The Stop Sign.
Sequel to One Way Down A Dead End Street.
Written for Penguin's Challenge No29- "Life's altered you, then, as it's altered me. What would be the point of living if we didn't let life change us? ~ Charles Carson (Downton Abbey)". I made this one a second chapter/ sequel to another prompt, just because it fit, but can stand alone.
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Sam wakes in a cold sweat, panting, tracing the shadows of the light fixture before she's even fully conscious. She sinks back into her pillow, squeezing her eyes closed, and counts her breathing, willing her heart to calm.
Beside her, Jack watches out of half-closed eyes, face almost completely buried in his pillow. There's a strong wind outside. Even with the blinds drawn, she can see the shadows of the tree branches swaying, peeking through window where the blind doesn't quite cover the edge. She can hear it too- the whistling in the eaves and the scrape of leaves on the pavement outside. Mikey- the dog down the street- barks at something (probably a squirrel), and she feels sorry for him, being locked outside in this weather, with the rain threatening to return any second. It makes her feel colder, even with the heater still being on, which it shouldn't be. They always forget to turn the damn thing off, and God knows how much cheaper their power bill would be if they could break that habit.
"You okay?" he whispers after a moment. She turns to face him. He's watching her mentally catalogue the nightmare, ridding herself of whatever horrors her subconscious dug up this time.
She rolls into him, curling her hands under her chin and resting her cheekbone against his shoulder. She nods against him, closing her eyes and counting her breaths. He continues to watch her for a moment, and when he sees she's not immediately going back to sleep, he shifts one arm under her head and tucks her into her side.
"It's okay" he whispers. I'm here.
She sighs against his chest, and runs one hand over the hair peeking out the top of his singlet. I know. Before Jack- before they finally figured things out and settled into their own version of 'perfect'- she hated sharing her bed. She hated that she had nightmares that woke people, and that she sometimes didn't wake from them herself, so she felt the guilt of having kicked her bedmate in her sleep. She hated having to explain that 'I get nightmares sometimes, I'm sorry', and the secrets that always followed. With Jonas it was easier- his nightmares were always far worse than hers. With Pete it had been more difficult. No amount of police work, no matter how dangerous, could explain the horrors they had seen on other worlds. She still has visions of those early days sometimes, when everything was new and scary, and she had her being taken from her and used against her will, and they met the Devil, and had their bodies dismantled and reassembled. Of all the dreams, the ones about those first few years are always the worst, and most vivid. Pete could never understand why her sleep was always so restless, as much as he tried to be understanding.
Jack is always a little bit shocked when they both make it through the night unscathed.
The nights have become calmer over the years, and they are both thankful for that. She wants to believe she's made that transition on her own, but there is always that feeling that maybe he had something to do with it. Jack, on the other hand, knows exactly who is responsible for calming him.
He rubs his hand over her back several times before settling back into the softness of the bed, resting his hand on her hip bone. She finally feels sleep tugging her back into the black again, and she falls asleep listening to his heartbeat, feeling less cold. It's a nice change.