The hand reached forward, straight through his chest, latching onto his heart. He felt the pressure as the fingers squeezed and tugged. He threw his head back and screamed, thrashing about and clawing at the floating, bodiless arm that ripped his heart out of his chest. He couldn't see; he could barely breath. The pressure strained on his bones and cracked them. Nothing he did could stop the arm from slowly pulling his beating heart out of his chest.

The sheets were tangled around his legs when he thrashed his way out of bed and collided onto the wood floor. Screams flew from his throat. He could feel the hole in his chest, the gaping emptiness from his ripped out heart. Locking both his hands over the cavity, he sprinted for the bathroom. He ripped his shirt open in the mirror and stared.

There was no gap. There was no hole. His heart still pounded in his chest, hammering painfully against his ribs and sternum. There were no fresh markings across his chest, only old and faded scars.

"Did you dream they took your heart again, Gilbert?"

Elizaveta was leaning against the doorway in one of his t-shirts. She had dark circles under her eyes and a large, bright red mark on her cheekbone.

"Mein Gott, Elizaveta, did I hit you again?" He choked, covering his face with one of his hands. His body shook with adrenaline and disgust with himself made his stomach turn.

"You were having a night terror, Gil, it's not a big deal."

"I hurt you." He stumbled backward into the bathtub and sat down on the ledge, burying his face in his violently shaking hands.

"I'm durable." She pushed herself off the doorframe and crouched on the tile floor next to him. She rested a hand on his knee.

"I'm a wreck," Gilbert said, running his hands over his face. "I'm not even supposed to be alive – "

"Hey, no, no," Elizaveta interjected. "That's not true. If you weren't supposed to be alive, then you wouldn't be alive. End of story. You just need time to recover, Gil."

He looked at her with red-rimmed eyes, on the verge of tears. "It's been decades, Lizzie. They won't go away. Nothing works."

"But you're making progress," she said soothingly, running her hand gently through his sweaty white hair, pushing it off his forehead. "It used to be almost every night after the dissolution. Then when the Iron Curtain came down, it was once a week. And when you moved in with me, it was every two weeks. Now it's about once a month. And you realize reality much more quickly than you used to. Sometimes you even hear me when you first wake up instead of immediately going into fight or flight." She took his hands in both of hers. "And it's nearing the anniversary of the dissolution, you know they get worse around that time. You're not a wreck; you're just taking time to heal. We live a very long time; we get damaged and have to heal. Every single one of us has been where you are before, some of us just healed quicker than others."

"I still hurt you."

"You've given me much worse." She cracked a grin at him and he couldn't help but smile back. He leaned forward and kissed the mark on her cheek, mumbling sorry against her skin. She pushed her lips to his when he pulled back before she stood, keeping ahold of his hand.

"C'mon, you should try to get some sleep. You wanted to come with me to the summit tomorrow."

She held his hand on the way back to the bedroom. They reordered the bed. He climbed into bed after she did and pulled her against his chest. She wrapped her arms around his chest and he tucked his chin against the top of her head, looking at the ceiling while he ran his fingers through the ends of her hair.

"You're awesome, Lizzie." He mumbled, pressing his lips into her hair and kissing the top of her head. The flowery scent of her hair was familiar and comforting.

"I know."

"I love you."

"And I love you. Try to sleep."

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply as the adrenaline drained from his system. He was alive. He had Elizaveta. One day, he would be okay.

I'm back~