They lay curled together in his bed, both naked and warmed with each other's body heat reflected from the thick gray comforter.
He was the big spoon. After so many years of sleeping alone or in the company of those he never much cared to learn the names of, he finally had the one he truly needed back in his arms.
His arm over her bare middle, fingers flexing just slightly into her soft abdomen. His face rested at the back of her neck, her thick curls tickling his face with every inhale, but he made no effort to move away. She smelled just the same as he remembered her.
For so long after leaving her behind he would occasionally catch a whiff of perfume or soap or shampoo that even just resembled hers, and he would feel the heart-shattering feeling of the ground shifting beneath his feet.
It took several long months for him to stop jerking his head around looking for her visage at every smell or airy laugh that favored hers so much. He knew she would never risk following him, not at risk of her life. But his heart, ever the optimist, couldn't help leaping every time he caught a snippet of a voice that carried a cadence similar to hers.
He buried his face further into her neck and hair now. After all that hatred and self-loathing, all the recent death and destruction, all the pain and sorrow through the years, he finally had her back in his arms. Finally had her back.
His hands meandered over her stomach again, fingertips gently caressing the deep marks that proved she once carried his child there. Her round hips fit perfectly against him just as they had before, and even now as his stomach had rounded over the years as a perceived terminal bachelor, they still fit together perfectly.
He hadn't even had the chance to ask how she had fared in her life without him. He hoped she hadn't had as hard of a time as he had. That, while he conceded to himself that he hoped she had missed him just as much, at least she wasn't alone. At least she had a piece of him to keep her at heart for so long. He had not been allowed such a luxury.
Dusky morning light filtered into the room through the dark curtains. The slivered rays falling over them in shafts of half light. The gleam of the silver streaks in her hair, nestled amongst the mass of striking black of the rest of her curls, made him smile. She had aged, just as he had. But he couldn't see it readily in her face as though he was sure she could in his. She was still the embodiment of youth to him, just now with corkscrews of silver and white interspersed with the black and dark browns.
Kissing her shoulder, he ran his rough and calloused hand over the smooth skin of her arm gently; his peachy pale skin in stark contrast against the rich caramel of hers.
She stirred then, a sharp intake of breath as she stretched her arms out in front of her, her fingers splayed and stiff, her body rigid for a moment before relaxing back into her pillow.
Turning her body some to look over her shoulder, her nearly-black eyes met his deep brown ones and she couldn't help the smirk that tugged at the corner of her mouth.
He returned the smile and her eyes saddened when she watched his cheeks fold into the creases of the scar tissue. The old scars nearly obscuring his sweet dimples that she had always adored.
He watched her face for a moment. "What is it, love?" He couldn't help the worry in his voice. Would she see an error in coming here? Would she choose to leave again, now that he was finally, nearly, whole again?
Shaking her head into the pillow, her curls bouncing some with the effort, she pushed her shoulders into his bare chest and grabbed at his hand, pulling it around her more firmly. She took two deep shuddering breaths, then, "I just missed you so much, mo grá."