Re-Emerge [Clover]

[Jesse Fforde]

[DATE: JUNE 2017

J E S S E
The venture Jesse had endeavoured upon months ago was finally given up on. It didn’t matter how much research he did, or how many people he tracked down and tortured for information, there was nothing. Whoever this Cobb was and whatever ritual or accident or whatever had caused the rift between reality and death to split open, it was lost. Or he never wrote it down, never told anyone. If Jesse were to succeed, it would have to be by a similar accident.

Whatever Clover might have promised about doing it together, Jesse continued to slip away while the woman worked. At first it was a good excuse, an easy way to get it done without putting her in danger, too. And then the weeks turned into months and the stolen moments before sunrise, the surprise visits at work… they started to lose their vibrant urgency, their excitement. There were no arguments. It just… happened. They had stagnated. Something he thought never would happen, but there it was. Maybe it was true, what everyone said about marriage…

The man grunted, refusing to believe it. The tome brought him back to Limbo, where he did not expect to find Clover. Although Jesse’s shoulders were slumped, there was still a tension to his limbs, sharp edges always defining his being. He was covered in blood and scattered with wounds – a raid had been won, sixty grand just banked. With disregard for the upholstery, Jesse flopped into one of the large, welcoming armchairs, hiss slipping through his teeth as he readjusted his position to sit more comfortably. The fire was cold in the fireplace, but he hadn’t the energy to get it started. Maybe in five minutes…


C L O V E R
Hard. Laborious. Tough. Demanding. Every word she picked described the last few months, the months she'd dedicated purely to profit, as if nothing else mattered. Money. Greed. At first, she said she'd done it for them, for the family, for Jesse, but that had been a filthy lie, one born and bred from her own lips. She'd banked every single coin, every single paper bill, and she'd hoarded them like a dragon. She knew, even as she worked, that she drove a wedge deeper and deeper into her marriage, yet she just needed one more day. Just one more cent and she'd stop. She married her work more than she married Jesse, and it scared her, it thrilled her to the bone.

But it was more than work. She'd watched him lose himself before, and she'd wanted something to rouse that sort of passion. She wanted something to call her own, something to fill her time. She found that in her pet projects, her two illegal businesses. What she lacked in other areas, she swore she'd succeed with business. She was a shitty sire, so she had to be a better businesswoman; lately, she'd been a shitty wife, so she had to be a better businesswoman. Clover covered her face with her hands and moved away from the computer, but she still saw the numbers on the screen. Expanding her businesses took more time and energy than she had to spare.

When she left her apartment, when she entered into Limbo, she saw him, and it felt a lot like looking at a stranger. Even when they were together, even when they were centimeters apart, she felt as if they were kilometers away, as if they had a whole chasm between them. And it was all her fault, she told herself. And everyday, she went back to her businesses instead of back to him. "Hey," she murmured, walking over to drop down into an opposing chairs.


J E S S E
Jesse didn’t actually know whether he had any bullets lodged beneath the skin. He might have – but the creatures he was dealing with hadn’t dealt in bullets. They’d played dirty with teeth and claws so the wounds he suffered were not small bullet holes that ran deep or right through, they were gashes and slashes and all he needed to do was just lay there for a bit. Eventually he’d get up and find some blood packs – all magical energy had been expended on healing himself in the raid. Healing himself, only so that he could obtain more wounds.

When Clover approached, she was clean and wound free. Jesse watched her once-familiar movements until she sat down, her greeting met with silence. To begin with. His eyes rolled back, eyelids closed, savouring the stabs and aching pains, the way they thrashed his body in so many places and sent electrical reactions through his nerves in the most melodious ways.

“Hey,” he echoed. When had he become this guy? The one to just give up rather than to fight for what he wanted, what he thought he needed. Maybe he didn’t NEED anything anymore. Life was life and he went with its ebbs and flows. Or, he just found enough companionship elsewhere – not with women, not that way. Or maybe he just didn’t have to think too deep about any of it. He was happy. But he was not. Wasn’t that the way with everyone?

"How's business?" he asked, eyes still closed. This is what they had come to.


C L O V E R
Her mind circled back around to definitions, finding comfort in words rather than in his arms. He looked terrible, and yet she chose to let him be. She chose to give him some space, as if they really needed anymore. Her eyes still roaming over his form, she lifted her shoulders for a shrug, and then slumped back into her chair. Her spine was at an awkward angle, so her back had a dull ache, but the little bit of pain kept her going. She'd been sitting at the computer for hours, so why not sit somewhere else?

