Author's Note: This is a companion piece to "In Her Dreams," also posted on this site. The story takes place a few weeks after the Season Six episode "The Homecoming."

In His Dreams

By Canilla

Sully opened his eyes to a sickeningly familiar sight – a dirt plateau next to a steep drop-off. He'd been here before…he knew what came next.

Sergeant O'Connor appeared out of thin air, fist flying at Sully's face. He didn't try to dodge; he knew he couldn't. He hadn't been able to avoid that blow the first time, and that hadn't changed in the constant string of repetitions his sleeping mind had put him through.

Sully grappled with O'Connor, blows exchanged on both sides as the men fought for dominance. Refusing to fight wasn't an option; Sully had too much to live for. But the fight was always the same, and he felt the familiar swell of panic as the scuffle neared the edge of the cliff. He knew what happened now – the impact, the last struggle for balance, and the horrifying feeling of plummeting as the ground rushed up to meet him.

But, as O'Connor charged him, Sully saw something he'd never seen before – an opportunity. O'Connor's hand grabbed his arm, and Sully twisted, putting every ounce of strength he possessed into the move. Finally, after months of reliving this horror, he had gotten the upper hand. He landed hard on top of O'Connor, using his body weight to pin the other man to the ground.

Sully's vision blurred, and he fought to hold on, to end things the way they should have ended months ago. His left hand closed around O'Connor's throat, cutting off the man's cries, and he drew back his right fist, hoping to get in one solid blow before the dream vanished.

His deep breath was laced with the smell of lilac soap.

Sully's world snapped back into focus, and he froze, every muscle tense as his mind struggled to catch up. There was no dirt, no cliff. He was home, beneath the massive headboard he'd carved with his own hands. But his fist was poised to strike, and his left hand clenched a throat…a throat too slender to belong to O'Connor. In a blast of horror, Sully realized that the person pinned beneath him was his wife! Michaela's two-tone eyes were wide and her hands scrambled for purchase on his forearm. She struggled for breath, lips forming his name soundlessly.

Sully flung himself backward, desperate to release her. In his panic, he misjudged the width of the bed and tumbled to the floor, legs still tangled in the covers. He kicked himself free but didn't get up, willing his ragged breathing to slow. After a few breaths, however, he heard a sound over the pounding of his heart – deep, shuddering, tear-filled gasps.

Michaela.

Sully's heart shattered into a thousand shards of agony as he heard his wife's terrified sobs. He had done that. He had frightened her. He had hurt her. He scrambled to his feet and ran to her side, dropping to his knees on the floor beside her head.

It took two tries to get his voice to work, and, even then, it came out as a choked whisper. "Michaela? Michaela, talk to me. I'm sorry…I'm so, so sorry. Tell me what t' do…tell me how I can help. I'm sorry, Michaela." As he kept up his litany of apologies and desperate entreaties, Sully's hands clutched the edge of the bed. He wanted nothing more than to gather her into his arms, cradle her against his chest, and reassure them both, but he didn't dare touch her. He'd done enough damage for one night.

Slowly, Michaela's breathing eased, her gasping sobs turning to soft shudders. Finally, after what seemed an eternity to her guilt-wracked husband, she turned her head to face him. The tears glistening on her cheeks tore into his heart.

"Sully?" she whispered.

"I'm here," he said thickly. "I'm so sorry."

"You…you were dreaming. I tried to wake you…."

"I know. I'm sorry. I…I guess I was still dreamin'. I thought you were…." Sully shook his head. "Never mind. Just please…please tell me I didn't hurt ya."

"You thought I was…?" Michaela prompted softly.

"Don't matter," Sully replied tersely.

"Of course it matters." Michaela's eyes were more alert now, her voice stronger. She sat up to look at him more clearly. "Sully, whatever that dream was, it had you held so tightly that I couldn't wake you, and, when I did…." She trailed off, eyes dropping.

Sully finished her sentence, voice flat. "I attacked ya."

Michaela spoke to the quilt. "I believe I have the right to know why."

Sully's hands flexed against the mattress. "I'll tell ya, Michaela. I'll tell ya anythin' ya want to know. Just…please tell me you're all right. Tell me I didn't hurt ya."

She didn't look up. "I'm fine, Sully. You woke up; you realized it was me."

"Not soon enough," he whispered.

A noise from the other side of the room startled them both. Sully stood, but Michaela stopped him with a gesture. "I'll get her."

Sully stepped back, giving her plenty of space as she slid out of bed to check on Katie. Another step backward brought him into contact with the wall, and he leaned against it gratefully, letting it take some of his weight. His knees threatened to buckle under the strain of his guilt. He had thought this was over, thought that he was finished putting his family through hell for his mistakes. Apparently, he was wrong.

Michaela turned away from Katie's crib. "She's still asleep."

Sully nodded, unable to speak. At least his precious daughter had been spared the terror of tonight. Suddenly, he noticed that Michaela was trembling from either fear or cold. Or both. He found his voice, although it sounded rough to his ears. "You should get back in bed. You're shiverin'."

