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Jesse is heavy on her shoulder.
He’s sleeping, she thinks. It’s hard to say --easier, though, when he slips forward and seems to jolt awake gently, sighing. The action is so unguarded and sweet that Angela feels herself smile, shuffling to sit up better.
“Didn’t you sleep?” She asks him, quietly, leaning on him, now. Jesse shakes his head.
“You know how’t is.” He mumbles, drowsily, shuffling to accommodate her better. His body is warm and receptive. Softer than what she’s used to, but welcome like the smell of an old sweater packed away in the back of a closet. Forgotten, for a while, but mere exposure is enough to bring back memories in bright, colourful clarity.
“I know how it is.” Angela tells him, yawning herself. “I don’t think I’ve had a good night’s sleep in weeks.”
One of her arms is curled limp in her lap. One of his --the one left alive and organic, moves to squeeze it softly in a gesture of comfort.
“It ain’t forever.” He tells her, his voice still all stuck with sleep. “An’ I can think of worse reasons to be sleepless.”
Their still-clasped hands move on Angela’s agency to brush the swell of her stomach that’s taking up a good portion of her lap. She smiles, again, faintly, yawning again. “Quite right.” She says eventually, closing her eyes for a few seconds and enjoying the peace of it.
It’s only an hour or so after sunrise. Hot streams come softly through the blinds behind them, and through the gaps between their positions she can spot a poker-chip sized spot of sunlight on Jesse’s knee. He’d found her here when it was still dark, a cup of herbal tea cooling besides her, reading in the empty rec room.
Dreams are what had brought him there --something far less wonderful, and Angela had been happy to have the company, making room for him to sit besides her.
She is actually older, she thinks, by two or three months, but their roles change. Jesse spends so much time in her defense and at her disposal --never more so than now, when she could use the help. They say that good men are in short supply, but she has never found it to be so. They’ve been all around her for years. They continue to be.
Jesse is still against her, and she feels herself fading once more, lulled by the pleasant warmth of new sunlight on the back of her neck, and the soft comfort of Jesse’s body. She drowses, sun-dosed, her head dipping, her neck lax, in the space between alertness and rest when she feels a nudge that wakes her.
“Hmm?” She murmurs, straightening a little, blinking at Jesse who looks much more awake, actually, age handsome in his thoughtful face like the dignity of worn leather.
“I didn’t mean t’wake ya.” He says, softly, ever so softly. “I’m jus’ --it’s real nice to be back here again.” He turns his head to look at her and the warm, metal warm draped over her shoulder tightens in affection. “I thought, for a while--...”
The thoughts trails off into silence. Angela doesn’t want to follow it. The place it leads it dark.
Jesse doesn’t leave it that way. “I’m jus’ mighty glad I’m here t’see this, is all.”
Despite herself, Angela yawns, and tries to cover her mouth to stifle the sound in mortification. She shifts, turning sideways so that her back is pressed to his side, taking the contact or his organic arm with her. “I wouldn’t have it another way.” She says. “And neither would Genji.”
Jesse makes a noise of appreciation, and she feels his chest swell with it --or maybe just pride. “You make out like you planned this, Angie.” He laughs, the noise rich and low. “Like you ain’t jus’ a couple a’ cats in the heat.”
“Oh, shh.” She shakes her head, heavy with tiredness, and drops it back against him. “Let me sleep.”
Jesse’s body shifts like he’s trying to make himself more comfortable for her. There’s no need, really. There aren’t any sharp angles to his body, anymore. He isn’t a bit like the boy she first met. No, she would never have believed on the day she first laid eyes on him that they’d be here now.
The thought drifts with her again, and in the gaps between consciousness she tries to remember not knowing Jesse, but can’t. She feels the same way with Genji. Like they met as children, like they were there on the first day of her life, as impossible as it is. She can’t remember anything without them. As if her life didn’t really start until--
“Hey, Angie.” The hand that’s still on hers squeezes. Angela opens her eyes in a daze. She must have fallen asleep again. “What d’you want it to be?”
“What?” She asks him, drowsily, looking around for some indication of the time passed. The spot of light that had been on Jesse’s knee is slanted, know, stretching the shape of the light to that of a pebble. “D’you mean the baby?”