Neglected. Yes, that was the word surrounding the both of them, and also circling around herself. She neglected herself, choosing to postpone feedings, to the point of weakness, just long enough to complete transactions. Neither of them deserved her behavior, most of all him. He didn't deserve to be neglected. More than once, she'd considered telling him just that. She'd considered apologizing, even though she had no intentions of changing her behavior. But what good would that have done? She would have pissed him off.

"It's good," she answered, vague. "You look like ****." There was the ghost of a smile on her lips, as if begging him to talk to her about something other than her business. She felt a storm on the horizon.


J E S S E
Jesse chuckled. He wasn’t without his good humour. Clover was still Clover and he could still talk to her, regardless of how little time they spent these days skin to skin. She told him he looked like **** and he’d be lying if he’d said he wasn’t imagining all the ways she could make him feel better. All the ways she used to, they used to make each other feel better despite numerous wounds. The images fizzled and dispersed, Jesse’s rough laughter dispersing along with them.

“I feel like ****,” he said. Where once he might have made a big deal out of it, these days he did not. Where once he’d been sensitive to the point of explosion if even looked at the wrong way, now he was merely settled. He did not move – he forced his body to relax, and could sleep here if left alone. He did often sleep where he stopped. Only the last week or two, though, had he stopped returning to their shared bed every morning. Every now and again, sure. But not every morning.

“I’ll be fine. Most of them will be gone by tomorrow night,” he said, referring to the wounds. Though Clover hadn’t asked after his wellbeing – she’d seen him a lot worse. And she was probably relieved that along with the wounds did not come a fiery self-destruction.

“You look like you need to get out more,” he said. Even though he’d only glanced at Clover, and still lay there with his eyes shut. But he knew what she looked like; he knew what she’d been doing all night. And the night before. And the night before that. He didn’t have to look at her to know what she looked like.


C L O V E R
Some part of her wanted to hold him, even if it hurt him, even if he hated it, simply because it would have pleased her. She's always reveled in her selfishness. At the thought of how she got there, sitting across from him, she smirked. Yes, she had a grin on her face, one inappropriate for their discussion. So the smile slowly dimmed. "Maybe I can be your nurse," she wanted to say, but she dismissed the thought as quickly as it'd come. They needed to talk just as much as they needed to have sex, maybe more. But she'd become rusty when it came to talking. She remembered cursing, and how good it felt to curse, but everything else seemed so difficult, almost too difficult.

"Good," she found herself saying, pleased with the knowledge that he'd soon heal. She'd worn wounds for weeks before, not to mention the state of her body when she'd been lost to the realm, so wounds that faded so quickly were wonderful, even welcomed. The quick pain. The release. And then the repair. "I get out," she defended, knowing well that it was a lie. She hardly ever ventured outside. She felt like an addict hiding away her problems. No, she didn't have a problem. The world had a problem.

"I'm sorry," she found herself saying, immediately regretting the words. She'd told herself not to apologize, and yet she had. Sighing, she reached up to run her hands down her face. Should she have gone into more detail? Should she have done something more, said something more? Perhaps.


J E S S E
Jesse wasn’t exactly sure how to respond. Sorry, like it meant something. Was this a turning point or would he just shrug, and would she just go back to doing what she’d been doing for months? Did it matter? Whatever had happened, Jesse still loved Clover. There were reasons why he had bound with her, reasons why he had married her. He could have said something snarky, something barbed, something intended to pierce through flesh and spirit to maim what was inside. Sorry for bailing on this marriage before it even began?

Instead, he lifted his weary head, his eyes bloodshot but still sharp as he stared at Clover. He really stared at her, peered as if he could strip away the layers and get at what was inside. They were married. He felt like he should know her. He did know her. And it looked like they were having this conversation, now. Whether he felt like it or not.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “You’re hiding from something. Running away from something. Is that it? Are you bored, now we’re finally happy?” he asked, and then he laughed, the sound choking in his throat. Is this what happy looked like? “Or have we just… become a cliché? They say that about marriage. Don’t do it. You’ll never have sex again,” he said, and again he laughed. This time it was low, and even he couldn’t tell whether it was genuine or whether it was bitter. “I love you, Clover. And I trust that if you need anything, you’ll ask.”