Michaela shook her head. "I'm fine."

Automatically, Sully stepped toward her, but froze as she tensed. "Sorry," he said quickly. Then, softer, "Please, Michaela, get back under the quilt an' warm up. I'll stay over here."

Still, she hesitated.

"Please?" Sully whispered. "I've done enough for tonight; I don't want ya catchin' a chill 'cause a' me."

Finally, she nodded and padded back to the bed. Sully stood, watching. He didn't know what to say, what to do…how to fix this. He was supposed to protect her, but how did he protect her from himself? After a minute or two, he realized that he, too, was trembling with cold and the shock of the past few minutes. He crossed the room and stirred the fire, letting the warmth of the flames ease his shivers.

He wasn't sure how long he crouched by the hearth, eyes fixed unseeing on the dancing flames. Thoughts swirled through his head like leaves in the wind, but he didn't try to grasp any of them. Thinking hurt. Breathing hurt. He had finally fought his way out of his nightmare, but it had come at too high a cost. He'd hurt the woman he loved more than life itself.

Something touched his bare back, and he jumped halfway to his feet before he realized that it was Michaela, draping a blanket over his shoulders. She leapt backward at the same time he jumped up, her eyes dropping to the floor.

"Sorry." Sully knew he'd said that word a lot tonight, but he wasn't sure he could ever say it enough.

Michaela gave him a look he couldn't decipher and, to his shock, settled on the floor beside him, just out of reach. She, too, had a blanket wrapped around her.

Sully let himself relax just a little and sank to the floor. She was willingly coming closer – that had to be a good sign.

The couple sat in silence. Sully felt the pressure to speak, but he couldn't think of a single word to say. He glanced at his wife, but Michaela's eyes were fixed on the flames, her face thoughtful. Finally, he dropped his head into his hands. Voice slightly muffled, he said, "I know 'sorry' ain't enough, but it's the best word I've got."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

Sully thought he'd misheard her. "Huh?"

"You've listened to my nightmares plenty of times over the years, sometimes right here by this fireplace," Michaela stated. "It's my turn."

Sully looked into her face. He saw sympathy, he saw concern, and he saw determination. There was no anger and no fear. Still, he didn't want to discuss his dream. He had no right to her comfort or to her understanding, not after what he did to her. But, she was waiting, and he did owe her an explanation.

He began slowly, haltingly, describing the location, O'Connor, and the fight. He glossed over the violence, but he left nothing out, admitting that this was far from the first time he'd had the same dream.

"Why haven't you ever told me?" she asked.

Sully shrugged. "You weren't never there when it happened, an' I never thought it was important 'nuff t' tell ya. Ya didn't need to fret any more than ya already were."

Michaela seemed to accept that, prompting, "What happened next?"

He took a deep, ragged breath and told her the end – how the dream had changed, finally letting him win. "Then, I guess I woke up, 'cause I was in bed, an' I wasn't chokin' him, I was chokin' you." Sully's throat closed and he dropped his head, welcoming the hot rush of guilty tears.

"Oh, Sully," Michaela whispered.

He sensed movement, but wasn't prepared when her arms wrapped around him, drawing his head to her chest. He tensed at the contact and pushed away, not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved that she let him go without protest. "Don't," he muttered.

"Why?"

Sully kept his eyes fixed on the rug. "I don't deserve your comfort," he said harshly.

Tentative fingers brushed his knee. "Perhaps not, but I'm still offering it…if you want it." Her voice was questioning, unsure, as it had been so many times during their relationship when she wanted to bring them closer but didn't know how.

Guilt overwhelmed Sully for a moment, but, when he looked into Michaela's eyes, he saw sorrow and love and hope. All she wanted was to comfort him, to ease his pain. She wept because he wept. He didn't deserve that from her, but she was offering, and his need outweighed his pride. He reached out and pulled his wife into his arms, and she came to him eagerly. He buried his face in Michaela's hair and breathed in the smell of her soap, letting his wayward tears soak into the silky strands. She tucked her head into his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him. Her hands traced soothing circles on his back as his clutched her like his lifeline.

Sully didn't know how long they sat like that. He didn't want to let go for the rest of his life, and Michaela showed no signs of wanting to release him, either. In fact, she became so relaxed that Sully suspected she had fallen asleep. Sure enough, when he moved enough to see her face, her eyes fluttered open.

"Sully?" she whispered, blinking up at him.

He felt his lips twitch into a little smile as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Talking could wait. "Lemme put ya back in bed," he whispered back. He stood and scooped her into his arms for the short trip across the room. As he pulled his arms away after laying her on the bed, Michaela grabbed his hand.

"Don't go." Her eyes were still glassy with sleep, but her grip was firm.

"I don't wanna hurt ya again," Sully rasped.

A soft, sleepy smile turned up the corners of her lips. "You won't. Please, stay with me, Sully."

He pulled her hand up to kiss her palm before leaning over and brushing his lips across hers. How could he resist that smile?

