You'll Be the Death of Me
"Come on, I know being in bed is just making you miserable. At least down here you can listen to the radio, and I can keep you company while I work." Jean helped Lucien hobble down to the sofa in the parlor.
He sat down roughly, groaning in pain as he did so. "I suppose this will be alright," he grumbled.
Jean regarded him with a furrowed brow. "I honestly didn't expect you to be such a baby about this."
"I am not!"
"I've seen you injured before, and you usually take it like a man. But suddenly your appendix gets removed and you turn into a delicate flower after surgery. Honestly, Lucien, I expected more from Major Blake," she teased.
Lucien knew she was just having a go at him. He gave her a small smile. Satisfied, she left him to make some tea in the kitchen. Lucien was glad he didn't need to give her an explanation for his less-than-macho behavior following the appendectomy. It probably would have spoiled the day if he told her that until now, he'd always felt like he deserved any pain or injury he had, that the war had broken him in every possible way and he'd just grown used to it, that dying hadn't concerned him until very recently. It was all her. She'd given him a home and a feeling of true family unlike he'd ever experienced. Not even Mei Lin and Li had filled him with this kind of warmth. He'd loved them, and he would always love them and the life they'd had together. But that was long gone now. And the new life he had with Jean was worth more to him than anything he'd ever experienced. That kind of comfort and warm safety and clever fun she brought to every single day was unlike anything he could have ever expected. Surgery had been terrifying for him only because of the risk it posed to his happy life with Jean. He didn't ever want to leave her. He hadn't had enough time with her yet, though he doubted that a hundred years would even be enough time.
Jean returned with a pot of tea and found Lucien gazing off into the distance with a wistful expression. "Alright?" she asked dubiously.
He blinked and looked at her with a smile. "Fine, Jean, thank you."
"Would you like me to turn the radio on for you?"
"Yes, please."
She bent down to turn the radio dial. Lucien craned his neck slightly so he could watch the way her skirt got very tight when she bent over like that. He smiled a little more to himself and took a sip of tea. The soft sounds of music wafted through the room. Jean turned to find him with a grin on his face and gave him a smile to match. "I'm going to wash up the kitchen. Holler if you need anything."
With nothing else to do, Lucien slowly sipped his tea and listened to the music. His eyes wandered around the room. He hadn't really looked at this room in a long time, if ever. It was tidy but lived-in. Very warm and inviting. He knew he could take no credit for it. Almost every single spot in the house had been carefully cultivated by Jean; he could see her everywhere.
As though sensing his thoughts about her, Jean soon returned to the parlor, taking the feather duster to all the surfaces and corners. She flicked her wrist and dusted in rhythm to the music. The song ended and she returned to her usual pace.
"You know, I can't believe I've never noticed it before," Lucien thought aloud.
"Noticed what?" she asked, pausing to engage his conversation.
"You. The way you walk."
She frowned. "What about the way I walk?"
"I've known a few farm wives in my life, and none of them walk the way you do. You don't walk like a farm wife."
Jean shrugged, trying not to be offended by his strange comments. "Well I was a farm wife for many years, and this is how I walk. Perhaps I walk like a housekeeper, since I've been doing this for so long."
Lucien's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her. "No, you don't walk like a housekeeper either. It's fascinating, actually. I can't place where I've seen that walk before. The quick, measured steps, so full of purpose, and the utterly intoxicating sway of the hips…"
"Lucien!" she scolded, blushing.
He smirked. "Yes, well, that is my favorite part." Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. "I've got it! You walk like a film star. Like Lana Turner."
Jean's brow jumped halfway up her forehead. "Lana Turner? Lucien, I do think the painkillers you're on might be interfering with your head."
He protested, "No, you're like a brunette Lana Turner. Like Ava Gardner with turquoise eyes."
She scoffed, "When you recover, I'll remind you of this and you'll see how silly you sound."
"If you say so, Jean."
She knew that if she didn't leave now, she couldn't be responsible for her actions. "I'm going to tidy your study," she told him as she rushed out of the room.
Lucien had to laugh. If he didn't laugh, the fact that affectionate compliments made her nervous would just make him sad. Jean never seemed to be an insecure woman, but she also didn't seem to be very concerned with any vain pursuits. She always made herself up each day, doing her hair and putting on a bit of lipstick, but always prioritizing practical endeavors. Perhaps it was the painkillers talking, but Lucien made a mental note to tell Jean more often how beautiful she was.
The day dragged on and Lucien got very bored. He couldn't get up or do much of anything on his own. He'd already been on bedrest for three days after surgery. The recovery wasn't going as swiftly as he'd anticipated. Though he wouldn't have expected any better for another man his age, so he supposed he had to give himself the same expectation.
Jean did her best to check in on him, give him things to read and such. But he was getting frustrated, and his temper was growing short. "This is just silly. What do you want? What can I do?" she asked in exasperation. "Because clearly nothing I do is at all helpful."
"I could do with a glass of whiskey."
"You know you can't have any alcohol for at least a week after surgery. Your liver function is barely passable as it is!" she reminded him.
"You could drink some for me. Let me watch you," he requested hungrily.
She just rolled her eyes. "You already asked me that when you had hepatitis, and I said no."
"Yes, but you weren't sleeping in my bed the last time I asked," he said with a wink.
Jean had to admit he had a point. The first time he'd asked to watch her drink whiskey, it had been a strangely intimate request, one she had no intention of honoring. But now, it seemed like such a small—though still slightly strange—thing for a wife to do when her husband asked. She sighed in resignation. "I hate the taste of whiskey. Can't I drink sherry for you instead?"
He waved his hand dismissively. "No, I'm sorry, Jean. I am aware that it's an odd thing to ask. Never mind."
Jean considered for a moment. She walked away, checking out the front window and around the halls, just to be sure Charlie and Mattie wouldn't be barging in any time soon. She also went into his study to retrieve a bottle of scotch. When she returned to him in the parlor, she took a deep breath. "Alright."
Jean unscrewed the cap and took a large swig straight out of the bottle. She swallowed and coughed slightly, her face contorting at the taste. When she'd sufficiently recovered, she came and sat down on his lap, kissing him deeply.
Lucien was surprised at her actions but was immediately pleased. He could taste the scotch on her tongue, the earthy sting of it was still all over her lips. Every touch gave him the flavor of his favorite drink. And he could drink it off his favorite woman. Lucien had never experienced anything more arousing in his life.
Eventually, Jean had to pull away from him; she seemed to have lost the ability to breathe. She rested her forehead against his. Her arms stayed around his neck, fingers tangling in the soft, short hairs on the back of his head. "I know you didn't get to watch me savor it like you wanted, but I hope that was alright."
He panted, holding her tight around her hips on his lap. "That was more than alright. I got to savor you instead. This was even better than drinking it myself, I think."
"Good." She gave him a soft peck on the tip of his nose.
"I'd quite like another of those, but I think it might kill me."
"Oh, we wouldn't want that. But I think I'll take the bottle upstairs later, if you're up for it. I wouldn't want you to pop your stitches.
Lucien smiled blissfully. "You'll be the death of me, woman. But oh what a way to go," he laughed, kissing her again.