His first sight of Jennifer, after the bandages were removed, was hazy. But there she was, a burnished copper goddess kneeling before him, her eyes filled with a breathless anxiety waiting for him to respond.
He could see her. He could see her.
She surged into his embrace, relief flooding them both. They allowed themselves the luxury for several long moments before the pressing matter lying on the kitchen floor needed to be handled.
It took hours for them to deal with the police, the EMT's and all the rest. But nearing 3am, their Willow Pond estate settled into its usual sleepy, serene silence. Jonathan was still somewhat sensitive to the light, so he laid against the headboard in shadows, the only illumination coming from the dressing area where Jennifer readied herself for sleep. Of course he was glad to have his sight back, but he allowed his eyes to drift shut and chose to indulge his other, newly heightened, senses as he waited for her.
The soft cherry almond scent of her lotion. The swish of a brush through her hair. The gentle swirling of air over his bare chest as she moved in and out of their room. He felt, more than heard, her stop at his side. There was anxiety in her tone as she tousled his hair back from his forehead.
"Darling, are you sleeping?"
"Uh uh." He mumbled, reaching for her without opening his eyes. His aim was true and his fingers slid around her bare thigh. Following the line of her leg, he encountered the hem of one of his sleep shirts.
Her breathing stuttered as he continued higher, lazily. There was no rush.
"Are you in pain?" She was breathy, concern and arousal wrestling in the throaty velvet of her voice. His lip quirked and her throaty chuckle chased a frisson up his spine.
"You know what I mean, Buster." She was whispering now, loathe to break the spell he was weaving, his fingertips drawing mesmerizing circles in her skin. She whimpered a bit when he withdrew his hand, but his fingers caught the edge of her makeshift nightgown.
"C'mere." He mumbled, tugging her until she climbed over him, straddling his abdomen. The quirked lip turned into a smirk when he realized she hadn't bothered with panties.
She leaned in and her hair, loose and fragrant, fell around them. The only sound was their soft breathing, their thoughts and feelings syncing up in their nearness. Their marriage had always been a sovereign state unto itself, population two. And he was desperate to reunite the governing bodies. The trauma of his health crisis aside, they had been apart for too long and the emotional upheaval made that separation all the more poignant for both of them.
They were physical creatures, well matched in that regard. They never hesitated to speak their love out loud. But there was a circuit that needed to be completed in order for them to know they were truly safe and whole.
Jonathan arched up and caught his wife's lips with his own, a chaste kiss that drew her to lie on him fully, her fingers curling into his biceps before trekking to scrape across his scalp. He could feel the desperation in her touch, clinging and holding, as if he would slip away like so much cigar smoke. He knew their recent brush had frightened her, and more so he had unintentionally wounded her with his own insecurity. He'd never meant to insinuate that she would fall out of love with him or leave him if his sight never returned. His doubts had been for himself only - his self-assuredness taking a hit at the idea that he'd have to rely on anyone. He was absolutely sure of very few things in life. The sun rose in the east, Max lived for the ponies, and Jennifer Hart loved him. The sun would shift directions long before Jennifer ever would.
He was fine. She was fine. They were fine. He opened his eyes again and all he could see was her. The slope of her cheeks, the gentle bow of her lips. Her honey hazel eyes, searching deeply. It had been a possibility that he would never see those eyes again, would never again marvel at the beauty of her. It had frightened him more than even the threat of being helpless - to think the last time he's seen his wife, grinning at him poolside, would be the very very last.
"I'm fine," he said aloud, his hands once again on the soft skin of her thighs, pushing the nightshirt up as he went.
"You're better than fine," she crooned, allowing him to adjust their positions, his fingers brushing the warm wetness between them.
And then his normally loquacious wife, skilled in banter, lost her words completely as the circuit completed.
Her shuddering sound, half sob and half moan, spoke for both of them. He had missed her keenly in the hospital, needing her nearness as a sailor needs the North Star. She would guide them safely through rough waters, if only her hand was in his. But the doctor had sent her home and doped him up thoroughly. Enough that when he woke, he could think only of hearing her voice and stumbled through the darkness towards her.
Her voice cooed to him now, low and rough, the words unimportant but the cadence a tickling of sandpaper up his spine. He watched as she unbuttoned the sleep shirt, her hands falling away to brace herself on him as she bit her lip, her head tossing on her shoulders.
He was fine. She was fine. They were fine.
Jonathan's hand brushed over her abdomen and up until his palm pressed over her heart. It beat steadily against his palm, speeding with each thrust of their bodies. That heart was his. She'd given it to him for safekeeping, just as he'd handed over his own. An act of faith for two incredibly independent souls. For all the troubles that seemed to follow them (and there were many), that faith had never once been in question. They'd faced adversity (and sometimes danger) together; hand in hand, heart to heart.
When Jennifer met his gaze again, her eyes had fired. Gentle healing was over. She reached for his hands and twined their fingers, her body speeding and her expression shifting with more concentration.
Their passion was never too far from the surface, and once ignited it flared to life quickly.
The charge between them built in intensity, lodging itself low in Jonathan's abdomen, coiling tighter with each surge of his hips.
When at last they overloaded, it happened together. Jennifer called his name, hoarse and weak and clogged with tears and pleasure. Jonathan, however, stayed silent, unable to put voice to the overwhelming emotion swamping him. Jennifer melted over him, sweat-slicked and warm, draping her body over his and curling her face into his throat.
His palm found the small of her back, pressing gently, holding her in place despite knowing she had no intention of moving away.
The rushing ocean in his ears receded and still they stayed joined. They dozed that way, the stress of the previous week wicking them of the last of their energy. Jonathan awoke when he felt Jennifer sit up, pulling the unbuttoned shirt from her shoulders and tossing it in the vague direction of the bathroom.
"Don't go too far," Jonathan tried to call after her, but his voice was rough and it came out more of a croak.
Her face, that glorious face of hers, filled his vision once more. Her smile was soft, filled with affection and devotion, the fear finally receding leaving warm gold flecks of adoration in her eyes.
"I'd never." She assured him, brushing her thumb over his lips.
And that, he knew for certain, was the absolute truth.