Game: Tales from the Borderlands
Pairing: Rhys/Sasha
Genre: Romance/Humor/Angst
Rating: T
A/N: So here it is! My promised collection of Rhys/Sasha oneshots and drabbles.
One of Those Stories
1: A Story of Nightmares
He still had nightmares of her dying.
The memory of her—still amongst the remains of The Traveler, unresponsive, not even reacting to his panicked screech of her name—still haunted him in his sleep. The feeling of her hand brushing his cheek—cold, trembling, pale—still sent shivers down his spine. The numbing shock that had rolled through him when she had laid her head down and closed her eyes—not moving, not moving, not moving—still made his heart stop to this day.
He would wake up, panting, screaming, crying, sweating. He would wake up and think she was dead—dead!—and that it, his life was a dream, that she hadn't opened Felix's present, that he had never entered the Vault because it—riches, fame, glory—didn't matter if she wasn't there. He would wake up and run to the toilet, throw up the cover and empty his stomach into the bowl, resting his head against the cool porcelain when he was done and just cry, cry, cry.
Caught between reality and the world of dreams, he would wonder what was real and what wasn't. He would wonder if she had really come after him and Fiona in the Vault, if she had really become a Vault Hunter and taken on the entire galaxy in her fight to get them back. He would wonder if their courtship was a dream, if someone as amazing as her had fallen in love with someone as lame as him, if she had really gone to bed with him, let him in, told him that she loved him more than anything else in the entire galaxy.
And then, inevitably, her arms would wrap around him and her scent would fill his nose and he would drink it in, drink her in, and relax into her touch, and she was real, his life was real, their life together was real.
"I'm sorry," she would whisper into his ear. "I'm so, so sorry, Rhys. But I'm here and I'm never leaving you again."
With a gulping sigh, he would maneuver himself around, the cold tile of the bathroom hard against his bare knees, and pull her into his lap and hug her tightly to his perspiration-soaked chest. Her arms would travel from his waist to his neck and they would sit there, sometimes for hours, sometimes for minutes.
He still had nightmares of her dying.
The memory of her—still amongst the remains of The Traveler, unresponsive, not even reacting to his panicked screech of her name—still haunted him in his sleep. The feeling of her hand brushing his cheek—cold, trembling, pale—still sent shivers down his spine. The numbing shock that had rolled through him when she had laid her head down and closed her eyes—not moving, not moving, not moving—still made his heart stop to this day.
But she was there to chase away the demons that haunted him in his sleep and kiss away his fears.