A/N: This is what happens when I can't sleep and I really want to write something about Jaina and Varian. I don't know how I got here, honestly. But I was really proud of it anyway, and I hope you'll like it too. In case I haven't made it clear before, I don't own Warcraft of anything related to it. Or the title, which I borrowed from the song Night Time by The XX.

…

Night time, sympathize

I've been working on white lies

So I'll tell the truth

I'll give it up to you

…

Jaina seldom has nightmares anymore.

But when she does, they are the kind that leave her screaming in the darkness, screaming at the top of her lungs as she clutches at the sheets, as she tosses violently, as she pleads and cries until her throat is raw.

When she does, the guards come in to rouse her, to ensure she is safe. She always tells them she is alright, and even though it is clearly a lie, they never press the matter. They turn and leave her be, resume their posts.

She settles back into bed. Stares off into the shadows of her room until they threaten to swallow up everything around her. She tries to tell herself that it was only a dream, but of course if that were the case then Theramore wouldn't be demolished and she wouldn't be having the nightmares in the first place.

She always tells them that she is alright.

In truth, Jaina is anything but alright.

...

Jaina seldom has nightmares anymore, but when she does, they are so vivid that she forgets altogether that she is dreaming. She can see Theramore just as it was, can practically hear Kinndy's laughter echo through the Mage tower. She can feel the warm breeze and taste the salt in the air, eerily similar to the taste of her tears.

Theramore is hers, all hers, her home that she built from the ground up and turned into a safe haven. These are her people, and she knows them all and loves them like her children. These are her books lining the shelves, and in the dreams that are so real they are hardly dreams at all, she can feel her fingertips trailing along the bindings.

It happens so fast that she doesn't even see it coming. She doesn't think it went like this in real life; no, she knows it didn't. But her dreams are so vivid that they seem real, and so for now this is the only reality she knows. One second, she is pulling a tome off the shelf, and the next the entire world is exploding, and all she can do is watch it from the other side of a portal, and she can't do anything, can't move or breath or anything at all, and Vereesa is clinging onto her and shrieking in her ear, and then the portal is closing and suddenly Jaina wakes in a cold sweat.

Sometimes, Kalec is there, and her screams wake him, and the dragon's hands move all over her in vain attempts to calm her down. Jaina thrashes against him, crying and gasping and panting. It doesn't work, his calming touches and whispered words, not even a little. But she kisses him on the cheek and forces a smile that looks more like a wince, and she allows him to hold her anyway, even though it doesn't work.

...

Jaina seldom has nightmares, but lately she's been having them every night. She blames the upcoming trial for digging all these memories back up. She blames Varian fucking Wrynn for letting Garrosh live.

It's a different scene, but it always ends the same. Maybe she is out on the docks, talking to a guard, or in her study pouring over notes with Kinndy, or repeatedly glancing at the door to make sure no one is coming while Thrall sits atop her bed and smiles at her, or sifting through the bottom drawer of her desk until her fingers brush against a bundle of neglected letters written in the messy scrawl of a former prince. She knew them by heart once, but she has long since forgotten their words.

It makes no difference where it starts. It always ends with her watching helplessly as her home is destroyed and she can do nothing to save it.

...

One morning, Vereesa asks if she is okay, mentions that she looks tired, wonders if she has been having trouble sleeping. Jaina tells her that she is fine, thanks, don't worry about me, and she even manages a halfway convincing smile. Vereesa doesn't believe her, but she doesn't push the subject. She can see the lie in her friend's eyes because it's the same one she has been telling.

Vereesa slides a book across the table towards her. Jaina lost all of her books in the explosion, lost everything she owned, and so she has been steadily rebuilding her collection.

"Here," the elf says. "It was Rho-"

She can't get the name out, and tears are welling up in her ethereal blue eyes. Jaina snatches the book up quickly and thanks her. She understands. She puts a hand atop her friend's and bows her head.

Vereesa doesn't want her sympathy. She shrugs her shoulder and withdraws her hand. "I can't understand half of the damned thing anyway."

...

She stays in Stormwind the night before the trial is set to begin, along with Vereesa and Kalec. In the morning they will leave with Varian and Anduin, and they will go and watch as all of the things Garrosh Hellscream has done are thrown back in his face.

This thought, this dread that has built up in her chest and taken over her body, should be enough to keep her awake all night long. At this point, Jaina thinks that might be preferable over the usual dreams. She hasn't had this many nightmares since Stratholme, and it took her months before she was able to carefully repress any traces of Arthas from her mind.