C L O V E R
She’d wanted nothing more than to stand on her own two feet. She’d wanted nothing more than financial independence. She’d been jealous of him, and maybe she’d always been jealous of him; after all, their whole relationship started with her in awe of him. Honestly, she feared that he looked down on her, that he recognized she really wasn’t good enough for him. And yet, when he asked what was wrong, she took a bit of her bottom lip between her teeth. Clo silenced herself. Whenever she looked at him, she still felt that awe, the feeling that wound its way around her heart and constricted, like a snake having finally found its place in the world. Awe. Even after their time together.

“I,” she stopped to sigh. He deserved the truth. He deserved the absolute truth. “I love you more than you could imagine.” Yes, she told herself, that was a good place to start. “I started my businesses as a way to help the family, but also as a way to help myself. I was bitter. I was petty. You had something you loved to do, and I had nothing. I was envious. I felt dependent on you in a way I disliked. So I did something about it.” How wrong the words tasted, like something sour. Her nose wrinkled, she tried to organize her thoughts, but she’d confused herself. Did she even remember why she started down the road she called home? Perhaps not.

“I’m not bored. I’m just lost. I’m aware of my situation, of what I’ve been doing, but it’s what keeps me busy. I want to be enough and being enough means supporting myself in a way that’s not always reliant upon breaking into buildings.”


J E S S E
Jesse listened. He tried to take it all in but he wasn’t sure what he was hearing. He didn’t know how to take it away with him; he didn’t know what it meant. He knew that he couldn’t hate her for it. There’d been times that he had buried himself in work, too. It was an easy excuse, a way to cut out and break away. These days he had only to spend a couple of hours here and there to make sure it was all running smoothly -- he had efficient managers in place. Even if he had to work five nights a week he’d still take two off. And he did, for his own sanity. Spending one’s time at work, all of the time, was not good for the soul. Nor for one’s relationships.

But he couldn’t come home and spend that time with the one he wanted to spend it with. Instead he’d been out doing other things, exploring, hunting -- things he’d once done with Clover, which they’d both thoroughly enjoyed. He scratched at a stray itch at the back of his scalp before running his hand through his hair, messing it up a bit in his mounting frustration.

“You didn’t have nothing, Clo,” he said, eventually, quietly. “You don’t have nothing,” he clarified. “And while I appreciate your intentions -- if you keep down this path, then you will have your businesses. And that is all you’ll have,” he said. That didn’t need clarification, did it? And yet it wasn’t just an offhand remark. The last sentence was forced from somewhere deep, a terrible dread that clawed metaphorical gouges in his throat as it came out, his voice stammering, husky -- a statement that was a surprise even to the speaker. He wanted to take it back. Could he actually leave Clover?

No. He wouldn’t. It hadn’t been a lie. He loved her, and had looked at no other woman in a lustful way since. He couldn’t imagine meeting anyone else like her -- like how she was, before.

“Are you going to come back to me?” he asked. “Or is this is? Is this how it’s going to be from now on? You say you love me more than I can imagine and I thought I had a pretty good imagination. But I can’t… it doesn’t feel like love. It feels like distance,” he said, keeping his voice level.


C L O V E R
She tried to swallow, but her mouth had already dried. All she’d have were her businesses. She could only focus on those sentences. Had he intended to emphasize those sentences, to emphasize those words? Had she simply zeroed in at the right time? Clo didn’t long to touch him anymore; she didn’t long to hold him anymore. She stared at him and only wanted to curl in on herself. Had it really gotten so bad? Yes. Had she really let things go so far? Yes. It wasn’t like she’d cheated on him. It wasn’t like she’d taken some other lover. And yet, in some ways, she had. She’d split her attention between her businesses and her husband, and the percentage soon became in favor of her work.

Clover nodded, but the motion still showed hesitation. She wondered what the **** she was doing with herself. They’d been so happy, so ******* happy. She’d been happy. And then happiness turned to contentment, and contentment turned into something else entirely. She had to ask herself if her businesses made her happy. She had to ask herself if she even wanted to answer the question. “I’ll quit,” she finally sighed, resigned to the fact that her marriage practically hinged on the decision. “I won’t be able to work at all, or I’ll fall back into old habits. If you’re going to question whether or not I love you, and leave me words riddled with an ultimatum, then I choose you. I’ll always choose you.”