The moment he was situated under the quilt, Michaela slid to his side of the bed and curled herself against him. Sully reacted instinctively, settling them both in a familiar, comfortable position. His wife made a soft sound of contentment and promptly fell asleep. Sully, however, refused to close his eyes. The nightmare usually signaled the end of his night's rest anyway, and, this time, the loss of control that came with sleeping was too frightening to consider.

When the sun peeked over the horizon, Sully was still in the same position. By his best reckoning, he'd dozed off two or three times, but he'd spent most of the last few hours lying awake, listening to Michaela breathe. After so much time apart from her, it was a gift to simply hear the steady rhythm of her breathing as she slept in his arms. There had been too many nights lately that he had stared at the darkness outside his cave and wondered if he would ever hold her while she slept again. But, she was here, and he was here. They were alive, and they were safe. Anything was possible.

Still curled against him, Michaela stirred.

"Mornin'," Sully said warmly.

"Mm." Michaela nuzzled his side, making him grin.

"Have I told ya how much I love wakin' up with ya in my arms?" Sully asked.

He could feel his wife's smile. "Once or twice."

She pulled back to look at him, and Sully's warm contentment shattered.

"What?" Michaela's eyes widened in fear. "Sully, what's wrong?"

He reached out with trembling fingers to touch her neck. The soft, creamy skin that he loved to kiss was dark, mottled in shades of blue and purple. He didn't have to see all of it to know that the bruises around her throat were a perfect imprint of his hand. "I hurt ya."

Michaela touched her own throat, then slid away from him, out of their bed. Sully couldn't make himself move, but he heard her footsteps approach the mirror on her vanity. If I found those bruises on her, I'd beat the man who put 'em there to a pulp, he thought. A beating couldn't possibly be more painful than the agony in his chest.

A touch on his shoulder startled him, and he rolled over instinctively to look at his wife.

"I'll be all right, Sully. The bruising is superficial – it will fade in a few days."

"How can ya be so calm about this?" Sully asked, voice choked. "I hurt ya! I bruised ya!"

"You were dreaming," Michaela replied simply.

"That ain't an excuse."

Michaela sat on the edge of the bed beside him. "Sully, if you had been awake, if you had known who I was and what you were doing, you wouldn't have hurt me, would you?"

Sully sat up quickly. "A'course not! But I did hurt ya, an' I can't…." He let the statement trail off, not sure what to say. How did he put words to this? What finally came out was, "How can ya ever trust me again?"

Michaela looked at him thoughtfully. Her voice was low and soothing as she spoke. "I trust you, Sully. What happened last night frightened me, but it did not change my trust in you. I think a better question is whether or not you can trust yourself again." Sully could see the moment an idea formed in her head. She nudged his side. "Slide over."

"Michaela – "

She cut him off. "For once, will you please just do what I tell you?" They were words he had said to her on more than one occasion, and they almost always got her cooperation.

Sully slid over, making room for her to join him under the quilt. Michaela lay beside him, then reached across his chest to grab his far shoulder and pull him closer, silently coaxing him to roll on top of her. He stiffened. "What're you doin'?"

She gave him a wry smile. "I'm proving my point. Please, just cooperate?"

The lump in Sully's throat threatened to cut off his breathing. "Ya don't hafta prove anythin', Michaela, least of all t' me."

"I want to. Please, Sully."

The love in her eyes momentarily overcame Sully's fear and guilt, and he let her direct him. He covered her body with his own, straddling her legs and propping himself up on his forearms above her so he didn't crush her under his larger frame. Then Michaela's hand closed on his wrist and tugged, trying to move his arm. Sully shifted his weight obligingly, leaning on his right elbow so she could take his left hand. Only then did he realize what she was trying to do.

"No."

"Sully – "

"No," he repeated, louder.

Michaela's free hand reached for him, and she slid her fingers into his hair. "I love you, Byron Sully, and I trust you. You won't hurt me."

"How can you be sure?" Sully could hear the tremble in his voice; it matched the tremble of his hands.

She took his left hand, still frozen in midair, and brought it to her lips to kiss first his fingers, then his palm. Finally, she locked eyes with him. "Because you love me."

Sully lost himself in her eyes, letting her unshakable love and trust catch him as he let go. Michaela moved his hand again, this time placing it on her neck and closing his fingers gently around her throat. They were in almost exactly the same position as when he came out of his nightmare, but she showed no fear.

It took three tries for him to get his voice to work. "This is some proof."

"Do you believe me?"

Sully removed his hand from her throat, trailing his fingertips over the bruised skin, along her jawline, and up to her cheek. "I'd be fool not to. I…." He couldn't find the words to tell her what this meant, to properly thank her for the gift she'd just given him.

Michaela gave him the crooked smile that always made him catch his breath and whispered, "Kiss me, Sully."

That, he could do.

Sully let the lingering fragments of his nightmare disappear as he leaned down. What he had here, in his home, with his wife and children, was better and stronger and truer than any dream. All that really mattered was right here and right now and Michaela's lips against his. Her love was all the protection he needed.

The nightmare never returned.