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Jill had fallen asleep the moment they had set foot into Obolus' small dingy, the long travel home even with the chocobos had tired her out entirely. Clive had thrown the idea of leaving Rosalith the same way they had entered it overboard the moment he had helped Jill into the saddle of her yellow hen, her pale face a grimace, trying to hide the pain. They had pushed through the night, not resting in Port Isolde either, afraid that people who had still been in the city started to put the obvious together, just as Kupka clearly had done. That Clive Rosfield was not as dead as everyone believed and that he was not only alive, but the infamous outlaw that the whole of Storm was trying to get their hands on.
They had taken a break the next day at Martha's for Jill's and the chocobos' sake, before pressing on. Jill needed to be looked over and not by some village phsicker, who relied on the feeble healing magic that some Bearers possessed, but by Tarja. After all, there was still a difference between a man, a Bearer or a Dominant.
Clive frowned, his arm wrapped around Jill's waist to keep her against his own body, her head resting on his shoulder. Despite her exhaustion, Clive could feel her muscles tremble, the curse wrecking her body and he ground his teeth together, balling his free hand into a fist. His eyes met Gav's, but right now there was no need for words.
When Obolus had fastened the boat to the dock, Clive didn't hesitate a moment and with a whisper of an apology, he lifted Jill into his arms, waking her from her slumber.
"Clive, what's wrong?" she murmured, blearily opening her eyes. It took her a moment to recognize where she was, but when she tried to break out of his hold to get back onto her own feet, but Clive just held her closer, crushing her against his chest.
"Nothing, it's alright," he whispered, steadying himself, before stepping from the boat onto the dock. "We are home."
Once again, Jill wiggled in his arms. "I can walk," she growled indignantly, but he just shook his head.
"I've got you." His voice was nothing more but a whisper, barely understandable to his own ears, but she heard him and with a long sigh, she gave up her fighting, well knowing that he was not only stronger than her, but also more determined.
"Just this once," she sighed, her cheeks beginning to burn crimson, when Clive stepped into the elevator, letting Gav handle the lever to bring them up. She buried her face into the leather of his cape and his vest, closing her eyes again with another huff und this time, Clive couldn't help the smile spreading over his face. She was mad at him, but they both knew, that Jill's legs would not carry her. She was too exhausted and too tired...
... and Clive felt a cold hand reach around his heart, pressing it together so painfully, that it skipped a beat. He had come so fucking close to losing Jill and if it hadn't been for Torgal, he would and he himself had been unable to do anything against it. For a moment the raw and blank fear was choking him, forcing his heart to beat faster in panic, the blood roaring in his ears and he tightened his hold around his precious load as if he never wanted to let her go.
The fear had always been there in Rosalith, but Clive had pushed it back. At first it had been the fear for his home and for the people that had been caught in between the feud, but the fear for Jill had always been different. It was all consuming, like the fires of Ifrit. They said that fear made fools wise, but if there was one thing that Clive was sure of, that his fear for Jill did not make him wise. It froze him, paralyzed him and even if it was only for a few moments, it was enough to be killed on the battlefield. He had learned that while being with the Bastards easy enough, but all he had learned as an Imperial had no value when Jill was involved. His beautiful, strongwilled and devoted Jill. Always willing to help, always stepping up when he was falling short. Always there for him, while he could never be there for her. Growling, he pushed the thoughts to the side, tried to concentrate on the present and on Jill in his arms. This wasn't the time to think about what had been. He had to make sure that something like this would never repeat itself, that Jill would never fall into the hands of an enemy again. She had been through so much already.
The jostling of the elevator brought Clive's attention back to the Hideaway and he took a deep breath. He stepped out of the lift and without sparing the people in the near area a glance, he turned towards the mess and with that, towards the infirmary. Jill would not be pleased about it, but just like Clive she was well aware of the fact, that she needed to be checked over and that she would most likely be forced to rest. She was still trembling and shaking in his arms and Clive felt her fingers twitch in the strings of his shirt. She was in pain and stubborn to the bone to admit it.
"Clive?" Jill's voice was a whisper and without stopping his long strides, he looked down, her silver hair hiding her face. "Are you all right?"
"Should this not be my question?" he replied softly, forcing himself to relax his hold on her, so she was still safely in his arms, but no longer crushed to his chest in despair. "You are the one who went through shit the most in these last days."
"I'll be fine."