The words, though true, left another taste in her mouth. She knew she told him the truth. Withdrawing from her work meant leaving her work entirely. There was no removing herself in part, only removing herself in whole. Clo wanted to give him the same ultimatum, but she didn’t, she couldn’t. She swallowed again, and again her throat was dry. He’d scared her, left her so frightened, that the venom in her mouth had gone.

“I will say that I’m not the only one who pulled away,” she said, narrowing her eyes on him. “I noticed when you stayed out. I wasn’t completely absent.” Frustrated, she tried to turn the conversation back onto him. If he’d called her out, why not return the favor? Wasn’t marriage about equality? No, she simply wanted the spotlight on someone other than herself.


J E S S E
The way Jesse sat there, he was like a big cat at rest. A panther, maybe. A leopard, at best. As the conversation progressed his muscles tensed only so that his fingers could curl into the cloth of the couch he lounged in. Sharpness edged his gaze, muscles in his jaw twitching as if his lips wanted to curl back in a prolonged hiss.

Couldn’t any relationship ever be easy? It had been easy. Why was it that Clover always made him feel like he demanded too much of her, or took away her freedom? It was not his intention. It was never his intention. Why did it always have to be all or nothing?

“No,” he said. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he massaged the tension out of his fingers, out of his fists. It was a tension born not totally of anger but of frustration and longing. He regretted saying anything. He should have just let her continue doing what she wanted, and tried to draw her out in some other manner -- so that she found a balance, an equilibrium, without thinking that quitting was her only option. Or that quitting was what he wanted her to do.

“You won’t quit, Clover, that’s stupid. If I can do both, then you can do both. It’s not hard,” he said. He wanted to lash out. It’s what he did best. It was hard to come to terms with the fact that he was, indeed, a sensitive individual, and regardless of how far he’d come he still had issues. He wasn’t prone to suicide anymore. And by disallowing himself to fully trust anyone, to lean more toward pessimism, it eased any bitterness or hurt. But this was Clover -- the only person who could really hurt him, if she really wanted to. It was in his disposition to push people away. This was a marriage, however. It was in the contract that they should work harder.

“Chicken and the egg, right? I stayed out because you stayed out. You stayed out more because I was home less. I’m not completely absent, either. Does it matter? Do we have to throw stones? Let’s not throw stones, okay? Doesn’t matter who did what or why. The result is that this isn’t what either of us signed up for when we agreed to marry each other. At least, it’s not what I signed up for. I’m not asking you to quit your job. I don’t want you to. I’m not going to make you sit around here waiting for my beck and call. I wouldn’t like that. It would make me feel sick. Can we just … go back to the way we were? When we’re home and together, can we… work together?” he asked. If nothing else, he could at least meet her in the middle.

[Clover]

C L O V E R
Of course she immediately took offense, and the narrowing of her eyes should have tipped him off. She’d come to a decision, come to terms with said decision, and he had the nerve to call her choice stupid. Their discussion became less of a discussion and more of him leading the words along. Of course he’d call her out for throwing stones, as if his behavior hadn’t been a series of stones thrown. Clo pursed her lips, but she hesitated to respond. The choice to relinquish control of her businesses didn’t mean she had to sit around at home. She’d simply go back to crafting, breaking and entering, and kicking ***.

How long had it been since she’d assembled a gun? She did miss furthering her abilities. She still had a collection of parts. She still kept drawers locked on the crafting table, the table that had become hers. The nights had all blurred into one massive darkness, one instance of work and nothing more. She still had people to see and places to go. How had she let herself become so consumed? Maybe she had an addictive personality. She wanted to explain away her behavior, and so she did.

“I miss constructing guns,” she said, completely disregarding his words, “so I’m done with business. For now.” There. She’d relented, in some way. He didn’t want her to give up on her hobby for him, but did it count if she gave up her hobby for the both of them? “I’ll never be the type to be here,” she said, pausing to gesture with her hands to the room around them, “waiting for you, waiting on you, hand and foot. You know that’s not my style.”

