A/N: This is officially a companion piece to Home or Something Like It, but it can be read separately.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my world, just my take on what comes next.
Fingers entwined, he runs his naked wrist up and down her arm as she sleeps, her golden hair fanned out across her pillow on the bed they share. So beautiful, he thinks, how did I get so lucky? She smiles softly in her sleep, the sight making his heart clench painfully in his chest. He loves her so much, more than she even knows.
He's told her countless times over the last ten days, since that place, the words coming easier and easier to his lips each time. He's told her countless times how he forgives her for everything she's done. Even heroes make mistakes, love, he had gently whispered as she apologized, again. He's told her countless times without words how much he loves her - in reassuring glances, smiles across the room, and little touches throughout the day. She needs him close, and so he stays as near as he can. He needs her, too.
Their days are for rebuilding - themselves, their love, their town, their home. The days are for supporting each other's new insecurities, for laughter, for creating better memories to chase away the bad.
The nights, though, the nights are killing him. He can't sleep, the interminable time in the Underworld haunting his thoughts and flashes of his time as the Dark One haunting his dreams. He holds her close, murmering "I love yous" in the dark, holding hands, touching, just being, as she drifts off. She sleeps, but only with him near.
If he does manage to drift off, it's not for long. He wakes frequently, trembling, sweating, remembering. Sometimes she hears and reaches for his hand, pulling him to her embrace. He knows the shadows under his eyes are getting worse, but he knows she understands enough not to ask. He can't talk about it, the wounds too fresh, too raw. She gives him space while keeping him close, and he loves her even more for it.
He feels his eyelids drooping, hopes that this time he'll sleep, this time there'll be no images to tear him from the rest he so desperately needs. He surrenders to the darkness still holding her hand.
- dagger stabbing through his back, stealing his breath and life away –
- the swirling cloud of blackness wrapping around her in the night –
- dying in her arms in a field of flowers, pain so incredible he can't contain it –
- the way he turned on Emma in their home, just downstairs –
- trying to kill Rumplestiltskin on his ship –
- the pain in her eyes, as she readies the sword in her grasp, about to jab it through -
- that place, full of monsters and torture and lives left behind –
He wakes, gasping, hair matted to his brow, body soaked in sweat. He slips out of bed and into the bathroom, thankful Emma is still asleep this time. Still in the dark, he runs the sink, splashing cool water on his face. The things I've done to her, he thinks, the things they did to me in Hades-
He lunges for the toilet, kneeling in time for the meager supper he'd eaten to land in the bowl. He heaves, stomach clenching painfully, gulping in air between bouts. His eyes are watering from exertion as he continues to retch, nothing left inside but still his body rebels. Finally, finally, he's done. He leans back against the ceramic wall, the cool tiles soothing his skin. He is shivering, shaking, unable to control the tremors racing through his body. Hold it together! He scrubs his hand across his face, willing himself to calm.
He stands and starts the shower, hoping she doesn't wake from the noise.
She drifts from her sleep as soon as he leaves the bed, the warmth of him fading the longer he's gone. She hears him in the bathroom, the sound of his pain going straight to her heart. Can sound hurt? She starts to get up when she hears the shower. She wishes she knew how to help him, to say the right things to comfort him, to let him unburden himself to her, but she knows it has to be when he's ready. She's the same way.
She continues toward the bathroom, gently easing the door open to slip inside. Steam is starting to billow from the shower and, even in the dark, she can see his shadow against the thin plastic curtain. Still in her pajamas, she steps into the tub behind him. He's standing under the stream, head bowed, the water cascading down his own t-shirt and shorts. He's shivering. The water's warm, hot almost, but still he trembles, his shoulders shaking as he stands there.
She steps toward him, ignoring the water that soaks her clothes, and lightly touches his back. He straightens slightly; he knows she's there. She reaches around him, rubbing her hands over his chest as she presses her ear to his back, listening to the pounding of his heart over the rain of the shower. He continues to shudder, his hand coming up to cover hers.
He turns around and looks at her, his face filled with pain and sorrow. He's crying, she realized with a start. She'd never seen him like this, so sad, so broken.
She tightens her grip around him as he buries his face in her shoulder, wrapping his own arms around her, silent sobs wracking his body. She holds him as he lets out everything he's been keeping inside, all the pain, the fear, the loss. They will get through this, somehow they'll find a way.
She doesn't know how long they stand there, time doesn't matter right now. She runs her hands up and down his back as he calms. She loves him so much, more than he even knows. I can help you, we can do it together.
That night, his hand holding hers in the bed they share, he sleeps, and does not dream.