Clive suppressed the urge to sigh, simple because he knew that this was nothing else but a straight lie. Maybe Jill would be fine at one point again, but certainly not in the next few days or even weeks. The recuperation on the ship back to Port Isolde had been way to short and their supplies limited, while Kupka's attack had followed too fast upon her strenious prime. Passing Otto by, he simply gave the man a short nod and Otto pulled his lips into a tight line, when he got a glance at Jill. He would give the man a full report later, fill in the gaps that Gav didn't know of, but Otto already knew that something had gone very, very wrong.
The stairway to the infirmary was long and short at the same time and Clive knocked the door open with the tip of his boot. "Tarja!" he called and the young woman came around the room divider with a few quick steps. Whatever greeting had been on her lips fell away in an instant, when she recognized Jill in his arms. Without a word she signed towards the nearest empty bed and Clive carefully put Jill down, before stepping back.
"Out!" Tarja ordered and even though Clive wanted to protest for a moment, he knew better and with a nod, he left the infirmary. Yet, his legs refused to carry him further than a few steps. Otto was just down there and he should talk to him. He definitely had the time, since Tarja would need a while to look Jill over completely, yet Clive was rooted to the spot, his heart once again held in an iron grip by his own fear. He walked the two steps to the handrail opposite to the infirmary doors and leaned over the wood, inhaling the air with a long draw. Now that they were finally home and Jill in capable hands, he felt his own exhaustion deep in his bones.
Rosalith had been his home, but he couldn't let what happened there stop him, he couldn't linger on it. Not now, with Kupka still somewhere in Valisthea. He had to make plans not only to protect Jill, but also the people under his aegis. The Hideaway had to stay safe and hidden, and so Clive pushed his worry and the sickening, suffocating fear for Jill into the back of his mind, concentrating on what had to be done now. And yet, he couldn't stop the trembling and shaking of his hand, not even when he balled his hand into a fist, for a moment wishing to be outside of the deadlands to just conjur a flame and feel it burn away the fury in his heart.
He was exhausted to the bone and yet he felt Ifrit restless beneath his skin, pushing the bounds because he needed a release but Ifrit was still like a beast in a cage. Yes, burning away the fear, the anger and the rage by priming and roaring everything into the night was certainly one way to deal with it, but not at the Invincible. They had already lost one home and they for sure wouldn't be able to build another. Not to mention that Clive didn't even want to think about the emotional trauma of those, who had survived Titan's attack. Titan... Hugo Kupka, the bane of his last five years. And not, that he was able to prime anyways.
Clive's thoughts were confusing even to him, uncontrolled and tumbling over each other. Memories starting to interweave with feelings and fears were taking shape like dark whisps of nightmares, wrapping themselves around his consciousness. After he had given Otto a full report, he had spoken to Gav, before returning to the infirmary, hearing what he had already assumed at this point. The curse on Jill's beautiful body had spread once again, and even with Tarja's tonics and elixirs, Jill was still in pain and forced to rest. Clive had spoken to her for a bit, before he had already seen her body starting to shake and he had bid her farewell, so she could lie down properly and get some rest under Tarja's watchful eyes.
He missed her chilling, but comforting warmth already and the bed felt cold and empty without her by his side. Clive hadn't even undressed, just taken off his armor and had gone to bed, staring at the sinking sun over the black and blightened waters of the lake. Now the sun had disappeared entirly and he didn't even know anymore how long he had been staring at the moon, counting the stars beside it, trying to find the constellations that his father had taught him on the balcony of Rosalith castle. Clive ground his teeth, his thoughts once again returning to the events from a few days ago.
He had known full well, that they were all walking into a trap, but seeing Rosalith on the brink of destruction had made him lose his cool and a part of him had pushed onward without thinking. Jill had been by his side the whole time, using her ice without hesitation and Clive ground his teeth against the guilt that was turning his stomach into knots. He should have have never let her come with him, should have insisted that she stayed at the Hideaway to recover. And despite the knowledge, the trap had sprung and Clive had been unable to protect Jill. Protect her from Kupka and his minions, protect her from being put into into crystal fetters once again.
