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“You’re my soul, Jess,” he stated simply. He knew no other way to say it. “I lose you, I lose all that I am.”
Her hand lifted, touched his cheek, before her finger fluttered over his lips.
“You’re every breath I take, Hawke,” she said, her voice drowsy but echoing with such love that he felt humbled. “Every breath I take, you’re a part of it.”
They were a part of each other.
Moving to her side, he dragged her coat over them for warmth, pulled her against his chest and let himself believe.
It was Christmas morning, and he held his gift in his arms.
Looking at the angel with the broken wing, he knew that next year there would be another. A perfect one to represent her perfect love. But this one was even more precious for the wing that had been shattered. This one had survived. Just as his own angel had. Survived and still retained its beauty and the essence of what it was meant to be. A reflection of love. Not always perfect, not without trials. But always there, surviving and enduring.
Just as his Jess had survived, endured and loved.
His own Christmas Angel, and he held her in his arms, knew her taste, the feel of her heartbeat, the touch of her body against his.
A true gift from the heavens. His Jess.