Chapter Text
It’s midnight when he arrives, early by his standards. Inside the threshold of the foyer, Quill thrusts a bouquet of lavender into her arms and kisses her cheek. There are roses and yarrow too—Just lavender feels too…sensible, he whispers in her ear—but the small purple flowers are her favorite, and they’re the star of the show.
Jessica inhales the sweet scent and feels her shoulders drop; a sigh of contentment escapes her mouth and she can sense the satisfied smirk blooming on Quill’s face even though her eyes are closed.
There’s a crash above them, and their eyes snap to the ceiling toward the loft. This time Jessica exhales trying to gather her patience. She leans her head back against the wall. Just one night, she whispers, I just want one night.
I know, me too, Quill responds gently. His thumb smooths the worry on her brow. Go ahead and see what Tony’s gotten up to. I’ll put these in water, he offers.
She shakes her head. It’s an unspoken rule that he stays in the sitting room. He hasn’t met Anthony yet, and she isn’t quite ready to introduce them. She knows her little brother has seen the young agent coming and going, though. Just a friend, she insists to anyone who asks.
Everyone knows that’s not true.
Anthony calls her name. She is not the only girl her age playing mother, but it sometimes feels like it. Climbing the stairs, she pauses at the door to her bedroom. All these years later, boxes were still arriving from Donald and Celia’s travels. She should start going through the some of them tomorrow.
When she gets up to the loft, everything is in place, including Anthony in his bed. He’s perfectly fine, just seems to have trouble sleeping and wants to be tucked in. Is your friend here? he grumbles. He already knows the answer, it’s why he called her up here in the first place.
Quill is waiting patiently for her on the sofa when she finally comes back down. True to their rule, his hands are still wrapped around the bouquet. He gives her a tired smile. He’s lost people too—they don’t talk about it much, but it’s there, their losses and the accompanying whispers on the street tying them together. It’s new, this thing with Quill, but it’s easy. It’s so easy.
Jessica brings in a vase of water and shears, carefully unwrapping the butcher paper before cutting the stems onto the coffee table. She feels his eyes on her as she arranges the flowers. It’s a soothing ritual they have, the only time she doesn’t mind being watched. When she’s finished, Quill rewraps the discarded clippings into the brown paper and tucks it into his jacket. His hand cups her cheek, and she melts into him. She just wants to stay here.