#// no grave can hold my body down i'll crawl home to her'

[ceo-of-sloppy-women]

No grave can hold my body down; I'll crawl home to her

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Before you can even think it through, you’re tossing your jacket over Sevika’s lap and shooting her the nastiest glare when she tries to remove it. For the first time since you’ve met her, she cowers. Yes, she had shrunken when she’d apologized yesterday, but she still had an air of cockiness about her. Now, there’s no fight left in her; she simply hangs her head and remains still. Assured she won’t move, you hop to your feet and rush to King’s saddlebags in order to dig out the first aid kit. Gripping it but not yet bringing it out into the open, you look over at Jinx and make eye contact with her.

“Get the kid out of here. Sevika and I will stay back to make sure nothing’s going to come out of the pit, but that kid shouldn’t be here if something does,” you order her in the sternest voice you can manage.

Jinx opens her mouth to argue and shuts it just as quickly, nibbling on her lip. Her head nods in a jerky motion as she glances from the pit to Sevika to the kid and back to you. “If you’re sure – Sevika looks a little wobbily. Might be good to take her and the kid back first; let Ekko and me doublecheck the hole and all.”

“The kid’s scared. The last thing she needs is for Sevika to take a turn for the worse on the ride back; it’ll only scare her. She needs someone strong and dependable right now –“ you walk around King, holding the first aid kit in one hand and placing your other hand on Jinx’s shoulder. You give her your best reassuring smile – “We’ll be right behind you; I swear it. It’s not my first rodeo out in the apocalypse.”

“Right – right – shit. Okay; however, if you’re not back an hour after we ride into town, I’m coming back out to get you. So, don’t go snogging against the tree like Sevika’s dying or anything –“ Jinx pulls a face, sticking out her tongue and screwing her eyes shut – “I don’t want to catch you tonguing Leftie like a pair of teenagers in the back of my dads’ bar.”

“No promises,” you joke, flicking the tip of Jinx’s nose. “Now, get outta here. That kid needs a hot meal, not field rations.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll keep her safe,” Ekko promises, helping Isha onto his horse. He sits her in front of himself, holding her securely as she grips his arm with white knuckles.

You can see that she’s shaking in the cold air of the mountain, used to the humid, hot climate of the bunker. Walking over to the side of Ekko’s horse, you take off your flannel and wrap it around the girl’s shoulders, bundling her up tightly. It’s far too big on her, even as she puts her arms through the sleeves, but she relaxes a little nonetheless, and that’s more than enough.

“Hey, kiddo, you be good for Ekko and Jinx, okay? They’ll keep you safe. You’re about to see a lot of people – don’t worry, they’re all friendly, even scary ones. Sevika and I will be along as soon as we’re able,” you reassure her, readjusting her miner’s hat so it doesn’t stab Ekko in the gut on accident.

The girl nods her head furiously, signing for you to stay safe. You smile softly and nod your head, signing back that you promise.

You watch as the trio rides off, waiting until they’re out of sight before turning back to Sevika. She’s breathing heavily, still staring at her leg, yet having left your jacket covering it. Delicately, you pull the jacket back and wince at the mess of blood and puss. Your jacket is tossed to the side, to be washed or thrown away back in town. For now, you need to assess the damage. Pouring some whiskey onto a cloth – okay, this definitely was not ideal. You understand that most drugstores are raided by now, but even in the 1800s, this wasn’t as effective as it is made out to be. Unfortunately, you lack a better alternative, so the whiskey will have to do.

Doing your best to meet Sevika’s gaze (an impossible feat given that she’s hanging her head), you whisper: “I’m sorry, Sev’; this is going to hurt like Hell.”

She barely grunts at you, making your heart sink in your chest. Lacking the ability to comfort her, you focus on doing what you can for her. She nearly screams as you pour the whiskey over her leg and rub it clean with the cloth. A hand flies up and grips your shoulder, trembling so hard she can barely keep a firm hold. You let her keep the hand there as you straddle her leg, peering at the wound. The teeth definitely pierced the skin, sinking in far enough to have spread the shimmer infection to her; however, beyond the bitemark, you can’t find the tell-tale signs of shimmer. The bite lacks the ever-present purple veins that typically snake away from the injury, spreading the infection’s hold. Furrowing your brow, you pull and press and wipe at her thigh, trying to find any sign of infection. Instead, you find thin, white veins similar to the ones on dead infected – shimmer loses all colouration when its host body is killed.

