Sometimes he thinks she is going to dissolve into something else, right above him, and become something different and prettier and leave him again. When that happens, when the thoughts come rushing back to his head, he traces his fingers along the scar on her chest.
She's here, he thinks, and she holds his wrist, as if to stop him, but it's really just to hold on and he brings her down for a kiss. He decides he wants to live like this for the rest of his life, and with all the motivation in the world he thinks about retiring. He's done everything he could. He's done everything for this world, but the world doesn't seem too fond of doing things for him. He wants to be selfish and drown in her scent, and he wants to have her in his arms and he wants her to stop fighting too.
When the kiss ends, when they pull apart and she lets him touch her, he is convinced she's stardust and that they need to run away together like two frightened teeenagers. He is convinced that their destiny is more than fighting, more than losing and crying. He is convinced they can have peace.
He feels her hand on his face, caressing him, her cold fingers on his jaw, his beard, and she smiles at him and loves him and he knows all of her secrets, knows every inch of her body and where each freckle is located. He likes the one on her right breast the most.
He knows she doesn't mind the blonde hair, not as much as she minds the scar, and he doesn't mind anything because she's here and she's Jill, she could never be anything or anyone else.
She lies on top of him, he's a comfortable bed, her breasts against his chest, her head on the crook of his neck.
She's made of something else, she's stardust, she's gorgeous and he knows they will never have peace and they will never run to somewhere safe but he can dream and he dreams of her and she's got freedom caged up in her heart.