Welcome Home Love
Kat/Pol angst, after too long.
For someone who'd gone toe to toe with vampires, monsters, and devils that shouldn't have been created, monstrosities and unbelievable sights, I'd never thought that knocking on a door would wind up being the most difficult task of my life.
I held flowers in a shaking, too tight hand. It felt like a shitty and pathetic gesture. Hey, sorry I just left you high and dry, take these dollar store fucking flowers. But it would have felt worse if I was empty handed. Maybe it should have been candy. Maybe it should have been money. A new car. Maybe I shouldn't be here at all.
I was standing at the door so long, neighbors would definitely start to get the wrong idea. And yet my fist stayed just so, knuckles ready but unable to knock.
My heart thundered against my ribs as my mind played back every possible terrible reaction that this could give me. He doesnt want to see me. He calls the police. He throws the flowers in my face. He's moved on. He hates me. He thinks I've betrayed him. He thinks I'm horrible. I am horrible. How could I do this to him?
I'd been gone too long. What a perfect piece of shit move. I'd told him I'd never leave. I fucking vowed it to him in front of everyone. I will stand by your side, love you and care for you, and be there when you need me most. Nothing could ever steal me away or make me love you less.
Fucking liar.
It was too much. I turned and started to leave before I was caught crying on a doorstep. I never even knocked.
But before I was off the porch, I heard the door swing open, and I didn't even need to turn around to hear his voice. His voice.
"Katie...?"
I froze. Would it have been better if he just didn't see me? Too late now. I turned back around to see him there in the doorway. Tall, always tall. Way over 6 feet, especially with that hair. Muscles, big and thick, my eyes still pec-height like we'd always joked about. He was still littered in more freckles than I could count, though I'd certainly tried once. His broken-heart earrings just seemed to dig the knife in deeper, like a slap to my face about how I'd treated him by disappearing. So much had happened. Things he just wouldn't understand. It was never because of him that I'd been gone.
"Jean Pierre." I replied finally, afraid my voice would break and I would weep.
He started coming toward me, and I had to ready myself. All the words I'd spent hours toiling over to explain myself failed immediately and I was left just standing there wordlessly as he crossed the porch in three steps to cling me to his chest.
I wasn't sure if he should hug me or punt me off the porch. But if I was in his shoes, I knew exactly what I'd have done. Maybe that's why he was so different. He was always so nice.
He hugged me so hard and I let him. His muscles were always strong and perfect for hugging. Strong and soft, like a cushion of muscle he brought my face into. The tight black shirt, the smell of his bodywash and shampoo, it was familiar like a home, like a home I'd been away from way too long. Like a home I didn't feel like I deserved to have. I hugged him back, the hand holding the flowers awkwardly parted away from him.
I was choked up when I pulled back to look at him. My throat felt all tight and tears were swelling in my eyes, causing him to swim before me in an unrecognizable shape of blurry hair.
"Polnareff, I—"
Starting a sentence took many tries.
"I don't— I wasn't— Fuck. I'm so sorry."
"I didn't know when you'd come back."
"I never meant to leave."
"I know you didn't."
He held my face in his palms, in his big soft warm palms like he did when we kissed. We didn't kiss, not yet, he just held me there.
"I owe you an explanation."
"Not now." He said. "Now I'm just looking at you again."
I had no choice but to look at him, too. His eyes were blue, shining with tears, his silver hair still looking perfect in that tall updo I never quite understood. Freckles galore across his cheeks and the bridge of his tall nose. He had that strong jaw, thick shoulder muscles, and most unexplainably, he was smiling.
I missed that smile more than I'd ever realized.
"Why don't you hate me?"
"The same reason that you don't hate me."
His French accent was always more apparent when he was sad.
"Well, you didn't leave me without an explanation. I think— I think you should hate me."
"Katie." His tone stopped me. He cupped my cheek and I immediately wanted to sink into it. "You know I wouldn't think that about you. Don't say that."
"Well— maybe I do hate me."
I could tell his heart was heavy. I handed him his flowers like the world's stupidest apology gift. He took them, and his face looked like glass, like he was fragile and could break. And yet, he still smiled.
"Would you like to come in?" He asked.
Would I ever. But did I deserve to? I fidgeted on the spot, and he could tell I was hesitating on purpose.
"Its your house, too, you know. It's been our home. You've always been welcome here."
I could feel tears that wanted to spill from my eyes. I wanted nothing more than for him to scream at me and kick me out, be angry, be rightfully enraged and never want to see me again, and he was the exact opposite. He had always been too good for me. I finally nodded, and Jean Pierre put his arm around me to guide me inside. He effectively made the decision for me, taking me inside, out of the cold, and back to where I belonged.
"Tell me about all your adventures, little fairy." He smiled, cooing like I'd never left.
He sat with me on the couch. I'd left that awkward space between us, not sure if he wanted me all cuddled up like nothing had changed, but he sat closer, close enough to fill that gap and held his arm around my shoulders, looking down at me attentively. I let out a long held sigh.
"Its a long story..."
When I'd finished regaling him with the story of where I'd been these past months, Polnareff had grown ever closer to me, even taking my legs and putting them over his lap, curling up like old times, when he'd sit and let me talk about my D&D ramblings, but I cut to the chase. We'd been skirting around my reason for coming here for too long.
"Look, Jean, I came here... I wanted... I had to apologize—"
Polnareff took my hands in his and cut me off, looking at my face sweetly. "I know. I know just why you came, cherie. You know I haven't forgotten you, or let you go." His voice was low and soft. Far softer than I would have given myself. "I've always been here. Right where you needed me. You came back, that's what matters, isn't it?"
My heart felt so heavy that he'd forgive me this easily. "Please let me apologize, Jean. Please." I whispered, finally letting my tears slip down my cheeks.
He brushed the hair out of my eyes, exposing one ear, and with the gentleness of an angel, he slid one of his broken heart earrings into the lobe of my ear. "There, just like it should be." He smiled.
I looked up at him and finally caved into him, taking his face with one hand and pulling him close to me, kissing him for the first time in what felt like ages. It seemed like the tension melted from our bodies at long last. We had each other again. We had each other. We were safe. His lips had been just as soft as they had been the first time we shared a nervous, blushy kiss in the hallway of our shared hotel in Egypt.
He kissed the top of my head when I pulled back and wiped my eyes, and his face was alight in a smile. A smile that reassured me that he was still here. That he didn't resent me, and that I hadn't completely ruined my chances with one of the kindest and most wonderful men I'd had the pleasure of falling in love with.
"Welcome home, love."