“Huh, that’s weird,” you mumble to yourself, pressing against the wound. It spurts out a small bit of blood, but no purple puss synonymous with infection.

Sevika hisses in pain, growling out: “The fuck you on about? I’m dying – I ain’t no science experiment for your journals.”

“Actually, that’s exactly what I’m wondering… you see these here?” you ask, pointing to the white veins.

“Yeah, what about ‘em? Mean the infection’s spread so fast I’ll turn into one of those freaks or some shit?” Sevika spits out, getting more defensive by the moment.

“No, I don’t think so. It looks like… your body is actually fighting the infection. Shimmer only turns white when the host is killed – the infection dies without nutrients. These shouldn’t be white, they should be purple,” you explain your findings, tilting your head up to look her in the eyes.

Sevika finally meets your gaze, her eyes wet and terrified as she searches your face for some kind of answer. Your heart plummets further in your chest, begging you to find some way to comfort her. You may have found your bravery in the face of this horror, yet that doesn’t mean she has done the same. This once proud woman has been reduced to nothing more than a terrified girl in the middle of a hostile forest. You want nothing more than to reach forward and wrap her into a tight hug, but her leg needs to be bandaged now – it has been exposed to the world far too long.

“So, what are you saying? That I’m – am I dying? Am I dead? Is this it? Am I just dying faster than I should be?” her voice trembles and wavers, on the brink of tears.

Dropping the cloth into the first aid kit, you grab her face, cradling it between her hands. “Hey, hey, look at me. I never said that. You’re not dying. I promise you, you’re not dying. This is – this is good. I think you might be okay. Maybe? I’m not a doctor, but this isn’t textbook. Any normal person would have died from being bit the first time, yet you survived – granted, by amputating your arm, yet you survived. What if Shimmer works like chickenpox: get it once, your body develops antibodies, and you’re immune? The only problem is surviving the infection. Let me bandage your leg, we’ll go back to town, and we can go to Singed. He might know what to do?”

Sevika’s gaze snaps to you, eyes wide as she grips your wrist: “No. No Singed. Let’s just… if you’re right, how about we wait it out? I’ll hole up in my house for a few days, claim that I’m traumatized from this patrol or some shit.”

“Okay, okay, no Singed. I can do that. Just promise me, you’re not writing yourself off yet. You’ve still got a chance – I still believe you’ve got a chance. Please, promise me you’ll try to survive?” you ask, swallowing the tremble in your voice. You will yourself to stay strong right now – just one last push, then you can break down once you’re home.

“As long as you promise to finish the job if I don’t.” Sevika’s words strike you through the chest, chilling you to your core. You’re not sure if it came to it that you could pull the trigger… but you know you’d have to, in the end. Too many people would try to do something rash to save her when she’s far past the point of saving. She doesn’t need a saviour; she needs mercy – as much as you’re able to muster, even when you’re dealt the worst cards.

“I promise,” you whisper, leaning forward to kiss her before you can stop yourself. Your lips yearn to press against hers, to deepen the promise. Until you catch yourself at the last moment and settle for resting your forehead against hers instead. “I promise, Sevika.”

“I’ll try not to hold you to that,” she murmurs, brushing her thumb against your wrist. It’s the closest you’ll get to a promise, yet comforting nonetheless.

For a long moment, you stare into her eyes, comforted by how her gaze slowly hardens into something stronger. You brush a tear gently away from her cheek, hearing a heavy sigh rumble from her chest. She leans forward in your hands and presses a kiss to your cheek, slowly and deliberately, keeping her eyes closed as she pulls her head back. Your heart swims in your chest, hammering away as it screams at you to kiss her back – a plea which you ignore. When she opens her eyes, they are no longer cloudy with fear and doubt, and you know you have said all you can to reassure her. The sturdy walls that protect her have been rebuilt, and before you sits the same gruff woman who had found you in those ruins nearly a week ago.

“Let’s get you bandaged up and home. We’ve probably got something in the cupboards I can whip up for dinner. Maybe soup or mac and cheese. Which would you prefer?” you ask, trying to lighten the mood as you pull back from her.

“This’ll hurt, won’t it?” she grunts as you reposition yourself on her lower leg.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, reaching for the bandages.

Sevika nods her head, bracing herself as you wind the bandages around her leg. You have to cut away the rest of her pant leg in order to fully bandage the bite. It needs stitches, but you don’t have the equipment or sterile field out here for them, meaning you have to get her back to town as soon as she’s able to be moved. Sevika still hisses when you press the gauze against it, tensing under your hands as she tries not to flinch away and ruin your hard work. The wound has stopped bleeding for the moment, although it will probably open getting Sevika astride Duchess. Trying to allow it time to close up, you survey the area to ensure no more infected remain. You let Sevika sit by the tree, cradling her shotgun.

