Open Windows
Summary: Sometimes, even now, he stills wakes up gasping. Jack/Angela, some angst, comfort, and romance. Post Aliens.
A/N: Yeah, I realize I'm quite late to the game and you've seen a thousand of these by now, but I just got into Bones and had to write this (just to get it out of my head) and thought, might as well share, someone else might enjoy it too.
There's dirt in his lungs, so much dirt, and he could tell you exactly what kind if only he could breathe. Breathe.
Sometimes, even now, he still wakes up gasping. There will be sweat on his face mixed with tears, and in the first moment of waking the air still smells stale and bloody. The room is too dark but he won't turn on the lamp because Angela's beside him and he doesn't want to wake her.
But Angela. He reaches for her beneath the sheets and his hands touch her solid, warm presence. He's not buried alive anymore, and he knows this because Angela is here, the dark isn't so complete, the room is large and the bed is comfortable. He trails a hand along her arm, just to feel her, just to know that this is the reality and not the dream. She stirs under his touch and opens her eyes blearily. "Jack?" His name is soft on her lips, and he hadn't meant to wake her, really, but now that she is he can't bring himself to regret it.
"You okay?" she asks.
She knows about the nightmares already – he had to tell her one night after he woke her up with something like a strangled scream and, after scaring the hell out of her, it seemed only right to give a truthful explanation. "Just a nightmare," he says. It's a whisper between them, and she doesn't have to ask what it was about. She knows there's been only one event that's really gotten into his skull, leaving damages and sharp edges and toxic residue behind.
She knows and she folds into him, traces a hand along his chest, lets it rest over his heart. She once told him that his heartbeat was the most comforting sound she had ever known. "Ange, I'm alright. You should get back to sleep."
"Not yet," she says, and her eyes seem far too thoughtful for someone just out of sleep. She grabs his hand, lacing her fingers with his, and tugs at him gently. "Come on, get up, I want to try something."
As much as it betrays him by allowing him to fall into nightmares, he finds himself reluctant to leave the warm comfort of their bed. "Babe," he groans.
"Trust me."
And he does, in a way only a man stupidly in love can. He clings to her hand and lets her guide him across the bedroom floor. She stops when they reach the window. Very purposefully, Angela pulls open the curtains and the blinds, unlatches the window and pushes it open.
"It's the middle of winter, Ange, we'll freeze to death if you keep that open long."
She leans up against the windowsill, face turned out towards the night sky. "Just lean out here for a second." The moonlight hits her and in his eyes she is transcendent. He can deny her nothing. There's just enough room for the two of them to squeeze their heads and shoulders out of the window frame together, and he fits himself beside her. The chilly air washes over him.
And he understands, now, that she's giving him the gift of air when his subconscious tries to convince him that there is none to be had. Jack breathes in deep, fills his lungs until he thinks they might burst. Once, twice, three times. He looks at her, soft eyes filled with love and gratitude.
She presses a hand to his face, traces his cheek with her thumb. "See? It's as easy as opening a window."
I'm going to marry her someday, he thinks, but doesn't say it, not yet.
Instead, he kisses her hard and soft all at once, and before they know it, they're stumbling back to bed together. The open window is forgotten, but it doesn't matter, they'll keep each other warm tonight. Another night in which, thanks to Angela, he can breathe again.