Dear Readers,
Thank you SO SO much for the overwhelmingly positive response to the first oneshot! I'm flattered and truly grateful that so many people enjoyed it. I apologize for taking longer than expected to deliver the second one; for some reason this one gave me hell and and I was constantly re-reading and obsessing over it not being good enough. I pretty much just gave up on it being exactly what I wanted, so I hope it's still enjoyable. My inner angst monster resurfaced (angst is my default setting lmao) so I apologize in advance for the feels attack. But thanks again for the support! I really appreciate it.
Best Regards,
Pooka
Soundtrack: "Stand By Me" by Ben E. King
Stand By Me
"When the night has come
And the land is dark
And the moon is the only light we'll see
No I won't be afraid, no I won't be afraid
Just as long as you stand, stand by me…"
An empty space.
It's the first thing Helen sees when her eyes finally adjust to the impenetrable darkness. Instead of her husband's hulking form lying beside her, there is merely a lonely tangle of sheets occupying the spot where Bob should be. This isn't necessarily a surprise; it's not the first time she has awoken to a half-vacant bed in the past several months. But it's become almost a routine, and Helen is, to say the least, reasonably worried. Usually she leaves Bob to his own devices and eventually lapses back into a slumber, waking the next morning to find herself once again wrapped securely in his warm embrace. But tonight she decides she's finally done letting the matter slide for what she realizes was probably too long of a time to begin with, and she is determined to finally get to the bottom of this.
She stretches her arm to turn on one of the bedside lamps before slipping out from under the covers. After quickly donning her robe, she steps out of the room and makes her way down the hall, her bare feet softly padding against the carpet. When she reaches the top of the kitchen stairs, she spies a hefty figure clad in a plaid robe hunched over in front of the refrigerator, presumably rummaging around for food.
Bob.
Helen carefully descends the staircase as the man in question pulls out a carton of milk and shuts the refrigerator door. He neither sees nor hears his wife entering the room, so she breaks the silence, gently announcing her presence so as not to startle him too much.
"Hey."
Bob spins around in surprise. "Oh!" he exclaims. "Hey, honey. I'm sorry – did I wake you?"
"No, no, I woke up on my own. Just…noticed you were up again and came to see if you were okay."
He offers her a drowsy, half-hearted smile before opening the carton and pouring a bit of milk into a steaming mug of coffee settled on the kitchen island. "I'm fine," he replies with a yawn. "Was just a little hungry. You want some?" He gestures to a small plate of shortbread cookies situated next to his mug.
"I'm okay," Helen responds, hugging her arms around her chest. She pauses. What to say next without potentially upsetting him? She sucks in a small breath. "You've…been getting up a lot lately."
This statement doesn't seem to faze Bob much, as he merely shrugs and lifts the mug to his lips to take a sip. "Haven't been able to stay asleep, I guess."
"Any reason why?"
At that, something – Helen isn't sure what – flashes across Bob's face for a split second before immediately dissipating into a neutral expression.
"I don't know," he murmurs evasively, peering down into his mug as if to purposely avoid her gaze. "Weird habit." He reaches towards the plate and grabs a cookie. "You sure you don't want one?"
"Bob."
He heaves a sigh, lowering his mug onto the counter. "Look, Helen, it's nothing, really. I'm fine."
She narrows her eyes at him skeptically and crosses her arms. "Are you sure?"
"Sure I'm sure. Just a little insomnia. Probably just stress." With that, he lifts both the mug and the plate off the kitchen counter and begins making his way towards the living room.
Astonished at her husband's apparent indifference, Helen drops her arms to her sides and promptly follows at his heels. "Where are you going?"
"If I watch a little TV it helps," he answers without so much as a glance backward. "Helen, honestly, you don't have to stay up. I'm okay, I promise. You should go back to sleep."
Her hands clench into fists in frustration and she swallows her almost instinctive urge to yell. He's hiding something – she's certain of it – and she isn't going to rest until she knows the absolute truth. "Robert Parr," she hisses threateningly, and that stops him dead in his tracks.
"I am not going back to bed until you tell me what's really going on."
He pauses for a moment, motionless, as an uncomfortable silence settles over both of them. Finally, just when Helen is about to open her mouth to speak once more, another heavy sigh escapes his lips, and his broad shoulders visibly slump in rhythm with his breath. "Helen, it's…" he starts weakly, but he falters, seemingly unable to continue.
A sharp pang of anxiety slices through her chest at the sudden weariness in his tone. "It's…what?"
