Note: the result of a youtube black hole that led me to the end scene of 6x01, which led me to this.
{ I own nothing }
He keeps one hand on her all night. He's not sure if it's for her, to ground her, to remind her that he's there, or for him, to remind himself that she's here, and she's safe. He supposes it doesn't really matter, as long as it helps one of them.
She's sleeping now, after hours of fighting to keep her eyes open. She said it was because she didn't want to miss a second with him. He knows it's really because she was afraid to close her eyes, afraid of what her dreams might bring. Exhaustion finally won out, and he's relieved because she needs the rest, even if her brow is furrowed in worry while she sleeps.
He can't sleep, though. There are a million thoughts running through his mind, a million scenarios of what might have happened to her, what could have happened if they hadn't found her. (Them, he reminds himself. It wasn't just her.) He won't make her discuss it, not until she's ready.
He doesn't need the details to know it's not fucking fair.
If he had a nickel for every time he's had that thought over the last few years, he'd be a very wealthy man. It's the one truth he's known, no matter what they - he or she or the two of them together - have gone through. It's not fucking fair and she doesn't deserve any of it. But she's a fighter, a warrior; she's the bravest person he's ever known. He doesn't know if he's ever told her that, but he will, the first chance he gets. He's thankful to have that chance, because she deserves to hear it.
He leans over, presses a gentle kiss to that furrow in her brow. He'd think it's cute, if the circumstances were any different. God, he could have lost her. He couldn't let himself think it before, couldn't even fathom the possibility of his future without her in it, but now it hits him like a ton of bricks. It feels like an elephant is sitting on his chest, and he struggles to regain control over his breathing. He doesn't realize he's crying until he swipes a hand across his face and it comes away damp. He loves this girl. He loves her like he's never loved anyone else, like he might never love anyone ever again, and he could have lost her. He squeezes the hand he's holding a little bit tighter, just to reassure himself again.
She's here. She's safe. Breathe.
The clock behind her head reads 5:03 am. Soon the sun will rise, and she'll have to wake up and begin the journey of coming to terms with what happened, whatever it was. He can't save her, can't protect her from that, and it physically hurts him. She shouldn't have to keep doing this, shattering and then piecing herself back together, time after time.
But she's a fighter, a warrior. She's the bravest person he's ever known, and he'll tell her so. He'll stand by her side as she wades through the darkness and pull her toward the light, and he'll hope that whatever she's facing, she'll let him face it with her. He won't let her do this alone.
Her breath catches in her sleep, and she stirs.
"I'm here," he whispers. "You're safe. Breathe."