A/N: Huge Thank you to VarjoRuusu's wonderful "Phoenix" at AO3 for the initial inspiration of these two visiting each other's dreams! Had to do the opposite version of the amazing concept. :3 This is not beta'd due to time constraints.
Timeline-wise this after all the previous one-shots except before "H is for Hilt" and Sam's piece in "A is for Associated".
Guest: Awww, thanks!^^
I is for Impassive
- Our mistakes follow us – have we come to terms with them or not.
Her surroundings come to focus by one falling building and a dead body at the time. The air is filled with shouts, screams, and buzz from the flying arrows.
The bow is missing from her back, as are the pistols from her hips; the third time's the charm because her hands feel the hilt of her hunting knife against her lower back.
She doesn't draw it out, though, because, despite the ongoing bloodshed around her, the situation feels safe, every attack launched by the primitive fighters misses her and she casts longer looks at the men and women falling to the ground in their antique armors.
She hasn't yet figured out how the dreamverse came to be but a few things with Jacob are ultimately normal – he always asks with a predetermined answer that doesn't the same apply to her. However, the previous times when this has happened, he has always been the one to visit her nightmares.
She gradually changes into a jog to find him amidst the battle. A part of her senses his sleeping form under her right arm from where she is curled against his side. The ghost of a feeling makes her brows furrow because he is sleeping calmly. Next to her, a warrior woman is being slaughtered with a poleaxe, and she has to increase her speed and put her hands on her ears to be able to listen to Jacob's breathing. No twisting, no moans, just slightly deeper breathing than normal. She looks around her, trying to block the horror of the dying city from her mind.
The Deathless are already taking part in the battle, but Jacob is nowhere to be found.
She stops for a breather in a coveted alleyway and tears her eyes away from the three young children who are crying in their mother's arms.
They have never discussed how he finds her in her dreams and she regrets overlooking the question by having thought it was just another inevitable anomaly in this. She gives one last glance to the family that will soon die with hundreds of others. She should do more, she should always do more even in life, but she pushes past the pain that she cannot change and sets towards the highest tower at the center of the city. Yet, after a few streets, hesitation fills the back of her mind.
She turns around on the spot and begins to jog towards the mountains. Jacob once confessed to her in passing how the southern rocks had been an ideal place to look over the Valley and see the mountains glimmer in the early evening sun.
She loses track of time when she treks up the paths that she has learned over the years. When she finally reaches the rocky ledge, she thinks that she should have known from the start that he would be here, sitting on a hard bench he must have built from fallen rocks at some point in time.
His back is slightly hunched but she doesn't doubt for a second how sharply he follows the battle below and notes every death in order of their occurrence. Few things are out of place in his looks, like the bronze buckle in his outfit and the open wound on the back of his hand, like he was a mismatched combination of the past and present Jacob. His arms are propped on his knees like she has seen him do when he attempts to ground his patience and nerves into one place. Moreover, his hands stay loosely clasped but not crossed.
She stares at the battle in the city before shifting her gaze back to him. The decision comes naturally to sit down by his side and let their arms graze each other.
Unlike her, he already knows that this is a dream. He doesn't meet her gaze but averts his own briefly from the battle when she puts her hand on his arm.
They watch in silence as the Deathless are becoming more ruthless and strike their first Remnant victim who gets in the crossfire between the Deathless and the Mongols.
"It's a lot less exciting than your dreams." The words are a mixture of a humorless joke and an unasked apology. Her face portrays the sadness that is unexpectedly missing from his own.
"I used to dream myself fighting like you do," he confesses in quiet self-deprecation and indicates towards the direction of the central tower. "During the attack, I was at the center, keeping track of the situation. We had a crew of volunteer guards I ordered to stay in case we needed more Deathless. When they left… I shouted orders and shot arrows as backfire. – No matter how I've tried to change it, it still falls into the same outcome every time – every morning."
And now I sit here.
She thinks about his words and caresses his arm. Jacob is not an unwelcoming man by any standard but she senses that a stronger gesture of comfort would be too much for him to accept. "Does it help?" she asks instead, "the distance."
She knows the answer before she even opens her mouth but hopes – prays – for a different ending.
He must read her thoughts because he lets out a small humorless sound that could have been laughter at any other time, before shaking his head and sighing. "It's worse at first," he answers honestly and finally turns to regard her, "But with time…" Something more appears in the way he looks at her before he continues, "It depends whether you can accept your flaws as a human."
He breaks the eye connection after that, takes her hand, and laces their fingers, thus, leaving only her to search for something in him.
She rubs the back of his hand with her thumb, feeling the scar that has replaced the slash wound. Distantly, she can feel herself moving on top of his body to cradle him with hers and how she pulls the pelts to cover them better. The lack of reaction from Jacob tells her that he is too immersed in this dream to feel it despite his outwardly impassive attitude. But, he does fix his posture to sit a little closer to her and she counts that as a victory: that maybe she can alleviate his pain at least a little. Afterward, they sit there in silence until the ice has covered Kitezh and the screams have died down.
In the morning, the ashamed worry is deeply hidden in his eyes but she sees it anyway and chases it away with languid kisses that keep them in bed. The relief that follows is no more noticeable, but she greets it just as warmly.