Eventually, when there is no sign of infected and you can’t wait any longer lest it grow dark, you help Sevika onto Duchess. She valiantly tries not to make you worry, biting her lip as she shifts uncomfortably in her saddle. You pat her unbitten thigh gently, attempting to reassure her.

“Don’t worry, Sev’. You’re going to be okay. If you were infected, you’d already be halfway through your rations by now,” you say, smiling up at her.

“Right,” Sevika grunts, hand twitching on Duchess’ reigns. “You will keep your promise – if I am, I mean – right?”

“You can trust me,” you say solemnly, squeezing her thigh before letting go. “We should get back before Jinx comes looking for us.”

Sevika nods her head in agreement. You mount King and turn him around, heading back the way you came. Someone else can finish the patrol tomorrow; you need to get Sevika home and warm in case everything starts to go sideways. Hopefully, Silco and Vander will understand the risk you’re taking. If not, you might end up friendless and alone once more…

Regardless of the consequences, you have to try. You owe Sevika that much, at least.

~~ /// ~~~

Zaun is as busy as ever when you ride back into town. Luckily, it means no one pays you a second glance as you help Sevika limp through sideroads and alleys back to her house. She leans heavily on you, arm wrapped around your shoulders, pained noises escaping her intermittently. Your heart sinks each time, desperately wanting to give her something for the pain, yet having nothing to offer. Any alcohol you had was drunk on the way back to dull her senses as Duchess jostled her in the saddle, and you left your weed sitting on the desk in your bedroom. All you can do is mutter apologies profusely, pushing her to move faster until you finally reach her backyard.

The gate is stuck in its treads, taking both of you to force it open. Once it does, you help her limp to the porch and inside. She drops onto her couch heavily, groaning as she shoves her foot onto the other armrest. You let her rest for a moment, grabbing a bottle of mead and two glasses from the kitchen. You pour both, setting one in her hand and the other on the coffee table with the bottle.

“Here, drink this and rest. I’m going to go take a shower, then I’ll pour you a bath and get your leg stitched up,” you say, peering at her bandages. The blood has stained the majority of the white cloth – you’re going to need to take a quick shower.

“I’ll try not to go anywhere,” Sevika grunts, and you blink down at her.

“Did… you just crack a joke?”

“Yeah, is that not allowed? Allow a dying woman a joke or two, jeez,” she grumbles, taking a swig of her drink.

“That’s – I – I’m just surprised, Sev’. I think all this alcohol is starting to make you delirious,” you giggle, running your fingers through her sweat-slicked hair.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, taking another sip. “Go have your shower before I bleed out.”

“I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she says nonchalantly, drink glass on her chest. Yet, you feel her hand drop to hold yours as you pull away, her fingertips chasing you until you’re too far to muster the effort. A spoken plea for you to stay that breaks your heart as you climb the stairs.

Your shower is quick – if you can even call it a shower. You barely scrub shampoo through your hair, wash the dirt off your body and give yourself a quick rinse downstairs. It’s not like you can’t shower again tomorrow. After nine years of caked-on grime, you have adjusted admirably to the feeling of dirt under your nails, so much so that it doesn’t even phase you. You really only had a shower to wash the blood out of your hair. Clean(er) clothes feel wonderful against your skin – a tank top, no bra and a pair of sleep shorts. Clothes you had grabbed at the start of the apocalypse, when department stores still had all the fun garments, as a little luxury for yourself. There are tiny flowers printed in various rainbow colours all across the shorts, and the ties dangle against your thighs in the world’s laziest bunny ears.

You run the bath before fetching Sevika, who is exactly where you’d left her, except now with a finished glass. She stares out the window as the street goes dark and the stars come out to play. Her face is melancholic as if she’s resigned herself to infection, and that simply won’t do.

Rounding the couch, you down your glass in one swig (a task far easier to do given that mead is sweet, like cold tea). Then, you lean over her and take her glass away, setting it on the table. Her eyes follow you as you grab her wrist and attempt to pull her up. She sits up slowly, letting you think you had pulled her up yourself.

“Come on, Sev’, you need a bath,” you chirp, looping her arm around your neck. “Then you can fall asleep in your nice warm bed with a belly full of dinner. I’m thinking a can of soup; don’t know if I have the energy to go to the grocery store and get something fancy today.”

