Chapter Text
Clive and Jill find sleep on bedrolls in Hanna’s barn.
Jill says good night and rolls away. Clive’s thoughts race. His first thought is how beautiful Jill has become. And she had stared back at him, inching closer—was there some universe in which she shared his feelings?
As a child, she had always enjoyed his company. She would even seek him out, to make sure he was all right. He remembered how as a boy he always used to think that he was eventually going to marry Jill, even though he didn’t fully understand what that entailed. The loose-lipped servants and handmaidens all expressed predictions of their eventual union. When Clive turned thirteen, his mother started closely overseeing his behavior at balls, which he already loathed. Duchess Annabella wanted to ensure that he was assessing, as she was, all the guests, their houses, families, relations, and daughters. Clive still had a few years before a match would be confirmed. But one evening, he recalled, after a few balls under the suffocating eye of his mother, he rolled his eyes and grumbled,
“Can’t I just marry Jill?”
The Duchess paused, a little surprised at his sudden question.
Then she laughed at him. Indeed, Jill may well be another “savage” Northerner, but she was a princess, and even she has value and was not to be married to just anyone, Clive included.
“If that one is being married to anyone in your father’s line, it will be to Joshua, and I have my doubts on that.”
This crushed young Clive more than he ever thought it could. The one bright thing about his future he thought seemed likely to happen—he still wasn’t good enough for it, for her. Clive recalled having hid himself for the rest of the evening just to collect himself. He later ran into ten year-old Jill, who seemed rather cheerful. She actually always did like balls, she said, much to Clive’s surprise. He asked why, finally. Well, ever since the Duchess started instructing Clive towards this inane social reconnaissance, Jill found it amusing to see him squirm uncomfortably and rather enjoyed it.
In the barn now, Clive looks over and see Jill on her side facing away from him. She isn’t a child anymore, and he can’t expect that any of her fond memories she may have of him have matured into something deeper now.
Then Clive’s mind shifts to their earlier conversation just before heading to sleep. He winces at himself for being a blind, self-involved fool, for not seeing that Jill, from her thirteen years of captivity, probably has the same immense pain and guilt that he feels from Phoenix Gate. And she bravely told him about it, about being ready to accept death, and didn’t shed a tear all the while. And all he said was “I’m sorry.” He may as well have said nothing. No wonder she’s lying facing away from him; she doesn’t need him. If his mother’s statement about his marriage prospects had made him feel small, his apparent failure to comfort Jill makes him feel like nothing.
But he looks back and sees that Jill has now curled herself into more of a ball, tucking in her arms—she’s cold. He should do something now, shouldn’t he? Young Clive wouldn’t have hesitated to shelter Jill from the cold rain as they were fleeing a thunderstorm. But again, Jill is a woman now, and to lay a hand on her would mean something else entirely.
At the very least, he could get up and find her a damn quilt. He had just expressed not being able to enter Hanna’s house on account of his guilt, but he’ll enter for Jill. When he returns with a quilt he had found on a chair, he gently drapes it over Jill. She stirs, but doesn’t wake. On impulse, Clive tucks the quilt above her shoulders and allows himself to press his hands into her shoulders and her back. Surely, this is fine, and not forward, he hopes. But it is what he wants, regardless.
After saying goodnight, Jill shifts on her side, lying to face away from Clive. She can’t believe she just stared shamelessly into his eyes, inches away from his face. Why did she do that? She had nothing more to say. All she meant by Metia and the Heavens returning Clive to her was that she would be blessed to have one of her dearest friends near her yet again. But as the words had left her mouth, she sensed a possessive tone in them, as if her belonged to her, or she to him. That was a bit much, although, she accepts, it does not run counter to her inner desires.
But she had to get lost in his sapphire eyes. And then run away like a fool.
In many ways, this Clive was still the same boy she grew up with. But this way his figure had matured, his jawline more prominent, his shoulders broader… Earlier, when he had removed all that Sanbrequois infantry armor, leaving him down to just a shirt, Jill couldn’t help but notice all the fine muscles he had developed, just underneath. In some way now, Jill feels that this Clive is different, but she’s not quite sure how. Is he different because now she looks at him and wonders how it would feel to have his arms cradle her close to that toned chest of his, how it would feel to wrap her arms around his waist and press her palms into his back…
Jill isn’t sure what has gotten into her. She has seen men before, even ones with similar bodies to Clive’s. Besides, it would make sense for Clive, though he had always been like an elder brother to her, to be physically attractive. But that doesn’t mean she should want to press herself up against him for that reason alone. Jill knows she should stop feeding this fire of conflicting feelings, but the night is starting to turn terribly chilly, and the thought of Clive holding her gives her some warmth. She curls up into a ball and holds her own arms. If only she could provide herself her own warmth…
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Jill and Clive make their steady march towards Phoenix Gate through blighted lands.
Hearing nothing in the air but their own footsteps, Clive finds his own gait changed, now that he is garbed not in whatever his unit had on hand, but in clothes that had been tailored for his father. They do fit him well, and his body seems to move with greater dignity, to take each step with assurance. It feels easier, even more pleasant, to take in each breath. Maybe this road to Phoenix Gate is also leading him to his old self, one that would be less afraid of being completely honest with Jill, and tell her everything he felt…
If his memories are anything to go off of, he should feel pretty confident about her accepting him. But he would be naïve to assume that Jill is the same girl he last saw from thirteen years ago. So much has happened in her life; she could be a completely different person. She could have moved on, unlike him.
He shouldn’t have turned away so quickly when Jill complimented him in his new fatigues; he missed the opportunity to get a better look at her. He thought he saw her blush herself, just a little, as if guiltily taking in the sight of him just for herself. But he couldn’t be sure. Likely, she was just being polite.