If she's a coward to find this easier, in the wake the of the harder, she'll take that today. So few things ever are or were when they came knocking to deck down her doors. He sleeps with the heaviness of a child, curled into her, arm sprawled over her, in a manner no one has in the better part of a year. All the jokes about her headboard aside, she knows what she misses most from The Apocalypse in this same manner has nothing to do with sex, and that the sex doesn't touch it at all. These things she's broken herself most of. All over again.
For long seconds he reminds her, too small and too broad shouldered, even small, of Rachel. The blonde hair and the bright eyes. They are nothing alike, her ice-eyed model tag-along, and her viking boy one. Nicknames even in the silence of her mind and this room, as though, even the sanctity of that space cannot handle the true names and faces on them. She knows the first. She does. Even if she's only said Rachel's name twice, and she rarely thinks of her head on save with Amy now.
Jo watched him sleep, labored and heavy breaths against her shoulder, quiet in the still room.
Too many words, too many questions, too many nameless things too big to contain, and on top of too much else.
In the end, if Jo Harvelle would be the last thing to admit such a simple thing, even in the face of everyone around her who knew it, from child to Archangel, she is only human, and there is only so much one heart, one mind, and one world can take. Especially when it's calmed down from the explosions to stay on point and ever ready for. She falls asleep, somewhere between one breath in and the next out, one slow blink from exhaustedly, but unwaveringly, watching his fevered face, and the next second just darkness.
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Date: 2016-12-12 01:08 pm (UTC)For long seconds he reminds her, too small and too broad shouldered, even small, of Rachel. The blonde hair and the bright eyes. They are nothing alike, her ice-eyed model tag-along, and her viking boy one. Nicknames even in the silence of her mind and this room, as though, even the sanctity of that space cannot handle the true names and faces on them. She knows the first. She does. Even if she's only said Rachel's name twice, and she rarely thinks of her head on save with Amy now.
Jo watched him sleep, labored and heavy breaths against her shoulder, quiet in the still room.
Too many words, too many questions, too many nameless things too big to contain, and on top of too much else.
In the end, if Jo Harvelle would be the last thing to admit such a simple thing, even in the face of everyone around her who knew it, from child to Archangel, she is only human, and there is only so much one heart, one mind, and one world can take. Especially when it's calmed down from the explosions to stay on point and ever ready for. She falls asleep, somewhere between one breath in and the next out, one slow blink from exhaustedly, but unwaveringly, watching his fevered face, and the next second just darkness.