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Her kiss lingers long after she does; the wind tousles his hair as his hands grip the gear shift for the Fire Wheel, and the feeling of her soft, pink lips against his own chapped ones does not leave. The warmth of her arms and the gentleness in her embrace brings a smile to his face, as his foot taps against the worn gas peddle of his beloved bike.
He'd told her that he'd never leave her again, on their first night in Iseo together; tucked into warm blankets, curled against one another, one of Frederick's Queen vinyls spinning quietly in the background of an unfurnished bedroom, but none of that mattered. He'd whispered it into her hair, a promise in hand with the engagement ring he'd put on her finger just a day before. Foreverness; a quaint notion Frederick never assumed he'd be able to have for himself.
At a certain point in Frederick Bulsara's life, he would have never admitted it; a foolish immaturity that his extended age had allowed him to shed over time. But living with her was something he's come to need; a fish needing water and gills to survive. Watching her get animated while talking mindlessly about whatever book she's been reading lately, or cooking for her, all the while she sits on the counter, swinging her legs, singing along to whatever music he's playing, and laughing in that signature laugh that only she could ever supply. Waking up to her at his side, peacefully asleep, and having the ability to kiss her cheek and play with her hair, or watching her try on new clothes and falling in love with her all over again; she's the light of his life, the last piece of his heart that he thought he'd lost alongside Aria.
She's a drug, his medicine for a happier life. Her every kiss a lifeline, her every laugh or wink or ridiculous joke an absolute necessity.
Frederick briefly looks over to the Firewheel's sidecar-- a sidecar that she once occupied-- and glances at Sin's face. Fear rests beyond his features, covered up by a thin veil of what could only be excitement. An adventure; something new.
Heaven knows Sin's never had a real adventure; not one of this scale, but Frederick has. He's worn the name of Sol Badguy for too long, saved enough people for him to die happily at the end of his years, worked for far too many years; exhaustion riddles his bones.
Briefly, and for the first time, he envies Ky-- of all the people! For all the bad in his situation, he can't deny that an eternity of nothingness wouldn't sound half-bad at Jack-O's side; at least he wouldn't be on his own, miles away from Iseo, from his wife.
He keeps his eyes on the road and focuses on the fleeting feeling of her warm lips against his flesh, though he can't help but check the rear view mirrors every once in a while, as if a single glance would reveal their small home in Iseo, her waiting on the front porch, a smile on her face and a sparkle in her green eyes, waiting to kiss him welcome again.
-----
She spends a lot of her time in his garage, littered with different machines and inventions that he's spent hours tinkering with. She doesn't touch them, doesn't tidy up the mess around the small room, partly because it's not her place, and partly because a piece of her hopes that one day, she'll wake up and he'll be sitting at his wooden table, a screwdriver and another new project in his hands.
She wishes he were home with her, as if any of his knick-knacks and doodads could bring him back.
Jack-O Valentine sits down at his table, and gently spins her silver and ruby wedding band around its respective finger; the cool steel meshing with the heat of the passion for him in her heart. His loving is a chemical reaction; something that causes her to heat up, her skin to change color, something irreversible.
She's been missing him more and more lately, as if every morning he doesn't wake her with a kiss seperates them further and further. Every waking moment without him is a danger to her heart.
She worries-- and how could she not? With both her husband and grandson gone, off on another dangerous adventure, who knows what could happen? Of course, Freddie is a hero of the Crusades, and she's seen him in action to know that he can hold his own just fine, but since Asuka took his Gear powers, he hasn't been the same that he once was.
Gray hairs have started to pop up amidst his short, shaggy brown hair, along with frown lines. His back and joints pop in the mornings when he gets out of bed, as if that in and of itself is a difficulty. He's still got his stamina, but it was different when he was still a Gear; his humanity is a gift, but also a liability, and when a single knick of a sharp kitchen knives causes his finger to bleed more than she's ever seen him do so before, she can't help but worry.
And Sin? Sin's just a baby; only five, and whereas he's definitely stronger than the other five year olds that she's come know, he's still got the kind of immaturity that could lead him to an early grave, if he weren't careful. He's the kind of heart that bleeds for everyone, that stops at nothing in order to achieve peace, which Jack-O would admire, were she not scared for him moreso.
Anxiety pounds in her heart during the daytime; her husband is gone, her daughter-- her own daughter-- and son and law sealed away by magic, and her grandson away, she's found solace in her sisters like never before, but even Ramlethal and Elphelt are busy most days, and thus, she ends up on her own. She talks on the phone to Asuka, when he's not busy with his podcast and with... well, whatever he does, and when he's not available, she craves to call on Axl, but he's been busy with "his Megumi", as he would say, and just because she's anxious and alone, doesn't mean that he should be.
She's taken on a few tasks in her free time, the first of which was cleaning the house. She doesn't mind cleaning, though it was always more fun when Freddie would help her, but even by her lonesome, it isn't so horrible. Her thinking had originally be that Freddie would come back to a clean home, and he'd pick her up and spin her around because he'd be home and he'd kiss her and hold her...
But it's been long enough now that the house is dirty again, and Jack-O's too nervous and static these days to get back to it. She's read her books and done her side research on frivolous scientific theses, but they don't fill the void; nothing does.
Tears sting at her eyes, as she looks over half-finished mechanical projects. She imagines him sitting where she is now, grinning with pride while showcasing the newest thing that he's made.
"Oh Freddie," She sighs, speaking aloud and to herself because there isn't anyone else to talk to. "What do I do without you?"
-----
It hurts the most at night, his longing for the woman he loves-- its as if his heart knows the sunset itself, as if it's on cue for heartbreak.