But it's already been months.

How many more is it going to take? Is Garrosh's death what it will take to silence her subconscious? Half of the time she thinks that it just might be the only thing that will put the memories to rest. The other half of the time, she is so disgusted with herself for thinking it that she doesn't even know what to think. She thinks it would be easier if she could just stop thinking.

Anduin is happy to see her. He is walking again, in short, uneven steps, but they are steps nonetheless, and she feels a huge relief as she hugs him tightly. It's a relief tinged with anger, because this is more of the damage that Garrosh has caused to her loved ones.

Varian isn't happy to see anyone, but that's just Varian, and the most Jaina gets from him is a low grunt she assumes means hello. She takes it, because that's just Varian, and she's used to him by now. But when he thinks she isn't looking, he flashes a small smile at her, and she pretends not to have seen it, and that's just how their friendship goes, and honestly Jaina can count all the friends she has left on one hand, and they all pretty much happen to be in this room, so she will take Varian's moodiness over nothing at all.

The unlikely group makes small talk by the fire, all working carefully to ensure the conversation doesn't turn towards the trial. They would like to put it off for as long as possible, because after tomorrow there will be no more avoiding it.

When they finally depart for bed, Anduin stops her, asks her how she is.

She didn't really know Tiffin, but she does know that Anduin looks just like her. Jaina musters up a smile, runs her fingers through his messy blonde hair.

I'm fine, thanks, don't worry about me.

...

Nowadays, Jaina always has nightmares, and this one is no different than the others. Except that she must not have been screaming as she watched her city fall apart, because when she jolts up in bed, Kalec is still sleeping soundly at her side. His snores echo in the chambers, loudly enough to block out the sound of her bare feet on the stone floor as she slips from under the covers.

She dresses quickly, simple robes pulled around herself, and runs her fingers through her hair. She throws one last look at the bed, sees Kalec sprawled out over the sheets, wishes she hadn't looked at all, and turns to leave.

For months, Jaina has been telling everyone the same lie. She's fine. She can handle this. Tomorrow they will leave for the trial, and the lie will become even more important, and she will cling to that lie until it is her truth as she is forced to stare down Garrosh and all the atrocities Azeroth has suffered at his hands.

Stormwind Keep is eerily dark and silent as she makes her way carefully through the familiar corridors. The guards that she passes bow their heads, but they don't say a word.

Tomorrow they will leave for the trial, so tonight Jaina doesn't want to have to lie anymore, not about anything. She doesn't want to pretend she is fine. She wants to fall apart so completely that it will take a miracle to piece herself back together.

There is only one person she trusts enough to endure the kind of breakdown she needs to have. He had endured her breakdowns before, and she has endured his, and they have done this since they were children, when the tantrums were about things like scraped knees and unfair games and the last pastry in the Lordaeron kitchen, instead of about things like dead wives and psychotic former lovers and annihilated towns and nearly murdered sons.

And so she makes her way to him, to his chambers, ignoring the guards when she raises a hand to knock on his door. Not that they say anything to her; they aren't all that surprised. She isn't either, really, even though she tries to tell herself that she hadn't planned on coming here.

She doesn't wait for a reply. She doesn't need permission. When she enters, he is sitting against the headboard, arms folded behind his head, his expression somewhere between amused and concerned. "It took you long enough," he says, and she smiles as she crosses the room to him.

Varian extends a hand to her when she approaches the edge of the bed. Jaina takes it, allows him to pull her down and cradle her in his arms. It always reminds her of how small she is, being pressed against Varian's chest. He moves his hands through her hair, fingers pausing to wrap the new white streak around them a few too many times.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks, because Varian can always tell when Jaina is upset.

She nuzzles up against him, closes her eyes for a long moment and lets out a yawn as the feeling of exhaustion settles in around her. "Maybe in the morning," she says sleepily, shivering a little as his hands move over her body.

Varian doesn't push the matter. He knows she will talk when she is ready. Jaina stays there in his hold, her own fingertips tracing sloppy circles over his chest, her breaths slowing as she starts to succumb to the wave of exhaustion that she has been barely holding at bay.

She whispers against his skin that she loves him, or at least something that sounds close to it, and he says something close back, and his lips brush against her forehead, and for the first time in what feels like ages, she falls into a dreamless sleep.