Chapter 4 (sometime after 09.18 Cometh the Archer, a sequel of sorts to Chapter 3)
He watched her wince and tense and clench her jaw. She moved slowly, her movements careful and deliberate, yet she never uttered a sound.
She'd insisted that she was well enough to join him at the table for dinner. She'd even cut up his meat for him. He'd initially baulked at this assistance, embarrassed, yet had to acquiesce when his injured hand failed to grasp the knife properly. However, most of her own food remained untouched. Eating became gradually slower as the furrowed lines between her brows became more pronounced, until she eventually set down her cutlery and declared herself full.
Conversation was stilted yet there was no anger between them. His attention centred almost entirely on his wife's recovery the previous couple of weeks, William had few stories to tell. And Julia had even less to say.
It was the first day she'd been back in their home since she'd resolutely left it in her injured state to set out in search of her husband.
The journey from the hospital had zapped much of her energy. The distance from the ward to the exit was the furthest she'd walked in weeks, leaving her breathless even with William's support. The carriage ride had been worse, each bump causing her to tense further and brace herself against the pain. By the time he helped her to the ground, she was trembling, and they still had to tackle the stairs. William had never been more grateful for his physical strength as he'd all but carried her to their floor, leaving them only the corridor to traverse.
They'd faltered outside the door to their suite. He knew it was likely psychosomatic, but he thought it could smell the cleaning products the staff had liberally used to clean the blood – his wife's blood – from the carpet. With his arm already around her, he led her forward across the threshold, he closed the door on the rest of the world, and they were finally alone at last.
She'd refused his offers to assist her in unpacking her sole bag from her hospital stay. Finally free from the confines of the ward, she was determined to exert some independence and prove to herself that she was capable accomplishing at least some tasks. And succeed she did, albeit making slow and cautious movements between the bag, the dresser, and the wardrobe. She chose to ignore William's watchful eye.
One thing she hadn't done, however, was answer bring in the dinner trolley. She'd startled at the sharp rap on the door. Wide-eyed, she stared in the direction of their entryway, moving not one inch, except for gulping in short, harried breaths. "I'll go," he uttered calmly, reassuringly, squeezing her arm in passing. "It'll just be the food."
After dinner, she even insisted on helping him clear the table. Eventually, seeing her wilting before him, William could no longer stay silent. "Julia." He caught her elbow, halting her movements. "Please rest."
"I need to change the bandages."
Finally, something he could do to aid her. "I'll help you."
"No!" She shied away, hands coming to cover the wounds despite the layers of clothing. She swallowed against the intense horror she felt at the thought of William seeing her mangled flesh. "There's no need. I'll be back soon." She scurried off before he could utter a word, hunched over yet moving faster than she had since leaving hospital, faster than was probably good for her. The bedroom door was drawn closed between them, soon followed by the sound of the bathroom settling into its frame.
He sighed, wandering aimlessly around the living area, at a loss of how to help his wife. While she was in hospital, the nights he spent without her in the hotel were lonely, and he'd often imagined having Julia back with him, to be able to talk and touch, to just look at her, to reassure himself that she was alive. Yet he had not factored in the emotional repercussions of their ordeal, nor the fact that she would still be physically healing.
Eventually, his eyes alighted on the book that had become so special to them both. Perhaps, finally, there was something that he could use to make himself useful.
What's taking so long? At his fifth glance at the clock, and noticing that twenty minutes had passed, William had to restrain himself from knocking on the bedroom door.
Eventually, she returned, wearing a high-necked nightdress and her hair in a simple if untidy braid. If possible, her movements were even more tentative than before. There was a tightness to her features that belied her pain.
"Julia…" he sighed, advancing towards her.
She shook her head. "I'm alright, William," she said softly, turning to tread stiffly to the bed. "I've taken something for the pain. It should ease soon."
Julia lowered herself onto the bed in increments, rigid, guarding herself, slowly raising one leg, then the other, and eventually easing back to lie down. William looked on, poised to spring forward to help her should she need it, and wanting to do whatever he could to ease her suffering, yet he remained uncertain. Unaccustomed to seeing Julia so fragile, he was at a loss.
"William, please don't stare," she eventually, exhaustedly sighed.
He spread his hands helplessly. "I want to help you."
She relented; really, she didn't want him anywhere but near her. "Please, just sit with me." She gingerly patted the mattress beside her.
He indicated the book he'd placed on his bedside table. "May I read to you?"
"Yes." A ghost of a smile flittered across her features. "I'd like that."
He settled to settle beside her, slow in his movements lest he jostled her. He wanted nothing more than to hold her firmly against him, yet let her take the lead, grateful that she encouraged him closer so they were at least touching. With Julia lying and he sitting, her head was level with his hip. He looped his arm around so his fractured fingers could at least rest against her shoulder peeking out above the covers.
It wasn't lost on them that the last time they had opened the book was when they had acted out Romeo and Juliet. They had been so lively and happy, rushing around the suite with nothing to hamper their movements, their laughter free; there was no foreshadowing of the events to befall them only weeks later. In stark contrast, Julia now lay still, fingers clenched in the sheets and her entire being braced against her pain.
Usually, he would choose something of significance, but he suspected that Julia was too worn to take in anything he would say, and merely wanted to comfort of his presence. Sonnet I seemed as good a place as any, and so he began, "From fairest creatures we desire increase…" His voice was slow, even; he hoped to at least soothe her psyche even if he could do nothing to ease her physical maladies.
As time progressed and his voiced washed over her, she eventually softened as the medication took effect and William's lulling intonation washed over her. She unclenched her fingers, moving one instead to rest upon his thigh. There was nothing sensual in the touch, only the comfort of being once more beside him
He glanced down at her periodically, relieved to see her features smoothed and relaxed in sleep as he reached Sonnet IV. "But flowers distill'd, though they with winter meet. Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet," he finished. With soft movements, he closed the book, turned out the light, and lowered himself down to curl carefully around her. Finally, she was back beside him after weeks of pain and worry, and lonely, sleepless nights. He prayed their nightmare was finally over.
A/N: Thank you for reading! This is for ChibiDawn23 who suggested a fic where William reads to Julia during 'Cometh the Archer'. I'd already written most of the previous chapter by that point, so the prompt inspired this chapter.
I'm quite enjoying writing this small one-shots. They're helping me to explore different scenarios and emotions as I try to improve my writing.
