It was a long time before it stopped feeling like a dream. For several years he had woken up almost every night in the darkness, disoriented, for a split-second wondering if he were still imprisoned.
But then he would notice the familiar warmth beside him, and all the tension would disappear. He'd slow his breathing and move his hand, just a little, to recapture hers. She'd shift and murmer something quietly, fingers tightening automatically around his own. Just a small point of contact, but one that he needed.
He doesn't wake up so often now, memories of gags and painful restraints faded, though not forgotten. Instead, Allelujah concentrates on the here and now.
Soft lips pressing light, warm kisses against his skin; pale strands of long hair brushing against his arms and shoulders; loving whispers in the fading light.
One evening: she sits curled up in an armchair, Allelujah at her feet. There's silence except for the gentle ticking of a clock, and the low hum of their television. He relaxes against her leg, feels her hand begin to stroke his hair. A smile touches his lips, and the fingers tracing through heavy locks are casual, but precious.
Later that night she leads him to bed, and he can still sense her marvel at taking in everything - him - with all her senses. Allelujah mouths her sweat-slick neck and feels her fingertips clutching at his back.
They sleep in each other's arms, and Allelujah, for one more night, resists the nightmares.
Peace like this - peace with Marie - it's all he could have hoped for.