“Grocery store’s probably closed anyway,” Sevika sighs, stumbling up the stairs with your help.

“You would know – since you’ve lived here longer than I have, that is. I didn’t know if you liked bubble baths, but I do, so I added some to the bath for you. It’ll help disinfect your leg since soap kills germs. I only wish we had some music for you. My headphones died years ago, and there aren’t enough batteries left in the world to keep the shitty Walkman I found alive either,” you ramble, trying to fill the silence as you reach the bathroom and help her inside.

“I’ve got a radio, it’s… upstairs. On the dresser,” Sevika mumbles, ducking her head and refusing to meet your gaze.

“Sev’, you told me not to go up there. I won’t break your trust just because I think baths are better with music,” you backpedal. This is probably a test to see if you can remember her boundaries even while she’s injured, and you do not want to fail.

“I’m tellin’ you to go get it,” she grunts, sitting on the edge of the tub and testing the water with her hand. “And a clean pair of clothes – just don’t go snooping around up there.

“Right – okay – sure,” you stammer, blushing a little. You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to leave her in the bathroom alone in case she slips and falls getting into the tub. But the hard glare she fixes you with jolts energy through your body (maybe a little too well if the wet spot forming between your legs is any indication), and you bolt out of the room.

You don’t even realize you’re headed upstairs until you’re standing in the middle of Sevika’s room, blinking owlishly at the space around you. There are old posters on the walls of various bands, movies and art pieces. In the far back of the loft sits a queen-sized bed with a hundred different blankets on it, barely made up. A book sits on the nightstand; the cover is too faded to make out the title. A few LEGO sets sit in the corner on a shelf, clothes are strewn across the floor, and two dressers proudly display a wide array of trinkets, from an incomplete Dune series to a couple of ratty plushies to a collection of framed photographs that appear to be of the Last Drop from the old world. Vander, Silco, Jinx, Vi and Sevika stand outside its doors, underneath a Grand Opening sign, with two other kids that you can’t recongize. Likely Milo and Clagger – the young boys Sevika mentioned when she told you about her arm. Next to the photographs sits an old boombox, with a few cassette tapes. You grab the first one without looking and open a few drawers on the dresser until you’re holding a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Then, you scamper back downstairs to the bathroom.

Knocking on the bathroom door, you wait until she says you can come in. Sevika has sunk into the bathtub, bubbles covering her chest as she lounges back, eyes partially closed. You can still see her gear tattoos and the white scars that snake across her skin from where her arm was amputated. Her brow is furrowed in pain, her arm under the water, most likely gripping her leg. You wish you had something to give her to ease the pain, but this far into the apocalypse, medicine is sparse at best. Slowly, her gaze levels you, and she arches one eyebrow, doing her best not to appear weak.

“I grabbed you something to wear, and a random tape off the dresser,” you blurt out.

“Plug it in over there,” she grunts, pointing to a nearby outlet. Right, power – you had forgotten they had that!

You hastily plug the boombox in, put the cassette in the top, and turn it on. The slowest, saddest love song starts to play out of the speakers, and you stare in horror at the melancholic music. Glancing at the tape, you see a bunch of hearts doodled on the top instead of an actual name for the tape.

“I swear, I just grabbed the first tape I saw!” you squeak, face flushed red. You sneak a glance at Sevika and find her face bright red in embarrassment, refusing to meet your gaze.

You fucked up – oh, you fucked up bad.

You set the clothes down on top of the toilet quickly, staring at the floor as you manage to say: “I’m going to leave you alone now – I’ll be down the hall, so just yell if you need me. I can get you another tape if you –“

She grabs your hand and tugs you until your knees hit against the tub. You will yourself not to flinch, heart hammering in your chest.

“Can you… stay? I don’t – I don’t want to die alone,” she asks the bubbles, her voice barely above a whisper. The music nearly drowns it out.

“Oh,” you breathe, the fear in her voice settling into your bones. “Yeah, I can stay.”

You want to reassure her that she’s not dying – or remind her of the promise she made to you at the very least, but now hardly seems like the time. She can process the events of today however she needs to. It’s not your place to force her to think positively.

She nods her head, loosening her grip on your wrist. You take your hand back slowly, grabbing a nearby stool and sitting on it next to the head of the tub. She sinks a little into the water, getting her hair wet. Without being asking – too afraid of what might come out of your mouth if you do – you lean over top of her and grab the shampoo bottle. The room is quiet, apart from the singing of Linda Ronstadt as you lather the shampoo in your hands. Working slowly, as you’re attempting to wash the fear out of her mind, you scrub your fingers through Sevika’s scalp. Her hair is oily and gross, turning the lather a brownish colour as you work the dirt out. She hums, leaning into your hands as you focus all of your energy into washing her hair.

