Work Text:
“Mmmm…Jody? What are you doing up?”
Jody turned to look at her husband as he emerged from their bedroom. He was wrapped in blankets, rubbing at one eye as he yawned. Sitting at the coffee table, legs stretched out with Jean-Claude lying over her shins, Jody smiled at him. He returned it sleepily. “Just…typing. Looking at my manuscript.” She said, turning back to her laptop. Reaching out, she paused her music, pulling her headphones off the rest of the way so they hung around her neck.
She had, dimly, heard Colt coming out. She heard him getting out of bed, too. Back in the day, he used to be deathly silent. Sometimes she would liken him to a cat, all wiry muscles and silent movements. Then, of course, Ryder sabotaged him, the fall happened. He disappeared from her life, and the silence was there where he wasn’t but it didn’t feel right. When he came back into her life, after everything…that silence left. She was rather glad for it. Now, he always made sound. Some days it was the click of his cane against the wood floors of their house. Others it was the brush of his braces against the fabric of his shirt and jeans, or soft cursing as he oiled the wheel of his wheelchair that never seemed to stop squeaking no matter how much they treated it, or the pops and cracks of his spine as he stretched in the morning. It was different. It was familiar. It was safe, because he wasn’t going anywhere.
Still, as he stood there with their blankets wrapped around his shoulders, eyes bleary and everything about him soft with post-sleep, Jody couldn’t help but take him in. Her eyes wandered over him. He was there. Alive. Breathing. Smiling softly, she continued to watch him. Blinking, Colt took a slow breath.
“What are you doing up?” She asked, tilting her head to the side. The light caught the edges of Colt’s hair. Maybe she should write a book. She could make the hero look like Colt, write about the way the light caught gold highlights in his hair. He was such a pretty man.
“Mmm…you weren’t in bed.” Yawning, Colt shook his head and shook the tiredness off. Then, he started to stumble over to the couch. Jean-Claude, presumably, was in their bed. He was probably taking up the entire bed. Half the time, even when they were in their bed, the dog stretched out as much as he could. Still, Colt limped over to the couch. His knees hit the edge and he tipped forwards, thumping face-first on the couch.
Turning, Jody looked at him. Colt, face-down on the couch, did not. His face remained smushed into the couch cushions.
Reaching over, she brushed a hand over Colt’s hair. He let out a soft sound, sort of like a moan but not quite. Clearing his throat, he hummed. His head tilted to the side. Looking at her, he smiled sleepily. His eyes were still half-closed. The blue was turned more of a steely gold-brown by the nearby lamp. With a smile, she brushed his hair from his face, from his eyes. “Are you just going to sleep out here, then?” She prompted.
“Maybe.” He said, words slurred by the couch cushion. It was pressing into his cheek. Looking at her, he smiled sleepily. She returned the smile, brushed her hands through his hair again. She loved him. So much. Heavens, she loved him.
She would write novels about him, about how much she loved him, about how the light glinted in the gold of his hair and turned his eyes some sort of color that she couldn’t quite describe. It was beautiful. Reaching over, she brushed her fingers through his hair again. The steely brown was so handsome. She tousled the ends of his hair, smiled. His nose, crooked and broken several times, wrinkled up. “I love you.” She murmured.
“I love you, too.” He replied, eyes flicking around her face. Then, he closed his eyes. A long, low sigh left him, sort of like Jean-Claude when he was content. Of course, there was a difference. Jean-Claude was, of course, a dog. Colt was not a dog. Though, if he had been, Jody would imagine he’d be a golden retriever. Loyal to a fault, sweet, with good hair.
As if thinking of him had summoned him, Jean-Claude came padding out of their bedroom. He settled down on top of Jody’s feet. Once he was done settling, he took a long breath and then did the same style of long exhale. Colt was now face-down in the couch; he let out a sound that matched Jean-Claude’s somehow.
“Now I want hot chocolate.” He laughed, muffled by the couch cushions. Snorting, Jody turned back to her script.
As she worked, Jean-Claude began to shuffle around. He was lying over her feet, kind of like the heaviest but best fuzzy socks in the world. Behind her, Colt began to snore softly. He eventually stopped, woke up, and hauled himself from the couch. With a low groan, he began to limp slowly into the other room. “Use your chair if you’re hurting yourself,” she reminded him, still typing. She was trying to work through a plot point. Her protagonist was about to be told that she had a traitor in her group. It was an important moment. This needed to be written well. This needed to be written right.
She was so focused on her script that it actually startled her when he set down a mug of hot chocolate. There were even marshmallows in it, ten like she preferred because too many gave her a headache. Looking at her, he smiled softly. Then, he popped down on the couch again, leaned over her shoulder and read the lines. Smiling at her, setting his own mug down on a coaster, he started braiding her hair calmly.
“Looks good so far.” He said. “So, what’s Mia going to do? That’s her name, right? Mia?”
“Mhmm, it’s Mia and Ben’s story.” Jody replied, scrolling down to her notes section. Then, she started typing again. Behind her, Colt began braiding her hair. “You’re going to be very good at braiding hair when you’re a father.”
“If we ever have the chance.” He hummed softly, wistfully. Smiling, Jody went back to typing in her story. It’d been a…recent discussion, as of late.
He’d figure it out eventually.
Once he tried doing the laundry again (she had to stop him somehow—the last time he had mixed the reds and whites and then proudly wore his bright pink shirts to work for the next month. She loved him in pink, but he was, unfortunately, a bit of a fashion disaster).