warning: mentions of ptsd

"Sean we're talking about this"

Slipping his fingers tiredly, through the mess of blonde curls that were now slicked with sweat, Sean slipped his wife beater over his head and headed toward the doorway of their bedroom; sighing heavily when heard Emma's footsteps behind him.

"There's nothing to talk about Em," he replied exasperatedly over his shoulder.

Emma allowed him to make it into the kitchen and in front of the fridge. He opened to door to pull out some bottled water only to have Emma lean over him and shut it.

"Emma!-"

"How many times are we going to do this? You wake up in the middle of the night, drowning in sweat obviously upset and then when I attempt to have a conversation about it, you push it aside like it's nothing," she hissed, attempting to keep her voice down.

"They're just dreams," Sean answered, scrubbing his hand over his face.

"Recurring dreams," Emma emphasized. "They must mean something,"

Sean let out an unimpressed huff.

"Last time I checked, you were a lawyer, not a psychiatrist,"

"Last time I checked, I was your wife!" Emma bit back, clearly having lost her patience.

Silence lingered uncomfortably between them for a moment before Sean broke the tension and spoke.

"What do you want from me Em?" he asked softly.

"Do you actually want me to go see a therapist and what? To 'talk out' my problems of whatever"

Emma crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him pointedly.

"Not 'or whatever' Sean. But that would be the sensible thing to do, yes."

Sean scoffed loudly and reopened the fridge.

"There is no. Way-" He punctuated his sentence with the thud of the fridge door. "-That I'm spending my hard earned cash, talking to some jackass who thinks he's qualified to sit around judging me because he has a degree-"

"That's not how therapy works Sean!" Emma interjected. "But I've known you since were in grade school, I'm not naive enough to think that you even consider that a viable option,"

"So what then?"

"Talk to me, Sean" Emma replied.

She stepped forward and cupped the side of his face in her hand. Sean relaxed immediately into her touch, sighing as Emma's eyes searched his own imploringly.

"This is what partnership is all about Sean. Not just sharing chores and taking turns to do the grocery shopping. You're supposed to be able to tell me anything,"

"You don't get it Emma," Sean answered, taking the hand on his face and grasping it between his own. "The stuff I saw when I was out there…"

He trailed off and turned toward the window, choosing to stare out into the night instead of facing Emma.

"It's not going to go away," she insisted, resting her hand on his bicep. "Not unless you face it,"

"Trust me on this one Em- You don't wanna know. You can't handle it okay,"

Emma's face contorted in offense.

"I can handle a lot more than you give me credit for. I suffered through childbirth, remember?

Sean expelled a small breathless laugh and looked down at his feet.

"Listen," Emma began. "Just come back to bed. Start with telling me about would you dream about tonight. If it gets too much, I'll say so; I promise. But I can't keep watching you get like this Sean. Jamie's going to grow up one day, he'll notice if something's up. If you don't deal with this for yourself or me do it for him."

Sean bit the inside of his mouth and let his eyes shut. As he flexed his shoulders, the ache of his muscles was a harsh reminder of how little time he had left to sleep before he had to get and open the garage the next day.

"Five minutes," he stated.

"Ten." Emma insisted. "And grab me a bottle of water too, okay?"

A gentle smile formed on Sean's face as he watched Emma retreat back down the hallway and he wondered to himself how he got so lucky.