Work Text:
Claire wants to think that whatever they have, it's important.
Claire isn't sure whether to trust that thought, the feeling that tells her that she is different, or special, even if she knows that Jill would never allow anyone to hold her every night after a mission, after every nightmare, that Jill isn't the kind of person to let a person stay under her sheets for more than one night, that she doesn't let her lovers trace all her scars, that Jill doesn't look at everyone with that inexplicable glow but so full of emotion, of excitement, of passion.
Despite feeling doubtful, she also feels proud to be the object of Jill's affection, that Jill looks at her with that softness at the edge of her eyes, know that she's the only one who can see that side of Jill, so sweet, so vulnerable.
Many times, Claire wishes she could know what goes through Jill's mind, what her thoughts are when she stares at her, when she cradles her face and kisses her at the most unexpected moments, all the times she makes a point of appreciating every detail of Claire's face, of her body, of her eyes.
Often, Claire knows she wouldn't want to see what transpires within Jill's mind after each nightmare, soaked with sweat, terrified, quaking, breathless and experiencing a dizzying panic attack, every sensation she ever felt in Raccoon City or during Wesker's mind control returning with the power of a cyclone.
For nights like those, Claire has learned not to ask. Even if it's hard, even if it often feels like they're stuck in an invisible but oh-so-palpable spot, Jill's eyes always far away, cloudy and tears stagnant. So she does the best she can: slips her arms around her neck or shoulders, presses her closer, holds her face, removes the tuft of hair that sticks to her forehead, helps her breathe again, holds her until the room no longer feels suffocating and the darkness is no longer so threatening.
It happened every so often. Sometimes, tears would fall from Jill's eyes, and of course, of course Claire wanted to take that weight off Jill's shoulders, that discomfort that plagued her mind and her days, and God, really, Claire would do anything to make that end, to set Jill free from her past.
Claire thought of them right now, in the middle of the night, a strong arm tucked around her waist, her hand intertwined with hers. Jill's lips brushing against her neck tickling her, steady, shallow breathing hitting her skin.
Claire squeezes her eyes shut and holds their hands closer together. I love you, she wants to say, even if Jill isn't conscious to hear. But she fails, like all the times she's tried.
She wonders why it's so hard for her to say those three words to Jill. She knows maybe it's the fear of overwhelming her, of making whatever they have disappear, of looking like an idiot, of Jill seeing her as an idiot.
"Claire," she thinks she hears, barely a whisper. Then, clearer, "Claire, are you awake?" Jill murmured, voice muffled and hoarse, moving against her back.
Claire sighed, knowing it was useless to pretend she wasn't. "Yes."
"Are you okay?"
Claire's mouth opens a couple of times, her throat closing at the slightest hint of those words. "Jill..." She pauses heavily, distracted by Jill's kisses on her neck. "Do you love me?"
It sounds more pathetic than she'd like, still, she holds her breath until Jill responds.
"Of course I love you, Claire".
Claire licks her lips. "Even if it was a worm?"
Silence.
"Yes, go back to sleep Claire."
"Jill?"
"Mhmm?"
More silence.
"I love you too. Even if you was a worm."
Claire thinks she feels Jill's smile against her skin for the rest of the night.