Chapter Text
“I got you a present.”
Jean peers up from the box of hardbacks to find her girlfriend standing, hands clasped awkwardly behind her back, in the low doorway of the shop backroom. She’s leant up against one side of the doorframe, chin and eyebrow raised in a look of mischievous glee. It’s only emphasised by the paint splattered fleece - Jean’s fleece at that - and the streak of blue high on her forehead from her no-doubt chaotic painting.
She looks beautiful, and it chokes Jean up a little, her obvious enthusiasm for the new shop premises even with all the work they must put in shining like a sunbeam through the clouds of Jean’s own anxieties.
“Is this what you’ve been squirrelling away these past few nights?” she chuckles, sitting back on her heels to reach out one hand to draw Harry closer, till she can bend awkwardly to let Jean plant a gentle kiss on her cheek. “I thought it was something more serious.”
Harry sighs, turning to kiss Jean properly, quick bright pecks on the lips and both cheeks. On Jean’s forehead she lingers, the warmth of her lips soothing flat the crease of concern there.
“Worrywart,” she says, “now close your eyes and hold out your hands.”
Jean complies without hesitation, offering both palms up as if in benediction. There’s a shuffling sound, a thump and swish as Harry kneels too, wiggling to let her skirt sit just so. Then the press of fabric, rough thick cotton, and Harry’s smaller hand coming to cradle hers, and her soft voice.
“Open.”
She opens her eyes to the sight of paradise, Harry’s face flushed pink, lip caught in her teeth in a moment of nervousness. And in her hands, a blue bundle. She raises her hands, lets the fabric fall, till it reveals itself to be a pair of dungarees. No, two pairs - one’s legs cut off and fashionable frayed. Over the breast pocket a pair of swallows fly around each other, and in the corner a pair of slightly wonky letters - J, P - cradled in a heart.
“Harriet Peglar-” she hears her voice crack, “did you do this yourself?”
“Ah.” says Harry, “do you like them?” hands twisting together in her lap.
Jean casts her eye around till she spots an as yet unopened box, folding the dungarees reverently and placing them there with a reassuring pat. Behind her she can hear Harry shuffling on her knees. She takes a second to sniff, blinking the tears out of her eyes so she can turn back composed.
One look at Harry’s hopeful face brings the tears springing back. She reaches out and tugs Harry’s face to her until they’re sprawled together in the backroom floor kissing and laughing in turns, until Harry wiggles from her grip just enough to ask.
“So, you liked them?”
She is answered with a muttered prayer and a kiss. “Of course.”