Clo took a deep breath and held the air in her lungs until she couldn’t anymore, until the air became a hinderance to her speech. Their behavior wasn’t what they had wanted. Their behavior wasn’t what they had expected. “Jesse, I signed up for marriage knowing problems would arise. This isn’t one of the problems I imagined, but it’s a problem nonetheless. I would really like for us to be okay again. No throwing imaginary stones. No chicken and egg.” She lowered her sock-clad feet onto the floor and slowly slid off the edge of her seat. She went over to him and took a seat on the arm of the chair, careful not to disturb his injuries. The time for the question had passed. Clo didn’t even really want to know the answer. But she asked.

“Would you have left me?”


J E S S E
He wanted to say yes. He wanted to thrust that knife deep into Clover’s core. An emotional knife rather than a physical one. He wanted to say that he’d have left, easily -- he’d have found some other floozy on the street and slept with them to satisfy his desires; he’d have become the manwhore he’d once been. Maybe one day he’d have found some other girl to love, to devote himself to. But it wasn’t true. That was the nature of love, wasn’t it? When it truly had a hold of you it wasn’t so easy to let go, or bypass.

“No,” he said, eventually. “I wouldn’t have left you,” he said. Given no resolution he’d have stayed, stagnant, grumpier than ever. Though he couldn’t honestly imagine how he might have been, how things would have gone had they not had this conversation because he was not the kind of person to let things stagnate. If something bothered him, he confronted it. Right or wrong, he lashed out at it.

“And I know it’s not your style. I wouldn’t have married you if I thought that was your style,” he admitted. He’d been through enough of that with Grey -- the constant sulking anger because she’d been waiting for him to come home but he hadn’t, the constant need for his presence and his approval. Jesse still wondered if he was right or wrong to have abandoned Grey like he had -- it was inevitable that he would have left her, and soon he realised it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter how he left her, the result would still be the same. They were incompatible.

And he couldn’t stand it, now, the way Clover sat so close and yet untouching. There was a time she’d have taken advantage of his wounds, poked at them, made them worse -- if in the mood. He chewed at the inside of his cheek as his fingers played at the hem of her shirt, seeking a way under it. Physical contact had always helped in the past; even just the tender act of fingertips against the small of Clover’s back was a soothing balm. They didn’t have to keep arguing; they didn’t have to throw stones or make a big deal out of anything. Distance had grown between them. Now they had the opportunity to rediscover each other. He tugged his lower lip between his teeth, weighing his options.

“Are we okay?” he asked. Yes, that was the better question. The other could wait.


C L O V E R
She exhaled, releasing a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. No. He wouldn’t have left her. She’d never been so content to hear that word, and she’d heard that word plenty throughout her human years. No. And she felt the twitch of her lips for a relieved smile.

But were they okay? She leaned into his touch and absently searched his chest, her fingers groping for sensitive spots. Pressing harder with each pass. She counted his ribs and appreciated his body, in a way so similar to the way he appreciated her own. They were physically connecting to try and answer the very question he’d asked. Beyond her silent response, Clo had no idea how to answer the question. Yes. No. Maybe. She took a long few minutes to respond, just to really look at him, and then she came to a conclusion.

“Yeah,” she finally said, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple. “We’re okay.” Arching a brow, she moved her hands to the bottom hem of her t-shirt and inched it up a bit further, revealing a slim portion of her stomach. “We could be a lot better.” Again, she raised her shirt, revealing more of her stomach. “Unless you’re hurting too much. In which case, I could be okay without you. You could just watch,” she smiled, quite sly. Clo wasn’t sure if she meant to tease him, to draw him closer, or simply to aggravate him. The end result was to lure him into sex. They both understood sex. Plus, they’d had a minor disagreement, and they’d recently made up. It made sense.


J E S S E
It should have spelled complete relief to hear the words, to know that they were okay. But words never equated to truth. Jesse had learned that the hard way -- and so many times over. The only way to know if they were okay was if words turned into actions. And he knew not to expect Clover to do all of the work. Nor would he like it if he, in the end, was the one doing all the heavy lifting.

There were still problems. There was still Clover’s personality; there was still that question rooted deep in his heart about whether she was really happy or not, or whether she never would be. They were different in so many ways. If someone hurts Jesse, he cuts them out, like one would cut off a finger that had succumbed to severe frostbite. Clover, however, let the frostbite set in and preferred to watch it grow until it took over her entire limb and debilitated her.