Sin has a bedtime, about which Frederick wouldn't care much, were it not for Ky's harsh threats about it being abided, and though Ky has not historically, or currently, really been a threat for Frederick, he can have such a nasty temper at times; best to be avoided. He falls asleep at seven thirty, tucked into a threadbare sleeping bag fairly tenderly by Frederick himself (who avoids thinking about the fact that he never had the opportunity to do this for Dizzy) and from then on, it's only the latter and his feelings.
The light of a fire before him illuminates the night, along with a waning moon and a few arrays of stars; the sky hadn't ever seemed like anything worthwhile to study until Jack-O had taken an interest in it, regarding Asuka's self-imposed banishment there. She'd read books upon books about constellations and astrological shit that Frederick had never really understood, even after her explanations, but it was simply nice to watch her get so excited about something.
He recognizes a few constellations, like Ursa Major and Ursa Minor, but he can't help but think he'd be able to name a few more if she were here, which she isn't. Amidst the quietness of the forest, he can almost hear his own heart break.
He huffs, and from his breast pocket, pulls out a small picture of her, protected by a glossy finish and laminate covering. It's his most prized possession, more than the Junkyard Dog or Firewheel or any other memoribilia from his days as Sol Badguy; it is a picture of her on their wedding day.
It hadn't been a terribly large affair, as that was not the way either of them had really wanted it-- rather, it had been just the two of them and Asuka, who had insisted on officiating. It was a magical day, though the venue was nothing more than their backyard, and though Frederick still has a hard time being around Asuka-- it was magical because of her.
Dressed in white, she had worn a dress that had shirt puffy sleeves and an even puffier skirt, with a corset top that looked as though it had been made for her. She'd worn her hair up in some sort of style Frederick was unfamiliar with, and on her lips, she'd used a lip gloss that tasted like cherries-- Frederick's favorite fruit.
The picture has her in a calm smile, holding a bouquet of roses and baby's breath that Frederick himself had arranged. She grins, and her eyes sparkle, and just looking at her makes his heart pound with affection. His cheeks heat up, and his face relaxes; its as if she's here with him.
He's considered calling her, but by this point, its late, and she needs her sleep, though he can't deny his own impulses. His hands ache for the feeling of his holographic communicator, but he fights it off; she has a life outside of him, even if he doesn't have the same.
He lays back in his own sleeping bag, as Sin slumbers across the makeshift campsite from him. Rolling over on his side, he props the picture up against his pillow, and for a moment, allows himself to indulge in delusions: he pretends she's at his side.
She's warm and soft, and she's more cuddly than he's ever known a person to be, but he doesn't mind. Were she here, she'd insist on sharing his sleeping bag, despite it only being meant for one person, and he wouldn't refuse--couldn't refuse-- because he doesn't sleep well without her. She'd curl up at his side with a sharp grin, and giggle into his ear.
"You have to kiss me goodnight, Freddie," she'd say, as if he wasn't already thinking of doing just that.
"Is that right?" He'd remark, just to save face for himself and his longing. She'd nod, and he'd smile, and put a hand on the side of her face. "Then c'mere, baby."
And her lips-- her lips! He'd kiss her mouth once, and then once more, because how could he not? She'd whine as he pulls away, and swoop in for one more kiss, deeper than the first and second, before pulling away, and laying down at his side. He'd wrap his arms around her, and she'd tuck her head against his chest, keeping him warm and comfortable.
The only source of warmth for him tonight are blankets and a fire; his dreams are just dreams.
He sighs quietly, and picks up the picture, holding it out in front of himself for a moment, before bringing it carefully to his lips. "Good night, Jack-O," he whispers, as if she could hear it, before glancing at the picture once more, then gazing up at the stars.
-----
She spins his records, while he's away. His collection is nothing short of spectacular; something to be admired, something that took years and years of building up. Vinyl records, as antiques, are rather hard to come by, and thus, for the first few days of his being gone, Jack-O had stayed far from them. But by the cap of the second week of his absence, she had become restless.
She's watched him operate the record player hundreds of times, so getting it to work is an easy task. She turns it on with ease, and selects her favorite of his records-- a Queen vinyl, of their greatest hits-- putting it on the turning table with as much caution as she could possibly exercise. She carefully picks up the needle and drops it-- or rather, places it down, before the songs begin to play.
One by one, different melodies take their time flooding forth from the grooved mechanism.
"You're My Best Friend," plays, and suddenly, its their wedding anniversary, and they're slow dancing in the kitchen, a perfect dinner in the oven, slowly roasting. She remembers the lyrics, remembers singing along to every word, his hand on her hip, her arms wrapped around his waist.
And when "Don't Stop Me Now," plays, she reminisces hearing the song on the radio of the Firewheel; Freddie singing along to the melody, belting it at the top of his lungs, and when she laughs at it, he looks over at her with a gentle and tender smile so perfect, she wishes she could bottle it up.
All it takes is one play of "Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy," for her to remember their first night together; her back pressed up against their bedroom door, his mouth moving against hers. It’s as if he’s there, kissing and sucking at her neck, holding her body gently, while moving his hips in a manner that has her seeing stars, talking her through every minute of bliss and pleasure.
It's as if all of their memories are recorded onto each vinyl; with a singular play, Jack-O can peruse the best times of her life, living through them as vividly as ever. She dances in the space in their bedroom, as if he were in her arms; as long as the songs play, she can stay forever in this daydream.
But when the sides run out or the record skips, reality greets her once more; her arms are empty, the right side of her bed is cold, and her heart is breaking.