Against her, he nods. “I know you’re set on keepin’ it a surprise an’ all, but y’must have a preference or somethin’.”
He looks alert when Angela turns her head to review him. Jesse’s eyes are less tired than before, and he’s looking head at the dusty wall with animation. The spot he’s fixed on is the old noticeboard that nobody ever thought to take down --nobody ever thought they’d have to. The newest notes pinned to it must be seven or eight years old now, and the older ones easily fifteen or so.
Angela remembers the black-and-white cartoon in the top left corner, now grey with age, that says ‘papercuts hurt’. It only occurs to her to even recall it, now.
“I just want it to be healthy.” She says, yawing, again. Jesse looks like he’d going to make a statement of protest, and she laughs softly, “Boring, I know, but it’s true.” she turns her head away from him and leans back again, her eyes already closing. “Genji is very taken with the idea of a girl.”
“He is, now?” Jesse sounds like he’s smiling. “Never did have much luck with sons in his family, to be fair t’him.”
Angela laughs, before she can help herself, and bats him on the arm playfully. “You’re awful.” She tells him, somehow mustering authority. “Just awful.”
Jesse laughs again. Softer, this time, in response to how quiet and sleepy her voice is. “Yeah.” He says, weakly. He shifts again, clearly restless, and she can feel his eyes on her. It’s not unpleasant or heavy. Familiar, more than anything. Safe, more than anything.
It’s relative to the feeling of Genji’s eyes upon her, or even just the feeling of him in the room, the building --anywhere remotely nearby. The dignity and intimacy of him --like nothing terribly bad could ever happen so long as he’s with her.
That’s only when Angela anticipates him there. He used to get such a thrill from sneaking up on her. Surprising her suddenly with an arm around the waist or a kiss to the nape of the neck. Romantic as it was, it always startled her something awful, and he’s not had the nerve or recklessness to do it in months.
It’s impossible to be snuck up on by Jesse thesedays. He’s not hiding from anything. His footsteps are loud, but not clumsy, and there’s something so typical and silly about it. Something that makes her feel comforted in a similar way.
Angela breathes out, slowly. She shifts, this time, trying to avoid the usual dull ache that flares in her back after resting or remaining anywhere for too long. She tightens the arm around her, too, and relaxes her body, feeling finally exhausted enough, and comfortable enough, to combat the constant discomfort she finds herself in.
Jesse’s breathing is heavy and exaggerated from years of smoking, but it’s sort of comforting to drift off to. Before she’s even aware, she’s under again, bridging the gap between consciousness and sleep easily.
Every now and then the depth of her sleep changes, and she becomes aware of the light in her hair and on her neck, or the occasional shift from Jesse, but it doesn’t disturb her any, and time seems to pass without complaint.
Eventually, however, comes the waking.
“-ngie, d’you feel that?” Jesse’s voice is all excited in her ear, and she groans out, gently, frowning as her eyes open.
“Oh, Jesse.” She grumbles, sitting up a little, feeling a stiffness in her neck. “I just got to sleep.”
He bites his top lip momentarily and looks mournful, for a second. “M’sorry, Angie. I figured y’were already awake on account a’ the kickin’.” It only occurs to her then that he’s still sort of holding her hand, and both of their hands are still pressed against her stomach. She hadn’t been conscious of any movement, but is long past the novelty of it.
“I’ve learned to sleep through it.” She mumbles, blinking lazily, her eyes only opening properly when she does feel a real, substantial movement. Jesse looks on at her, a little trepidatious but mostly animated with a clear intrigue. Excitement. Like a child to their first sibling.
Angela, for her part, makes a noise of disapproval but makes no move away from him. “Gott, now I’ll never get back to sleep.” She lifts a hand to rub her eyes, yawning again, but draws no real sympathy from Jesse, distracted and fascinated as he is.
“Ain’t it crazy.” he says, gently. “That after all the things I seen, this is th’ most amazin’, by a goddamn mile.”
Angela shakes her head tiredly. “You exaggerate.”