Shaking his head to himself, Bob merely resumes his journey towards the living room couch, his feet almost dragging across the floor as if an invisible chain is weighing down his every step. Startled at this abrupt change in her husband's demeanor, Helen once again trails after him, her agitation morphing into a knot of fear somewhere in the pit of her stomach.
"Bob?"
"Helen, please," he moans desperately, placing his mug and plate onto the coffee table and plopping down onto the sofa cushions. "Can't you just…" He runs a hand over his face in exasperation.
"Can't I just what?" she retorts, the pitch of her voice rising a few notches. "Leave you alone? Bob, something is up and I –"
"I don't want to worry you, okay!" He cries, arms flailing in midair before flopping down to his sides.
"Well, it's too late, because I'm already worried, Bob!" Helen fires back. "You haven't slept through the night since God knows when and I'm concerned, all right? I want to help but I can't do a damn thing if you keep pretending like there isn't anything wrong!"
"I don't think you can help," Bob grumbles quietly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and bury his eyes into the heels of his palms.
"Let me be the judge of that," Helen replies, the edge in her voice softening slightly. She tentatively approaches her husband and lowers herself onto the couch beside him. "Bob, whatever it is, you can tell me. I thought we agreed to no more secrets."
He sighs yet again, lifting his face from his hands but still refusing to look his wife in the eye. "I know," he mutters.
"Then…tell me? Please?" She lays a delicate hand on Bob's massive shoulder. "I hate seeing you like this. Whatever's bothering you, you shouldn't have to handle it alone."
Another prolonged silence falls over the room, interrupted only by the sound of their breaths filling the space between them. After a long moment, Bob inhales sharply, deciding at last to speak.
"I've…I've been having nightmares."
Helen's eyes widen at the admission. "Nightmares? About—"
"About you. And the kids," Bob finishes, his voice laden with exhaustion and what sounds almost like grief. He leans forward again, this time resting his forearms across his legs and hanging his head dejectedly. "When I wake up, I can't go back to sleep unless I…I get up and do…something to distract myself."
"Oh, sweetie," Helen sighs, scooting closer and rubbing her hand up her husband's neck to weave her fingers into his hair. "How long has this been going on?"
"Since everything with Syndrome."
"That long?!" she gasps, jerking back in shock. "Bob, why didn't you tell—"
"Because, like I said, I didn't want to worry you."
"Bob, this isn't something you should've kept to yourself!"
"I know, I know," he groans bitterly. "I just didn't think it was worth bothering you with."
"Well it is," she declares, shifting her free hand to wrap it around one of his and give it a firm squeeze. "I'm your wife. You're supposed to bother me."
"Not like this," Bob mumbles sadly. "I just…" His words disappear into a heavy exhale.
"You just what?"
"Nothing."
"Bob—"
"I just…! I just keep dreaming...I don't know...that something happens. And I can't save any of you. I'm not strong enough. Or I don't get there in time..."
He draws a shuddering breath, and Helen's heart clenches in pain when she spies the tears trickling down his cheeks.
"Oh, honey," she whispers, stretching her arms around his body and enveloping him in a strong embrace.
Bob immediately turns, engulfing his wife's tiny frame in his own arms and heaving her flush against his chest as if he's afraid she might disappear if he doesn't hold her as close as possible. Helen almost gasps in surprise when she feels him trembling violentlyagainst her, and she squeezes harder, tightening her grip around him as if that will somehow prevent him from shattering to pieces in her arms. Still shaking, he buries his head in her neck as she threads her fingers through his hair once more, lightly stroking it in a comforting rhythm.
"I was just so scared I might lose you," he croaks feebly into Helen's shoulder. "All of you. I thought the dreams might go away eventually, and…they were. Going away, I mean. Not happening as often, I guess. But then everything happened with the Screenslaver and when I got that call that you were in trouble it all came rushing back and I was terrified..."
"Oh, Bob," she breathes, pulling back just far enough to rest her forehead against his and gaze into his weary blue eyes. She brings her hands forward to cup his cheeks and tenderly brushes the tears away with her thumbs.
"I couldn't lose you again," he rasps, his voice breaking despite his best efforts to control it.
"Sweetie, I'm so sorry," Helen murmurs, sliding her hands back into his hair. She softly brushes a few stray strands away from his forehead and trails her fingers downward, tracing slow, gentle circles into his scalp and running her thumbs over the curves of his ears.
"You don't have to apologize," Bob says quietly. "It's not your fault."
"Well I'm here now. We all are. And we're not going anywhere. You won't lose us."
He exhales roughly, drawing back a bit but still maintaining his steady hold on his wife. "That's the thing, though," he mutters. "How do I know? How do any of us know that? I mean, we're all doing super work now and even though we're together doesn't mean it's safe. Especially for the kids."