Clive tried to push the memory of the feeling when the fetters had snapped around his wrist away. He had worn crystal fetters before, actually had a pair of them in a box in his quarters just in case, but in that moment the fetters had not only cut him off the aether around him and the aether within, but it also had cut him off all hope to free Jill. His knees had buckled then in a moment of despair and weakness and with a growl in his throat, Clive threw his legs over the edge of the bed, pulling on his boots. He needed some fresh air and just something to do, even if it was walking around the Hideaway in circles from his quarters to the foredeck, to the mess and along the infirmary and the bunks, before going up to the atrium to make his way back down again over Blackthorne's smithy and from there he could walk the round again until his mind began to settle and his body began to tire out.
The Hideaway was finally silent, only a few lookouts on their nightshift but everyone else had turned in for the night and even the bar had closed for the hour. Clive took a deep breath and soon found himself on the foredeck, inhaling the cold air of the night, which felt much colder outside of his quarters despite the lack of windows and curtains on one side of it. Jill still complained about this and tried to get him to finally do something about it. That and the fact that he was living in their since five years and only had one pillow. A pillow that she hogged, if they had the rare chance of being home at the Hideaway at the same time. Clive smiled at the memory, the sound of Jill's voice when she told him again to do something about it. There was an exasperation in her voice, but also a certain mirth and amusement and sometimes Clive did it on purpose, simply because he loved that tone of her voice.
Leaning over the handrail, Clive watched the moon reflected on the water and his mind refused to let him come to rest, no matter how hard he tried and after a few more minutes, he gave into the simply fact, that there was only one place he would find peace tonight and that was neither in his own quarters, nor out here in the night. With a sigh and a heavy heart Clive turned towards the infirmary. Even if Jill was sleeping, just being near her would put his mind at ease, just hearing her soft breathing in his ears would be enough to bring him relief from the turmoil deep down in his guts.
The way to the infirmary was short and yet painfully long and carefully, soundlessly opening the door, Clive looked around for a moment to see if Tarja was still on her desk. There were days, when people were setting bets on who the worst workaholic in the Hideaway was and the tie was always between Clive himself and their very best physicker, but to his luck, the entrance area of the infirmary was dark, no candlelight illuminating the rough stone. The moon was bright enough for Clive to find his way to the separated area of the infirmary and for a moment he hesitated, but his heart - desperate to convince itself that Jill was really all right, pushed him forward and around the bed.
His steps were soundless on the floor of the Fallen masonry, but for whatever reason, Tarja had decided to pull the curtains to the side, that normally obstructed the large windows of the private section. It was the light of the moon that gave Jill’s hair an otherworldly shine, silver like the shimmering stars in the sky and Clive released a soft sigh, the guilt once again rearing it’s ugly head. How could he have failed her so thoroughly? He should have protected her and not just in Rosalith, should have protected her at Drake’s Breath and even before. He should have seen the signs at Phoenix Gate…
But what was done, was done. There was no point beating himself up over the past, even though Clive knew, that he would never be able to let the guilt go. He stayed next to Jill’s bed only for a moment, before he sat down on the cold floor, pulling one leg up to himself and leaning his head back against the mattress. Jill’s breathing was soft and even, her long hair that spilled in a braid over the edge of the bed like a silken waterfall.
Listening to Jill’s calm intakes of air, Clive allowed the tension to bleed from this muscles and for a while he just stared at the ceiling, before he felt his eyelids start to drop. Yet sleep did not claim him and in his dozing, he could feel Jill start to fidget in the bed, her hands clawing into the bedsheets next to him.
Frowning Clive pushed himself off the frame to turn around, before he got up and softly brushed his fingertips over Jill’s arm. She was whispering in her sleep, her face a grimace of pain, anguish and fear. Of course she wouldn’t be able to sleep without nightmares.
“Jill, wake up,” Clive called softly, his other hand threading through her hair. The reaction was instant and Jill shot up from her pillow, forcing Clive to scoot back in the progress. Her eyes were wide and haunted, her breath coming in short and erratic gasps. “It’s all right, you are safe,” he whispered softly, guiding Jill into this arms and her fingers dug into his back, her face buried in the crook of his neck. He felt her heart hammer against his chest like a drum and a part of him didn’t even want to know, what she had seen to be in that much distress.
It took her a few more moments, until she seemed to realize where she was and who she clung too, but even when she tried to pull back, Clive was unwilling to let her go, still holding her at an arms length. “Clive?” she asked softly, looking around the room. “How late is it?”
