Aug. 27th, 2006

not_that_spike: (lying down)
It's about the fifth day in a row he's had to put shit back up onto the shelves: whatever the fuck is going on knocking things down is really starting to be irritating. But it's almost been an adventure in the making, because he's found a few things he didn't know he had in there: the odd book, a note he'd written one time or another, some old piece of clothing he brought back from the Bebop without realizing he'd done it. Of course, every time he opens the closet now he sees his trench coat hanging in there, nice as anything, all beat up and bloodied and shot through, along with his blue jacket and he's washed that a hundred times now but he's not sure he can fix it. Hell, he's not sure anyone can fix it but it's just clothing. Just a jacket. If they ever make it back to Outpost 12 he might stop in the snooty store and get another one but here, he almost doesn't need it.

Not really.

Even though he really likes it, but what the hell. There are more important things to consider, like whether or not his ribs are finally fucking healed and he thinks he might get Hero to take a look at them after all. She's the closest thing they have to a doctor; at least she'll be able to assess the amount of trauma remaining.

Not today, though, or at least not right now. Right now he's lying on his back on the bed reading about Week 36; it's mostly about preparing for labor and there's a quote from some guy named Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in it that goes like this: A torn jacket is soon mended; but hard words bruise the heart of a child. And he thinks maybe, just maybe, his own dad should have read this book before his kid was born. Might have made things a hell of a lot different from the way they ended up. Still, no regrets, because the way things were is what landed him here with Beth. It's why he'd never change the past, why he didn't when he had the chance all those months ago. No. The way things are is the way they're supposed to be, and he loves Beth and she loves him, even if she's as big as a T. Rex and twice as fierce. Turning to face her, he gives her one of those smiles. After all, they made #3 on her list even though she claimed there was no order to it.

Yeah, he loves her.

"Hey." He traces her nose, from eyebrow to tip, then lets his fingers do a sort of ski-jump off the tilted-up end to land on her lips.

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