’t seen on her before.
To give her as much freedom as he can, they’ll go to the mall and separate to meet back at the food court in a few hours. He gives her money, lets her buy what she wants for clothes and shoes, and he thinks at some point in her life, she would have been delighted by a shopping spree because he can sort of the see the remnants of the old her stirring around behind her wide eyes while she fingers the fabric on an ornate shirt.
But usually all he gets is a quiet ‘thank you’ before she shuffles off, lost in a crowd of people who don’t know what she’s done for them, what’ s been done to her in the name of them.
He’ll sits at a single table in the food court with a medium coffee and a book on coping with child loss, reading it until she comes back.
Today, though, today they go to a hardware store. Big and lofty selling everything from patio furniture and gardening supplies to kitchen appliances and sports gear. They stroll through the outside garden center, taking in the different colors of plants, and she reaches forward to a leafy sprout, pruning the dead leaves from it.
He came here with an intention though, and she lets him take her hand to guide her to the aisle housing the supplies he’s looking for. Sure, if they wanted a weekend activity, they could do the old boy scouts cheap version by slathering peanut butter on a pinecone and rolling it in seeds and then hanging it from one of the trees pruned in their backyard to be a perfect circle—but he wants something special for them.
He wants something to remember their daughter by.
The birdfeeder she picks out is classic. A little wooden platform held up by two walls and covered with a roof. She holds the feeder while they walk to the car as he carried the two huge bags of seeds because he never wants the feeder to be empty.
He never wants to be without birds in their backyard.
By the time they get home it’s starting to get late. It’s not dark yet, but the sun is on a decline as she stands on her tippy toes, hanging the loaded feeder onto the hook he installed on the wall. Something about drilling into the clean, unmarred brick, making holes and scars, made the whole situation a lot more cathartic.
He lets her hang it, and she’s so careful with how she moves her fingers, with how she lifts the chain and supports the structure from the bottom, perching up on her tippy toes and removing her hands from the birdhouse slowly, so it doesn’t sway or jostle—so not a single one of the seeds fall.
Once it’s hung, she stands, her hands clasped lightly against her chest, watching the birdhouse, like she might have watched their daughter take her first steps, or say her first words.
He slowly sidles up beside her, sharing her view of the house full of seeds, ready to nourish and welcome so many birds except the one they couldn’t.
She allows him to slip his arm around her shoulders, feeling the coolness of her skin once again in the summer weather, the soft cotton of her tank top.
He kisses the back of her head, smelling her familiar aroma of shampoo, and the natural perfume of her skin.
“I love you.” Rests his head against hers as she turns towards him, her cool fingers skimming over his cheeks, tracing the bridge of his nose, the wrinkles over his forehead and under his eyes, the dip in his chin and the cracks in his lips. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too.”
The words are truer than ever, he can feel it in the way she holds him back, her breathe against his cheek and the softness of her lips against his neck.
“You’re all I need.”
It’s cliché, but it’s true.
It’s always been true.
“I know, Darling.”
Her hands become more fervent on him, her lips more explorative, and it’s not until his body starts responding until he really notices. The familiar sensation of her fingers raking through his hair, of her hips pushing against his, the taste of her lips and the pressure of her tongue working it’s way into his mouth.
Intimacy, but especially sex, has been an issue with them since moving into together again. They’ve had sex, but it’s always been initiated by him, and allowed by her. Sure, he gets to get off, he comes inside of her while she strokes his back, but when he rolls off her, she doesn’t engage him. Doesn’t hold him. Doesn’t let him touch her in any way sexual or pleasurable. Just puts up with it for him.
But she’s tugging on his earlobe with her teeth, sucking in a way that he didn’t know he missed, didn’t remember what the intimacy felt like.
His hands slip down her body, cupping under her ass and lifting her up against him, and she squeals, releasing a small giggle, that sounds like a church chorus.
The last time he carried her inside a house, she was in the center square in Ver Isca, and he was so afraid of what might happen. He still is, but when he sets her on the bed, pulling that tank top off, littering kisses across the scar on her stomach, until she pushes him away because he’s tickling, all he can think is how they’re finally starting to be okay with each other.