Remember when I said this fic would only have two chapters? Yeah, I lied. There'll be more after this. Thanks for all the reviews so far, love to hear your thoughts! Keeps me writing, too. Enjoy!
She's wide awake.
It's one of those nights that haunt her more frequently lately, cruel images clear and bright before her eyes, a shot fired at the Attorney General, a shot fired at Red, and she's running, there's blood on her hands, there's blood everywhere, it's pervasive, her feet leave prints on the crimson ground beneath her, she's not running fast enough, she won't make it, she won't…
She can't control it. That's what frightens her. This deeply-rooted fear, her demons chasing her, and no way out. She's terrified to be alone, to go to sleep, to let her mind wander. That's all she knows these days.
She wonders if he's asleep. She wants to go to him, to make sure he is still here with her, another aching soul, the only one who truly understands her.
She could ask him to comfort her. She could ask him to tell her things would turn out okay eventually.
What do you want?
And he could send her away, tell her to go back to her room and that they could talk things over in the morning.
What do you really want?
But he wouldn't.
He wouldn't.
He's wide awake.
It's the events of their shared evening that he can't quite seem to forget, the way she was looking at him earlier, so open and beautiful and kind, as if he matters, as if he matters to her.
The way she leaned in almost imperceptibly. Yes, there's that, too.
It's been divine, having her here with him, to take care of her and make her smile, it's never disappointed him, this exact spot, the clear mountain air, safety and peace. She still doesn't sleep well, he knows, hears her sometimes as she cries, but he wants to give her space, wants to allow her to grieve in private for what she has lost, and if the time is right, maybe then she'll come ask for him, and then he'll be there like he always has.
He doesn't notice it at first, how his door opens slowly, how the faint brightness creeps in, and how she stands there, a mere silhouette. He's too lost in thought so it takes him a moment before he turns and sees her, and he waits, waits for an explanation, a clue for her intention, she seems fragile and ethereal, it's the light that does it, and what now?
"I can't sleep," she tells him, her voice insecure and pleading.
It's simple, really. So incredibly simple.
He nods and moves to the side of the bed, pulls back the covers.
"Come here."
She approaches him slowly, seems almost timid in her movements, and then he feels the mattress dip and she's next to him, observes and hesitates, makes up her mind finally and moves closer, rests her head on his chest, and he's surprised, surely, but this is them, this is what they do. Make lines just to cross them. This is comfort.
"Are you alright, Lizzie?" he asks softly and places a kiss in her hair when she shakes her head in response.
She can feel his heart beating. There was blood once there, too.
"It's okay. It's going to be okay."
It's not the first time they've shared a bed, it's not the first time she's been listening to his steady heartbeat either, and yet there's something new in the way he holds her. He doesn't seem as scared anymore and that comes with trust, yes, that comes with the certainty that this was her decision, to be this close to him, to feel him breathe. That she sought him out in the middle of the night instead of suffering through it alone. That he is her first choice.
He is perfectly still in the darkness of the room, eyes open, mind focused on the light pressure of her hand settled below his ribs. It's his new favorite spot, his new favorite sensation, like his arm around her, like the scent of her hair. He doesn't quite know if she's finally fallen asleep, is only convinced that he will stay completely conscious till morning knocks on his door. Greed gets the best of him sometimes, a very specific sort, to feel happy, utterly and completely, just this once, to help her, give her safety, give her something she has longed for for so long. To love her.
He does get things right sometimes.
She shivers against him suddenly, ends his reverie, and he pulls her closer, tightens the duvet around them, but she's trembling and it's not the cold, he senses, it's not the cold at all. He whispers calmly, it's okay, and kisses her forehead, I'm here, no reason to be scared, Lizzie, it's okay. He thinks she's dreaming, turns his head now to get a better look, but her eyes are wide open, and it stings, that look she gives him, like she's begging him to make it stop, the panic, the anxiety, the nightmares, the trauma.
He's been through this before, many times, hundreds of times, and he endures it, the cruelty of the mind, but he won't watch her suffer, not in his company, not ever. Carefully he helps her sit up, frames her face with his hands, aligns her gaze with his, look at me, and holds her there, look at me, Lizzie.
It's worked before, he remembers it clearly, a violent reaction in the middle of a diner and eyes locked and that's enough, but he won't raise his voice this time, he just needs her to concentrate. He can help her, he knows he can, he has to believe he can. Just like that, Lizzie, just the two of us. He wipes away her tears with his thumbs, watches as her breathing calms, as the tension leaves her body, as her shoulders slump. It's his arms that encircle her, no questions asked, it's natural at this point, the need to protect her from all harm, whatever the reason.
I'm not going to let anything happen to you.
Finally, she sleeps.