Just because Benny didn't wake screaming from his war dreams didn't mean that Gadreel could sleep through his violent thrashing as he fought free of of the confining blankets before he got his bearings. Feeling the other man start to sit up beside him, Benny tried to push him back into the pillow and pat his shoulder reassuringly. Gadreel had a a meeting in the morning, he didn't need to be up at Oh Dark Stupid dealing with Benny's PTSD symptoms; he had enough of his own to keep him up, most of the time.
But even he could feel his own hand shaking as it tried to soothe Gadreel back to sleep, and he couldn't exactly tell him it was fine with the lights still out, so it wasn't any sort of surprise when Gadreel ignored his sorry effort and reached for his bedside lamp.
"Nightmare?" he asked, voice warm and concerned despite the tiredness.
Benny jerked his head in the affirmative and Gadreel hummed quietly. He raised an eyebrow a little in that gentle way of his, inviting further explanation without demanding it, and Benny took advantage of his patience to rake his eyes over Gadreel's torso. It was exposed in the warm glow, thanks in equal part to the blanket having fallen away and Gadreel's strong preference for sleeping in the nude. It had taken him a while to work out that wearing even a light shirt to bed was more likely than not to send him spinning into flashbacks of heavy bandages and pain that the field hospital didn't have enough morphine to dull.
His scar stretched pale across his chest, twisted and raised but—thank God—long since closed up and recovered. Benny reached out and ran his hand over the healed flesh, fingertips barely brushing skin, and Gadreel let him because he knew. He understood, because just as often it was him desperate to make sure Benny was whole, that a dream was just a dream. It was part of why they were so good together, the way they understood each other. Why they'd always been good together.
Taking his hand off Gadreel, Benny signed, (The usual.) He didn't have to say what that was, especially after giving it away with his attention to Gadreel's scar. He'd gotten it the same night Benny had lost his voice to a bullet in the throat. Friendly fire. It was a miracle they both survived. (I'm okay. Go back to sleep.)
Gadreel rolled his eyes, though his expression stayed fond. His face always had that bit of kindness to it, and the first time they'd met, Benny thought he looked to soft for war, even for a medic. But the first few weeks of training before they deployed had taught him better, and they'd been friends ever since. There was nothing soft about Gadreel in a fight; he was all hard edges, shouted orders, and ferociously single-minded dedication to keeping his squad breathing.
Always a caretaker, though not always nice about it. "Shut up. Do you want to read for a while?"
(No, I want you to turn off the light and go back to sleep. You have that meeting at seven and the general doesn't need to know how bitchy you get when you're tired.)
Laughing, Gadreel leaned in to kiss him. He moved slowly enough that Benny could stop him or back away if he was still feeling vulnerable from the dream—another lesson hard-learned, though only one alarm clock had been lost to the collateral damage. Benny didn't pull back, though. He cupped Gadreel's face and drew him in, relaxing at the firm press of lips.
It was real. They were both alive, they'd made it through the war and the hospitals and the recovery and found each other on the other side. Their life together wasn't something Benny ever would have predicted, and it was very much a work in progress—so were they—but they were good together.
"Wouldn't want to get bitchy at the general," Gadreel agreed when they parted. "Think you'll be able to sleep?"
Benny just shoved him back on the mattress, then reached over him to switch off the lamp himself. Gadreel chuckled again and wrapped strong arms around him, pulling him down against his own warm, muscular, and very naked body.
They didn't get back to sleep for a while after that.