He gave her a soft smile. “Just a bit after the second bell.” Getting up from the bed once he was sure, she had calmed, he walked over to one of the small desk at the side, where Tarja had left a goblet and a pitcher of water. He filled the cup and handed it to Jill, who took it gratefully, now very much aware of the world around her. “You should go back to sleep.”
She frowned, but still took a large sip from the goblet. “You should be asleep yourself. What are you doing here, Clive?”
Shrugging, Clive turned towards the windows, his eyes searching for the moon and Metia’s red star. “Nothing.”
He felt her eyes on his back, searching for clues, but for now, he tried not give her one. Right now he needed a moment to think and to sort the turmoil in his head. It was his fault, she was suffering from these nightmares, and he ground his teeth at the aknowledgement of that fact. Clive didn’t know, how long he had looked outside, then he heard the soft clink of the goblet being set down on the floor and when he turned, Jill was looking at him, beckoning him over with a tired smile. She was exhausted and it showed, so he gave in and let himself sink back onto the floor next to her again.
“All right then, why are you in the infirmary at this hour doing nothing?” Jill asked, her fingers starting to comb through his unruly hair and he sighed into her touch.
“I guess, I’m thinking.”
Jill's stroking fingers paused, some loose strands caught between her digits. To Clive's dismay, even without seeing his face, she could read him like an open book. It was in timbre of his voice, the pronunciation of his words, the tension in the muscles of his back and neck, that she felt when she let her fingers run down from his hair, before returning to brush through his dark mop. “Clive, this isn’t your fault.”
Clive snorted humorlessly. “But it is. I should have never let you come with me,” he seethed, unable to keep the feelings of anger, despair, fear and hatred for himself and Kupka out of his voice. His fingers balled into fists, his knuckles turning white. “Tarja said you needed rest and I knew that, but I was weak and afraid. Afraid that I couldn't do it without you, and yet, my weakness endangered your life. I wish I could control Ifrit, could coax him out, so that you don't need to fight, but each time I try..."
"Clive, stop this. What's done is done and we can't change it.” Jill’s fingers dug into his scalp - not hard enough to be painful, but hard enough to get his attention and the words that wanted to fall from Clive’s lips ran out for the moment, before he turned to face her.
“But you are the one always paying the price,” he growled. “You are the one suffering from the curse, and yet you still fight with me, despite the fact that I can’t seem to protect you.”
With her hand still in his hair, Jill resumed her movements, brushing through his strands with a sigh. “It was my decision to come with you and Gav, Clive,” she whispered, before she folded her arm underneath her pillow und began to thread the fingers of her other hand through his tight fist, losing the cramping muscles and strained tendons. “It was my decision and while it could have gone better, we made it out. We are still here and we are both alive. That’s what counts and that is enough.”
Clive shook his head, wrapping his other hand around Jill’s that held his own. She was cold to the touch, colder than usual even and carefully he poked at Ifrit, heating his hands so he could warm Jill’s in turn. “It’s not enough.” Brushing a kiss over their shared hands, he met her eyes, soft and understanding, tender and so full of love. He didn’t deserve her. “It will never be enough, for you are paying the price for my deeds and not only with your body but also your spirit. The nightmares that plague you…”
“… will fade, just like the ones about my days with the Ironblood did,” she replied fiercely and with conviction, squeezing the hand that held hers. “And do you know why?” Tentatively Clive shook his head. “Because of you, Clive. From the moment I woke up in Cid’s Hideaway you were there for me and with me. These first days on the way to Phoenix Gate, you just held me when I woke up crying. It didn’t matter when or where - you were just there, just like right now.”
“My lady,” Clive whispered, but Jill pulled her hand out of his and placed a finger against his lips.
“Hush now,” her voice nothing more but a soft breath. “Let go of your guilt for there is nothing to forgive and just stay here with me.”
Clive sighed, because just like that she had forgiven him once again and he was undeserving of her love, her devotion and her forgiveness. “If that is, what you wish.”
A yawn nearly drowned out the words. “It is.”
Brushing a strand from her cheek, he nodded, and a smile graced his lips, when Jill’s eyes fell close and her body relaxed back into a direly needed sleep. “Then I’ll be here, when you wake up,” he murmured, before he reached out for her hand again, threading his fingers through hers. Settling back against the wall and stretching out his legs he tried to get as comfortable as as possible, while never letting go of Jill’s hand.
They both would have a few hours until Tarja would throw him out with a hissing fit. Time to get as much rest as possible until then.