“Maybe.” Jesse shrugs. He looks at her with another smile, one that looks wistful, somehow. Sadder in the eyes. She knows he probably would have liked to have children. Would have liked his life very different to how it is, even if he’s not unhappy. “Guess I spent so much time aroun’ death. Life’s sort of a --a mystery, y’know?”
Angela laughs, gently. She looks back up at him with a patient smile. “Very poetic.”
She means it, earnestly --but Jesse just huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “Pretentious is more like it.” He moves his hand to give her more room, one hand still around her shoulders. “G’on. You get some rest. I --I’ll quit bugging ya.”
Sighing, Angela drops her head back into Jesse’s shoulder and smiles, exhaustedly. “Alright.” She says, her eyes already closing, fighting off a wave of desperate fatigue as she remembers to say, “Wake me up when Genji gets back, won’t you?”
“O’course,” He says, easily, nodding. “Don’t worry about it, Angie. Jus’ get some rest.”
So she does. Without any fanfare, dropping back into sleep near-instantly, ignoring the further stirrings of life in her, allowing herself the slumber that she’s been after for hours and going dreamlessly, without resistance. It’s cumulative, too, making up for weeks of awkwardly turning on her back and then despairing, wandering down some of the long corridors to walk off the backache that never leaves her. She wonders if she shouldn’t sleep for the whole day, or week --the rest of the year, as she’d like it.
Eventually, though, comes the waking. Again, and this time Angela feels practically sour when she opens her eyes at the feeling of being maneuvered. “Ugh,” She makes a noise of discomfort in the back of her throat and tries to sit up on her elbows, blinking. “Jesse--”
“Relax.”
Very much not Jesse. Angela feels herself instantly relax. This string of tension in her that remains taught for everybody else --keeping her upright and serious, it uncoils itself so suddenly and she feels herself breath deeper and easier, immediately, leaning back again a body that’s different in every way, but comfortable in the truest, deepest, sense.
“I’m so tired.” Angela hears herself say, her voice all drowsy, complaining in a somehow apologetic way. “Jesse kept waking me up.”
She hears his laughter at that, a gentle, knowing sort, and then safe, familiar arms are winding around her to bring her home. “I will let you rest, if you like.” He tells her, gently, his voice close to her ear. It feels warm, and intimate. “But, first--”
He moves into her in a small movement, and she feels his lips, the ones she knows so well, ghosting against her neck and deciding, in this tilting, teasing hesitation, where to plant his kisses. They always come in threes, and Angela anticipates this, savouring each one, from behind her ear, to the shell of it, and then up to her cheek.
She hears herself laugh, gently, and then sigh, leaning back against the warmth of Genji’s body. “I missed you.” She says, quietly, as one of his hands trace a hair from the side of her face. “We missed you.”
He makes a noise of --pleasure? Happiness, and nuzzles into her softly. “I’m here, now.” He says to her. “You should rest. I will stay until you wake.”
She’s not about to disagree. For all that he heart peeks out of her eyes to even see him: to have him close to her again, she feels so desperately tired, and can’t have had more than an hour’s rest, and even that hasn’t been uninterrupted. Her eyes are so heavy, and she’s so comforted by his being here that she almost can’t bear to stay awake.
“Alright,” She murmurs, yawning, “Just for a little while.”
Under the darkness of her closed eyes she hears Geni murmur back to hear, “In a little while, then.” She feels one of his hands come to clasp hers, and tighten around it. His other comes around to her stomach to rub soothingly, absent of any of the shyness that Jesse's had. He's missed her, too.
She sleeps, and he doesn’t wake her.
Not until hours have passed, and she wakes in the rosy hours of the din of the day.
She lifts her head up when she wakes, feeling suddenly alert. She doesn’t feel or hear any other signs of life, and the air feels so still and lonely that she goes to call out. “Genji?”
He hasn’t moved. His breathing is artificial, and still, and she doesn’t even hear him until an arm tightens around her again and he says, once more, “Relax.” He kisses her, again, pressing his lips to her jaw. “We have hours.”
Angela can’t remember if she falls asleep first, or at all, or if Genji is the one to succumb.
She likes to think that they remain lying together, drowsing, still but not sleeping, conscious but not waking, in eachothers arms.
She likes to think they can stay there forever.