He could always tell when it was happening. Always.
It didn't happen instantly though, like flicking a switch, but instead happened more in stages.
And as he lay in bed with her, in the darkness, he could hear those stages now.
First, her breathing changed. Less deep, more rugged. Her fists clenched, holding the sheets tightly. Her expression tightened from the peaceful bliss of sleep to one of worry, of pain, of fear.
Second, she became uneasy. She shifted, rolled over, shifted again. Rolled over again. As if no possible spot or position on the bed was comfortable. As if she had to keep moving through her fitful not-quite consciousness.
Third, the muttering started. Oh he hated that part. Listening to her incoherent murmuring as she squirmed, listening as every single word tried to leave clearly through her lips.
But the part he hated most of all came next. The incoherent words became less incoherent, and he had to listen to the mere glimpses of her torment.
"No…"
It was a terrified murmur of a moan, and still she wouldn't lay still.
"Please…"
He stared at the ceiling, telling himself not to look at her, to stay as far away as possible until it was over. He had learnt countless times before not to come close when it was happening.
Sometimes, it even made it worse.
"I'm sorry…"
Those two words caused an ache in his chest, an ache that only came when she spoke those two words and spoke them in that way. Quiet whimpers that pierced the silence, feeble sounds that only sounded worse to his carefully trained ears.
"I'm sorry…I'm sorry…"
He wanted to hold her, desperately he wanted to hold her close until it stopped. Until she stopped. But no, he couldn't, he just had to keep looking at the ceiling and hope it would be over.
"No…"
Why did she only sound so weak, so helpless, so afraid, when she was trapped in what was supposed to be peaceful slumber? When she was awake, in the outside world, she smiled and laughed even when her temper got the best of her.
But here, at night, almost every night…
"I'm sorry…"
No one would guess, no one would know, what a different person she could be.
Except him.
He knew.
And he hated it.
"I'm sorry…"
He hated it so much.
"No…"
It pained him more than her recklessness, her constant endangerment of her own life.
"I'm sorry…"
But he didn't care.
Not right now.
All he cared about…
"No!"
…Was when it ended.
She woke with a tangled scream, eyes open and wide with fright, wide with horror. She sat up with the quickness of a rubber band, beautiful brunette hair wild and dishevelled as it clung to her face.
This was when he moved.
Without a word or falter, he sat up almost as quick as she did, and instantly put his arms around her.
The end always happened in a blink of a moment, but what happened after could last from minutes to what felt like eternity.
She clung to him without thought, eyes closing tightly as the tears that couldn't escape before were freed now. They weren't sobs, but her crying was joined by the continued words from before.
"I'm sorry…I'm sorry…"
His voice was gentle as he made quiet, drawn out whispers of 'shhhh', running his fingers slowly through her hair.
"I'm sorry…"
"I know."
She wouldn't even hear his voice, wouldn't even feel him there. She would just know the warmth. Know the comfort. Know she was safe.
"I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…"
He continued to hold her, continued to shush her, just like he had wanted to since he first knew it was happening.
She needed him.
And he needed her.
"I know."
"I'm sorry…"
"I know."
He couldn't feel time passing, he didn't know how long he repeated those two words as she repeated hers.
But it felt like so long, maybe even hours, before her crying slowly stopped, and her voice faded back to mumbles.
The words soon ceased as well, and as his songbird slowly slipped back into slumber, he uttered those words she always needed to hear before leaving consciousness once again.
"You are not a monster."