Helen lets out a tiny breath before responding. "That's always been the risk with this life," she replies. "That something could happen. But we managed."
"Yeah, but that was before we had a family," Bob continues, raw worry bleeding into his tone. "Now...I couldn't live with myself if something happened to the kids. And I know you couldn't either."
"I know," Helen sighs, slipping her palms down the back of Bob's neck and splaying her fingers across his shoulder blades. "I won't lie and say I don't worry about what we do, but…at the same time I know I can't stop them or keep them from what they feel they're meant for."
"Yeah I know. But Jack Jack's too young to make that choice..."
"I agree with you. But, to be fair" – she raises an eyebrow knowingly – "out of all of us he's got the most advantage."
He chuckles weakly, a tiny grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "You have a point there."
Helen responds with a low chuckle of her own, but it quickly dissolves into a troubled frown.
"What is it?"
"Bob..." she starts, her eyes flitting to the side momentarily before meeting his gaze again. "Don't…don't take this the wrong way but...do you...do you think you might want to talk more about this with someone?"
His brow furrows. "You mean…like a shrink?"
"A therapist, yes. Someone like the NSA had in the old days when people got off difficult jobs?"
"Yeah, I remember. But they don't exist anymore?"
She peers downward and softly runs one hand down his chest to absentmindedly toy with the collar of his pajama shirt. "We could call Rick and ask if he still knows anybody willing to take clients."
Bob emits small sigh. "I guess..."
"I mean...it's just a suggestion," Helen continues, glancing back upward. "But to help with the fear maybe. At least so you can sleep through the night."
"Maybe...I'll have to think about it."
"Okay."
Another quiet moment passes between them before either speaks again.
"I'm sorry about all this," Bob finally utters, his voice barely a whisper, as he raises his hand to gently rub the back of his knuckles against Helen's cheek. "I know I should've told you."
"It's all right," she says softly in reply, curling her fingers around his and once again giving his hand a heartening squeeze. "I understand why you didn't. Just…don't ever think you can't tell me things like this. It worries me more if you don't say anything than if you do."
"I know."
He locks eyes with her then, an unspoken current of understanding flowing between them as they gaze silently at each other. And then suddenly he's kissing her, his mouth blanketing hers in a wordless plea for reassurance. She immediately responds as his hand slides into her hair and grips the side of of her head, thumb just below her ear, pulling her into him. His lips are soft, pliant, easing hers open with tender urging, but there is a trace of desperation in his kisses, a latent hunger bubbling up from deep inside him. She surrenders to him with a sigh, letting him do what he wants because she knows he needs this, needs to know that she's here in his arms, safe from whatever perils have been plaguing his dreams. The fingers of one hand ghost his jawline while her other hand crawls up the nape of his neck into his hair once more, massaging away any lingering anxiety. His free arm circles her waist, drawing her to him, their heartbeats entwining and pounding out a steady cadence against each other's bodies.
Bob finally breaks away, albeit reluctantly, and lays his forehead against Helen's as they both pause to catch their breath. Helen continues twirling his hair in her fingers, knowing that the action will soothe him, and he hums in contentment as she leans in again.
"I love you," she whispers against his lips.
He gently captures her mouth with his once more, his tongue granting her a silent reply before he pulls away and speaks the words.
"I love you too."
Helen slips her arms around his broad frame yet again and rests her chin on his shoulder as he reciprocates, letting him hold her against him a little while longer. The trembling has subsided, and she can feel his chest rising and falling in an even pattern.
"You should get back to bed," he murmurs finally, his lips brushing the side of her ear.
"Not until you do," she replies softly.
"I'm..." He hesitates. "I'm not quite ready yet."
She pulls back to look him in the eye once more. "Then I'll stay until you are."
"You sure?"
She nods quietly, lifting a hand to lovingly stroke his cheek. He pauses a moment, drinking in the sight of her, then leans backward onto the surface of the couch, pulling her with him. She nestles comfortably into him, legs curled against his legs, head resting atop his chest. He shifts slightly and reaches for the TV remote, wrapping his other arm around her and securing her tightly to his body.
Helen closes her eyes just as the light of the television flares into view, and nuzzles her nose into the patch of skin above Bob's collar. The last thing she remembers is the gentle press of his lips against her forehead, before the solid beat of his pulse eventually lulls her back to sleep.
A/N: Thanks again to Grace and Alisha for trying to help suggest songs that were suitable for the title, even though I ended up picking something else entirely lol xD