The few minutes of silence hadn’t bothered Jesse, his sharp eyes watching Clover’s every move, devouring it like a man deprived of water. The conversation could be ended; should be, given the less-than-subtle segue. Jesse might have liked to watch, just for a little while. And barely flinched, even as her touch reminded his body that it could still feel pain. He ignored it, instead pushing himself forward, hand fully slipping beneath her blouse at what could only be her invitation. By instinct, his caress travelled to where she would be most sensitive. The entirety of Clover’s torso revealed, he pressed a tender kiss to the soft skin of her navel -- right where the hilt of the dagger was etched into her skin. When he straightened, he had his hands around Clover’s waist, his eyes bright and insistent as he looked up at her. They were as blue as arctic ice but still burned with hell’s fire.

“Just promise to let me in. Let me in,” he said. And he didn’t mean carnally.


C L O V E R
The way he looked at her made her feel slightly guilty for purposely shifting the conversation to one sexual in nature. But she’d never been one to reveal all of her cards, not even to him. She should have opened up to him, told him that she’d been on the prowl once again, explained herself, but she hesitated. She couldn’t explain why she hesitated. They were married. He wouldn’t hold anything against her, or at least she assumed such.

“I promise,” she reluctantly replied. And even as she answered him, she felt terrible. She felt the tightening in her stomach and the sweating in her palms, even if those things never truly occurred. Suddenly, the idea of sex seemed to take a backseat. She shouldn’t have broached the topic, not when they had some unspoken business. “About seven months ago, I met a woman named April Song.” That was the start. “I’ve checked in on her several times, before I got absorbed in my businesses. The last time was at a club,” she said, stopping. The club had been fun, and they’d parted on amicable terms, but Clo had let a perfectly good opportunity go down the drain. She hadn’t attacked and turned Song right there. Instead, she’d played the waiting game, a game that quickly dragged on and on.

“I’m going to turn her. I don’t know when or where, but she’s mine.”

Fforde. If she didn’t dedicate herself to her job, then she had free time to dedicate herself to other things. Why not another childe? Why not someone she had tried to get to know? And to think, she’d considered keeping the information to herself. If she ever expected him to tell her about his sirings, she had to return the favor.

“I thought,” she stopped, having since relinquished her hold on her shirt. “I thought I would tell you?” There was an inflection at the end of her sentence, making it sound like a question, showing her own uncertainty. Maybe she shouldn’t have shared. Maybe sharing that tidbit hadn’t mattered at all.


J E S S E
Jesse watched Clover closely; he hadn’t expected that she would let him in immediately. He thought it would be a slow process, that she might go away and consider it, in the way that she had. But here she was, telling him something she’d not told him yet. A plan that she had had for months. He was curious--for several reasons. First, why she felt the need to keep it from him. And second, why she wanted to do it to begin with.

Inked fingers continued to slowly caress Clover’s bare skin beneath the blouse that she had proceeded to drop; any promise of sexual favours had been dismissed, for now. Which was fine. Jesse was, honestly, exhausted--though he wouldn’t say no, given half the chance. They had plenty of time. He leaned back again, slowly, easing into the slouched position so as not to agitate his wounds too much. His head leaned against the back of the couch, canted to the side just slightly.

“You put so much thought into these things,” he purred. It wasn’t a criticism. Merely an observation.

“Why her?” he asked, his fingers curling into hooks, his nails digging into her tender skin. Clover had been with women before. Jesse couldn’t stop from wondering.

“Why keep it from me so long? Not that you have to tell me every little thing, but…” he shrugged. If he’d found someone he wanted so badly to turn that he followed them around, he would tell her, wouldn’t he? He’d mention it. But then, he supposed, pillow talk hadn’t really been a thing lately.


C L O V E R
Why, indeed. Clover’s first meeting with Song hadn’t been a meeting full of fireworks, hadn’t been so memorable as to haunt both of them, and Clo knew those types of situations well. Perhaps it was because it was an ordinary meeting, one she hadn’t experienced in so long? Clover went toward the extremes, always wanting someone like herself, someone with a strong backbone and a disregard for the rules. She wanted someone to challenge her, to challenge the status quo, and yet she’d stumbled upon someone like April Song. April, whose heart seemed laced in gold; April, whose idea of branching out meant going to a wild club. Maybe Clover wanted to sin a little, to take the human and drag her into the depths of hell and back.

