[ He does feel the blush against his shoulder, manages the energy to smile a little in return; he'd taken to calling her that during their most private moments because it felt right — she's descended from queens, and he's just an outlaw, and it was drilled into him from a young age that you always respect those in station above you, and what better time and place than when he's worshiping her?

(Sometimes, like now, he'll do it outside their bedroom just to see her blush, because the way the pink flushes across her cheeks makes her even more beautiful, a feat he thought impossible.)

He still doesn't want to disturb her, but he wants to see all of her, and he raises the hand still on his to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back as she greets him in return, steeling himself before he moves to prop himself up on his elbow, back to his pillow. ]

Mid must really have pushed those engines, [ he says, surprised, like he's not currently only in stable condition and hardly better. He can sit up, he can breathe, he's alive, he's fine, clearly. ]

But I'll be glad to be home.

[ Home, without Joshua. That sharp pain of grief stabs him in the heart, and his face closes off, fingers threading with Jill's. ]

I'm sure there's a mountain of letters I need to sort through and get to work on.

[ That's how you deal with it, right? The pain of losing someone again after you've found them, knowing this time there's no hope of their return. You go back to your life, throw yourself into your work. Keep locking it up until you're numb to it. And then he realizes, maybe Jill doesn't want to go home— ]

And you? What will you do?

[ 'Tell me, and I'll make it possible.' ]