This is my third attempt at fan fiction, and so far the only one I feel is good enough to be published. It says it's short in the description. This is completely ignoring Renee's death. Serious AU explaining that is currently being written (and I promise it'll be much longer). Constructive criticsm is always appreciated! I won't be surprised if words are spelled wrong. Well, I guess I'll let you read now.
Jack reached for the remote on the corner table next to him to turn off the horrible infomercial about vacuumes off. It was pitch black except for the strip of light escaping the crack in the bathroom door. He glanced at the clock on the oven not seven feet from his comfortable position on the couch. 1:15am. Renee's feet lay outstretched on his legs. He had been moving his thumb over them in small circular motions for the past hour. At some point, she finally gave into the exhaustion that encased her. Trying not to wake her, he gently moved her feet and stood up. Now he could see how the small light that illuminated the room shone on her auburn hair, giving off a golden tint. He lifted the blanket she had been cuddling and tossed it to the opposite side of the couch, where he had been sitting. In one swift motion, he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her head into his shoulder, still sleeping.
Sweat rolled down her face to her neck as she gasped erratically for air. Everything in her body trembled. 4:26am. It was the most sleep she had gotten in the past month. Jack rolled over and put his arm around her ribs. Her nightmares had returned with a vivid vigerousness she didn't know was possible. She turned over and buried her wet face into Jack's chest. His hand rubbed her back in a soothing circular motion, the only thing that could comfort her in the middle of the night.
"Do you wanna talk about it?" he asked, his voice groggy with exhaustion, but still filled with concern and care.
She nodded her head 'no' and sobbed into his bare chest. At first she tried to think of the nightmares she experienced as a child. They were the typical nightmares children had, provoking fear but not reality. Now when she dreamt, she could feel the sharp throb of the knife piercing her skin, the force of a bullet knocking her down, the rough callous on Vladimir's hands as they squeezed her neck, the feel of him touching her. Jack kissed her head, not moving his lips from her hair for ten seconds. He took in the smell of her strawberry shampoo and listened to the background noise; the washer machine running, light winds hitting the window, an ambulance a few blocks away from their apartment, her breathing. She was breathing. She was alive. Her breathing was still erratic, taking in small breaths as she sobbed. He felt the vibration of her body against his as she let go. He wanted to say something to her to comfort her. Instead, he pulled her body closer and prayed (not that he believed in God) for her to go back to sleep without dreaming.