Song seemed entirely innocent, at least on the surface, and Clo had come across no indication of a deeper, darker level, something beyond that perfect little surface. Clo didn’t know how long she remained silent. Clo didn’t know how long she stared into Jesse’s eyes. She’d been lost in thought, trying to come up with answers to his questions. And the way he touched her only seemed to calm her, to lull her into a temporary state of silence. Why. April was ordinary, absolutely nothing extraordinary. She didn’t deserve their lifestyle. In fake, the woman likely had a weak constitution. And yet, Clo had followed the woman; Clo had tagged April for something more.

“She’s absolutely ordinary,” Clo sighed, a hand smoothing over his chest and down toward his stomach. Her fingers stopped though. “I want someone extraordinary, someone to question things. I want someone to raise hell. For some reason, I found her. I keep going back to her. I see her everywhere, even when I’m not actively seeking. She’s pretty,” she paused, “and you know I collect pretty things.” But that wasn’t the complete explanation. She’d given only one answer. He’d asked two questions.

“I didn’t mean to keep her from you. I wasn’t sure if I would turn her, and then if became when. I think she’s weak. I think she might wither here. But I’ve been wrong before. I thought Raven would thrive in this environment and she couldn’t.” Mentioning Raven and the Fforde family felt like ripping off fresh bandages and gouging at the wound beneath. “I put thought into this because this is my home. You put thought into it, don’t you?” It wasn’t meant as an insult, but it did sound that way. “What I mean is, haven’t you ever hunted someone, wanted him or her so much you’d do almost anything to have the person? A planned turning. It doesn’t even have to be a turning, actually. It could be a friendship. A lover. Being manipulative, being the predator, can be quite exhilarating, you know.” And she knew that he knew.


J E S S E
Jesse laughed and shook his head. His first answer no. That wasn’t his style. Well, he didn’t have a style anymore because he didn’t actively go looking for anyone to sire. It wasn’t a need anymore. It wasn’t an urge that he couldn’t satisfy and frankly, it was a relief, siring now on his own terms rather than at the say-so of a desperation he was now glad to be without.

“I only remember once. Only once have I ever followed someone with the need to claim them,” he said. He didn’t mention the name. They were having a nice conversation and he didn’t want to say the name. It would ruin the vibe, and who knew what kind of imbalance it would cause Clover? But then, he remembered…

“Axel, too. I suppose. Kind of? But they didn’t work out either. Planning or doing this on a whim, it doesn’t matter what, there’s still the chance for failure,” he said. “If it’s what you want to do, Clover, then do it. Don’t do it for any other reason except that you want to. And… maybe ask her first. If she says yes then there’ll be less chance she’ll hate you and rebel,” he said. Though, strangely enough, it was those he’d turned without asking who always seemed to turn out the most loyal.

“I’m patient in too much else to take my time with who I kill and why. When I feed it’s usually chaos and turning happens on a whim, or by accident. Like with Rhett… I didn’t mean to kill him. Turned him because I didn’t want to see him die,” he said with a shrug. Most often his turnings were a direct consequence of his lack of control.

“My point, though -- if she doesn’t survive, if she does whither, how will that affect you?” he asked. He hated Raven not just because she was a disrespectful little **** but because of how she’d made Clover feel. The last thing Jesse wanted was for some other disrespectful little **** to bring Clover down.


C L O V E R
At first, she lingered on the name Axel, but that urge to remember the absent, supposedly ever-loyal, member of the family soon passed. He'd vanished. He'd abandoned them all when they needed him most. If she ever saw him again, she hoped to send a bullet straight through his skull. She hadn't been aware of the narrowing of her eyes or the curve of her lips, but she glared and scowled all the same. And despite Jesse’s obvious unwillingness to share the other name, Clo hadn’t gone down the yellow brick road leading to thoughts of Grey, leading to angry thoughts of Grey. The woman’s absence seemed to cure much of the bad blood.

Axel became Rhett, and Rhett made her click her tongue in irritation. They were on slightly better terms, and she promised herself she’d always play nice and treat the man with as much respect as possible, but God did she want to kill that man. In fact, she likely wanted to kill most of Fforde. That thought soothed her. “I’m,” she stopped and forced the angry words down, “glad you saved Rhett?” There was an intonation suggesting a question, something she hadn’t been able to withhold. She would have Rhett rather died, but it hadn’t been her decision. And if it ever came to protecting Rhett or letting him die, she knew she’d stand on the side protecting him, because that’s what Jesse would have wanted, and that’s just what family did for one another. Apparently.