“That feels nice,” she sighs contently, eyes falling shut.

You don’t trust yourself to say something back, so you say nothing at all. Simply continuing to scrub her hair as she continues to rest in the tub.

Silence falls back over the two of you like a warm blanket as you shampoo and condition her hair. Even as she washes herself off with the bar of soap and the water drains out of the tub. She sits quietly on the foot of it, letting you stitch her leg shut now that it’s clean. Her hand grips the tub, nearly breaking it, yet she never says a word. Not once does she complain, even as you bandage her leg up again and pass her the shirt. Deadpool’s face is printed across the front, yet your heart is so far away that you barely muster up a snicker. Once she’s dressed, the two of you leave the boombox running, music drifting through the house. She sits quietly on the kitchen counter as you heat up a can of soup, eating in silence once it’s finished. Sevika is rarely a talker, and you don’t have the heart to break the silence with something foolish and spoil the mood. So, instead, you help her around the house as best you can. The two of you have a second drink on the couch before you help her back upstairs to her room. She takes each stair painfully slowly, not wanting to pop the stitches on her leg. You can’t bring yourself to care; you’d spend an eternity on each stair if she asked you to. The heavy weight of her tired body on your shoulder blanketing you with warmth – a steady reminder that she was still alive.

Sevika has you switch off the boombox before helping her up to her bedroom. You leave it in the bathroom – you can put it back in her room tomorrow when you don’t feel utterly exhausted.

She doesn’t say a word as you reach her bedroom and help her into her messy bed. You adjust all the blankets, smoothing them over her so it looks more like a proper bed. She chuckles softly at your diligence, doing her best to help by smoothing out the top of the blankets. When you’re done, you stand awkwardly at her side, mustering up the words for a moment so you don’t make an utter fool of yourself.

“I should let you sleep now. The more you get, the faster you’ll heal,” you say – it still sounds clunky and awkwardly, the words sour on your tongue when your heart wants nothing more than to curl up in bed with her.

“I know,” she grants, pulling her hand out from under the covers and grabbing your wrist. The grip is barely there, letting you know you can pull away at any moment if you so choose. Her voice shakes as if she’s unbearably close to tears, the fear of death wadded up in her throat, suffocating her. “You can stay here, if you’d like.”

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, heart heavy in your chest as you brush her hair from her face gently. You can’t bear to see this woman – who holds herself up as a pillar of strength, unmoveable and unrelenting – crumpled into nothing short of terrified. “I’ll stay if you want me to, Sevika.”

“I do,” she rasps, and it’s all the persuasion you need.

You slip into bed beside her as if it is all you were ever made for. She wraps her arm around you, pulling you close to rest your head against her chest, keeping her leg straight so it can heal properly. You wrap your arm around her middle, fingers splayed against her side as you listen to the dull beating of her heart against her chest. Your heart thunders in your chest as her body emanates warmth like a bonfire, cradling you in her remaining arm. She sighs, lifting and dropping your head slowly as she relaxes into the bed underneath you. You’re not sure when she falls asleep, as you’re out like a light mere moments after you close your eyes.

[inorheona]

hualian on my mind

[morverenmaybewrites]

Y'all ever think about Creature! Jason Todd?

Cause I have some thoughts.

[youcancallmekathyp]

I just want to talk about that nurse calling Lucy “Mrs. Lockwood.” About how she asked George if he was MrLockwood when she first came to the house. And then I want Lucy to be the one opening the door to people looking for either employment or wanting to employ the agency and going “Are you Mrs.Lockwood?” and her starting to like the sound of it.

[apricusapollo]

my sister turned on work song by hozier and I suddenly felt unbearable urge to cry over helnik I miss them so much it's unhealthy

[bookwormbardbear]

you can tell me work song isn't about steve and danno, but you'd be super wrong, and i suggest you let that one marinate.

[mumrikberry]

Today, I woke up for ballet class and went to get dressed. My boyfriend made me a cup of green tea with one spoonful of honey, the hard honey, in my lilac mug with the blue spoon, the smallest one. He passed me the black tote bag before we went out. On the way there, he pointed out that one of the clouds "looked like a columbine" - he is not interested in clouds, or in columbines, or in plants at all. He laughed when he saw I was wearing the purple socks with green dinosaurs on them, "because those are the ones you wore when we first hung out" he said.

