L'escapade is a song by one of my favorite pianists, Ingrid St-Pierre. I highly reccomend giving that a listen because it's beautiful and so is Brack so just agh. Just enjoy.

McKenzie didn't like being held. Brady knew that. It made her feel weak, like she couldn't protect herself in her own dreams. She didn't let anyone hold her, not even Brady. But sometimes watching his girlfriend twitch and fidget in the midst of the night through her nightmares was unbearable for the boy. He had attempted to hold her on many occasions in means to comfort her, but she had always woken up and made a fuss about it.

Today was no exception. Mack lay in bed, brows furrowed in concern and worry, lonely tears falling from her closed eyes every once in a while, kicking Brady's legs in her sleep every few minutes. Brady didn't like watching the girl cry, especially when there was nothing to do about it. But he was persistent; he wrapped his arms around the girl's waist as she slept and rested his chin atop of her thick brown locks. It was nearly dawn, she wouldn't notice, anyway. Her hands met his on her waist and she brushed her fingers against his, inhaling and exhaling audibly.

"You're awake," Brady whispered.

"Mhmm," she affirmed, curling her body into Brady's chest, nodding.

Brady planted a light kiss on the girl's forehead. "How did you sleep?"

Mack sighed, resting her head on his chest. "I've had more pleasant dreams in my time, you could say."

Brady held her closer. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Mack shook her head. "No, it's fine," she assured him.

Brady could see a few stray tears falling down her face and he wiped them away with the pad of his thumb.

"I'm sorry," she muttered quietly, rubbing her eyes.

"Don't be," Brady comforted, stroking her hair softly as she quietly cried into his tee shirt. He let her know he was there, whispering hardly audible reassurances every now and then.

"Brady?" Mack started.

"Yeah?" he spoke, looking down into her brown eyes.

"You're always gonna be there for me, right?" she sniffled.

"McKenzie," he muttered.

"Right?" she persisted, looking up at him with puppy-dog eyes.

Brady smiled. "McKenzie, I'm never leaving your side. You know that."

Brady and Mack knew a lot about each other. He knew the silliest things, like her love for strawberry smoothies, the color green, the fact that she always had to put her hair up when she surfed. She knew he had a habit of waking up before everyone else, that he loved horrible movies, that he only called her McKenzie when she was upset.

He knew that Mack didn't like being held. But he also knew that sometimes, Mack needed to be held. It made her feel strong; grateful for someone to protect her from her dreams. She never let anybody hold her. Except for Brady.

Bluh. Well, there you have it. Sorry if I caused any chronic vomiting. No I'm not. wish sure would be neato if you left a review down there and maybe threw out a few ideas in it, I could really use some brainstorming help. Thanks, cats. Ingrid out.