“I don’t want to ask her. I don’t care if she says yes or no. I would rather she prospered here. But if she doesn’t, if she really is as ordinary and weak as I think she is, then I’m not sure. I want her to surprise me,” she frowned, considering her next words, “but if she can’t, if she doesn’t, maybe I might kill her. Maybe I might disown her. I don’t know. Maybe I might just accept the mistake for what it is and keep her around.”

She wasn’t sure if Jesse ever had those thoughts, thoughts of simply wiping out mistakes, of washing away the ones he’d mistakenly turned, but she assumed they had a policy of honesty and she could admit such thoughts. Clo stared at him as if she were waiting for him to scold him, in which case she would huff and remember not to share such things again. No, she wasn’t the type to stifle herself when it came to such things. She liked to vocalize her distaste for others.


J E S S E
A sigh slipped from Jesse, chest deflating as the stale, unneeded air was expelled. Clover was an enigma wrapped in a mystery the majority of a time, a puzzle that Jesse delighted in trying to put together. Their relationship wasn’t cookie-cutter, and he knew they hadn’t got where they were now without hitting a few sharp rocks along the way. Silence pervaded the space as the cogs twisted and spun, as Jesse’s inked fingers lifted to soothe the glaring scowl etched between Clover’s eyes.

It was never a secret that Clover’s good favour was hard-won. In fact, Jesse was almost certain that in the beginning, she’d hated him, too. It was a matter of time and patience and proving oneself so the woman whose heart was as cold as ice and, in the end, he supposed it meant that her care, when given, was one hundred percent genuine.

He didn’t want to question, anymore, why she had been absent the past however-long. He didn’t want to question what it meant in regards to her opinion of him. He didn’t want to succumb to the anxieties that still hid so deep inside, those slivers of depression and paranoia that must always have existed and which still remained. Instead, he shrugged and shook his head.

“I guess it’s lucky I no longer have much of an investment in a cohesive family unit,” he said. He didn’t want any more Ravens. He didn’t want any more mistakes. He didn’t want anyone else in this farce of a family--which was no longer a farce, all things considered--who didn’t want to be there. He tried himself these days not to sire strangers. As much as he could, he saved only those who wanted to be saved. He did it for the serenity, for the peace and calm.

But he knew Clover was a fan of chaos.

“I need you to do whatever you want to do to keep from being bored. If it’s what you want, my love, then it’s what you will have,” he said. His tone, his words were devoid of sarcasm. He genuinely just wanted Clover to be happy.


C L O V E R
His final words brought a smile to her face, one full of nothing but love and positivity. He’d given her permission, which she never truly needed, to do whatever she wanted to do, regardless of the ending. No, he hadn’t given her permission, at all. He’d reassured her. He’d given his support, and that mattered a great deal to her. If April turned out to be a mistake -- and Clo assumed the woman would be a mistake -- then Jesse accepted every possible outcome, regardless.

“Let’s go,” she finally said, leaving the chair. She wanted to pull him, to drag him from the chair and to their bedroom. She communicated her happiness in many ways, from words to actions, and right then, after hearing such nice words, she wanted to communicate her happiness in the bedroom. Clo wanted to make him feel as good as she felt, maybe even better, if it were possible to feel even better than she felt right then. “We can play doctor. I’ll take good care of you,” she smiled, though the expression conveyed something genuinely devious. She didn’t know yet whether she intended to soothe the ache or prolong the ache. Her idea of doctor could have included any number of things.

She’d also considered the possibility of hunting; however, Jesse didn’t seem like he’d be up for such activities. Or maybe he would be up for such activities. She didn’t know. She didn’t want to ask. Her thoughts immediately went back to her former idea. He needed a good nurse more than a bad one, and Clo decided then that she’d do whatever he wanted. She wasn’t always so selfish. “We don’t even have to play operation, if you don’t want to.” That removed the option of cutting him open and playing with his insides, replacing the possibility with old-fashioned stitches and bandages.

How many times had she put him back together? And vice versa? Yes, she would take care of him. That was her way of thanking him, of proving her appreciation, and if she also enjoyed herself -- and she would -- well, that was okay too.