I went to uni today proudly wearing my green backpack. "It's green, you love green" He said when he gave me the gift bag containing it during our beach holidays. I looked into the bathroom mirror in between classes and smiled at my dragon earrings, they look just like his necklace.

The thing is, I like my green tea with one spoonful of hard honey and I love the smallest blue spoon. I wear the black tote bag to ballet class and I love clouds and plants and columbines. I collect funny socks, and he knows the stories of them all. He knows my favourite book is Demian. His sister tells me he's taking notes while reading it. He remembers all the space facts I've told him and all the constellations I've pointed out. He says my lips taste like blackberries (I wear blackberry lip gloss, but he argues that it's because that's my name).

He knows and he listens and he remembers. And he tries. He always tries.

And god I love him.

[blackboxtheater]

Me: *thinking about how Mumbo and Skizz were not aligned with Pearl and Impulse in Wild Life and yet when they came back from the dead, they were brought back by Cleo and thus finally allies with their besties (romantic/platonic/literally however you want to interpret the bond that those guys have going on)*

My Spotify playlist on shuffle: hey, want to listen to Work Song by Hozier?????

Me: …………now that you think about it yes. Yes I do.

[natalinova]

No ship has ever been more work song coded than Steggy

[tapiocapearls2]

i find it incredibly amusing how my favorite Hozier song, Work Song, fits SO MUCH with both my all-time-favorite couples for whom i would die for in a heartbeat (hualian and aziracrow) like LOOK AT THIS. LOOK AT THIS SHIT.

[bluespringwrites]

No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

Hozier, Work Song, 2014

[and-make-it-double]

in retaliation to all the (painful) pining that sam has to put up with I think that he should get to inflict psychic damage on dean by making him listen to hozier. As a treat

[youcancallmekathyp]

wreck my plans // lockwood&lucy

"I'm begging for you to take my hand,  Wreck my plans, that's my man,"

                           Locklyle  Week Day 7: Free Day

[bumblingbabooshka]

Tuvok’s intake of breath/slight straightening of posture when Janeway says she spoke to his family before she left....................................................I can’t speak

[lyctoralsaints]

✧     ֺ    ˖    ⎎ @kuipher said an adoring kiss because the other is rambling. jess and mike hehe

pretty,  perfect  jessica  riley  ––  he  counts  himself  lucky  to  even  be  sort  of  worthy  of  her  love.  she's  talking  about  all  the  fun  they'll  have  when  they  get  to  the  washington  lodge,  as  odd  as  it  may  be.  his  biggest  fear  is  the  awkwardness  that  is  inevitable  .    .    .  but  if  she's  excited  for  it,  he  can  never  tell  her  not  to  be.  no,  she's  too  passionate  for  him  to  ever  dare  to  do  that.  he  sprawls  out  further  on  the  bed,  long  limbs  stretching  until  joints  quietly  pop.  he  registers  her  saying, we  can  have  snowball  fights,  and  can't  help  the  smile  that  prompts  to  tug  at  his  tiers. yeah,  they  can  definitely  do  that.  he'd  also  like  to  make  snow  angels,  he  thinks  ––  snow  angels  with  his  angel  .    .    .  that  sounds  like  a  plan.  mike  shifts  to  sit  up,  to  regard  her  with  a  meek  fondness.  the  expression  she  holds  is  exuberant,  bright  and  something  he  can't  quite  place;  he's  just  glad  that  at  least  someone  is  excited  for  the  trip.  it  makes  himd  read  it  less,  after  what  happened  in  the  most  recent  past.  jess  continues  to  talk,  and  he  tips  his  head  to  the  side.  " you're  right,  jess.  it  will  be  fun  for  us,  despite  everything. "  they'll  be  together;  that's  all  he  can  ask  for.  hands  reach  for  her  visage  as  she  continues,  to  draw  her  close,  to  press  a  kiss  against  parted  tiers  as  if  he's  trying  to  swallow  all  of  her  excitement.  he  just  might  be,  hoping  that  it'll  infect  him  so  he  can  look  forward  to  the  trip  in  the  same  way.  another  kiss,  a  second,  a  third  ––  he  loses  track  for  a  moment,  allowing  the  bliss  of  it  all  to  wipe  away  his  anxiety.  he  settles  into the  comfortable, endearing  memory  of  her  words,  and  the  softness  of  the  resulting  silence.