Father always said that sleep was the breeding ground for dreams. He would often declare that sleep could cure anything, even hunger. I can still remember the way his eyes lit up as he spoke about dreams. We would often tell each other of our dreams right before bed as my father believed that it empowered the mind to give good dreams instead of nightmares, which I often suffered from as a child. He would sit in my bed next to me with his back against the headboard and legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. I would always lay my head on his stomach and picture in my mind all of the wondrous things he dreamed. Sometimes they would make me laugh and sometimes they would make me ponder the meaning behind them. When the time came to tell him of my own imaginings my father would often place his hand on my back. If the dream was good he would often smile and gently squeeze my arm, but if I told him of a nightmare he would rub my back and reassure me that my nightmares could not hurt me. In my father's mind all a person needed was a good solid eight hours of sleep a day and he considered them to be well-rounded.

With a sigh, I broke from my thoughts and carefully shifted my weight so that I was laying more on my back than my side. I stared at the ceiling for a few moments until my eyes began to scan down the wall closest to my bed and finally coming to a rest on the man that meant more to me than life. He was positioned on his right side with his one arm drawn under his pillow and the other curled against his chest. His features were relaxed and appeared soft in the dim moonlight that showed through the windows nearby. For the next few moments I focused on the sound of his breathing and the way his chest rose and fell in a lazy rhythm.

I shifted once more as carefully and quietly as I could so that I faced his body once again. Slowly with purpose I stretched my hand out to touch his arm, but hesitated as he too shifted in his sleep. Mere inches of space divided our touch as I waited for him to become still. His eyes fluttered open and he looked at me as if in a daze. Quickly I took my hand back and shut my eyes. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I hoped that he hadn't seen me.

"Dagger, I know you're awake," he whispered softly as his hand found mine. "Are you alright?"

His touch was so warm and welcoming that I couldn't help sighing with nervous delight. I opened my eyes and gave his hand a squeeze.

"Yes, I just can't sleep. I'm sorry that I woke you," I whispered back.

He grinned at me and scooted his body so close that I could feel his breath against my skin. His lips planted small, gentle kisses against my forehead as his hand freed itself from my grasp and began stroking small circles on my back. If I thought my heart was pounding before it was surely nothing compared to how it was fluttering like mad inside of my chest now.

"Don't be sorry," he whispered in between kisses. "What is so important that you can't think about it in the morning?"

My brows furrowed together in contemplation. I felt silly telling him that I was thinking of my father and our dream talks, but if I was to spend the rest of my life with this man, which I fully intended to do so, I would have to be completely and utterly honest with him about all of my thoughts and feelings.

"I was just thinking about when I was a little girl and my father would sit up with me at night. We would speak of our dreams that we had in our sleep."

Zidane pushed his body back slightly to better look at me. His expression was hard to read, but I soon forgot our conversation as I began losing myself in his eyes that were like endless pools of water. His tongue darted out and wet his lips before he began to speak again.

"You don't talk about your father very much, but I can tell that he meant a lot to you. Did you two always talk about your dreams together?"

I smiled a sad sort of smile at his question as more memories of my father raced into my mind. "Yes, we did, every night. Dreams were very important to my father and he truly believed that dreams were messages that our hearts and minds were trying to give us. As a child I was constantly plagued by nightmares. I always dreamt of a cloaked woman on a little boat with a small baby in her arms. There was a storm that rocked the little boat from side to side and I always felt so terrified when I woke up. My father thought it was important for me to talk to him about my recurring dream because he thought that it might help me."

Zidane nodded his head slightly as his continued to rub small circles on my back.

"So you two would talk about this every single night?"

"Yes," I answered simply.

I watched Zidane as his eyes darted from my face and down to my stomach and back up to my face again. He seemed to be in deep thought over all of this new information.

"Did your nightmares ever go away?"

"Well, in time, but I still occasionally had that same dream. I never understood it until we ventured to Maiden Sari and found that I had been born there. It all made sense to me, that I was the baby in my birth mother's arms on that little boat. I haven't had that dream since I found out what it meant."

Sighing wistfully, I moved closer to Zidane's body. I wanted nothing more than to feel his body and mine as one.

"Zidane, I want to be closer to you," I whispered, my voice filled with heated passion.

I felt his chest reverberate quickly as he chuckled at my statement.

"I can think of one way that we could be closer," he replied with vigor. I didn't understand his statement right away, but once I figured it out my entire face was burning.

"Zidane…"

He kissed my forehead gently before saying, "I know, Dagger, I know. I was just kidding and you know I would never ask you to do something you weren't ready to do. So, tell me, what do you dream about now?"

As I snuggled my way into his arms and neck further, I smiled against his skin.

"You, mostly."

He wound his arms around me tighter than before and signed contentedly.

"That's funny. I dream about you most of the time too."

Our legs intertwined like the ivy that hugged the castle walls and embraced the wrought-iron gates around the city. I tried to stifle a yawn, but failed miserably.

"I love you, Zidane, so much," I whispered against his neck.

"I love you too. Now let's get some sleep. Before you know it the sun is going to be coming up and you know how I hate waking up early," he joked.

With one final kiss shared between our lips, I settled in against him and found that I had a new dream; him.

AN: I haven't wrote in ages. I hope that this wasn't too terrible and thanks always for reading.