Sour Dough & Orange Juice

I gasp as I sit up straight in his bed.

I can feel a bead of sweat run down the side of my face and the sting of tears in my eyes as I shiver from the chill running through my spine.

Shit.

This was bound to happen eventually... but I didn't think it would happen so soon.

"Sara?" I hear his worried, sleep filled voice echo in the dark room and feel him sit up in bed too. "Sara, are you ok?"

"Yeah," I shake my head, trying to dismiss it, "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm ok. Go back to sleep, it's ok."

I'm not okay.

My heart is pounding in my chest and I feel as if I'm about to throw up our fettuccini dinner all over the bed sheets.

I just saw my father die again in my sleep, but instead of my mother covered in blood, it's always me. It's a common and recurring nightmare I have when my mind doesn't feel like being creative or when we haven't worked a particularly haunting case. I am always the one holding the knife with bloody hands. Except the last few times, right when my dream usually ends.. it morphs into me standing alone in an empty dark orchard staring at him in that box in the ground. Not Nick. Gil. He's in the box, screaming, covered in poison filled biting ants and tonight... apparently my mind decided to let him use the gun. That's what woke me up. The sound of the shot, and my own scream.

"Did you have a nightmare?" He asks, and in the dark I can see his nervous hand beside me flex, trying to decide if he should touch me or not.

It's only been a little over a month since we started spending the night together after sex.

A fucking month... and already, I'm waking him up with my nightmares.

We don't sleep together like this every night.. we still both appreciate our space and our separate living arrangements, and often don't have corresponding evenings off to spend together... so my nightmares have gone unnoticed by him. Until now.

Shit.

"Yeah. Ah.." I clear my throat and close my eyes as tight as I possibly can to stop the tears from escaping, "Yeah. But I'm ok. Really. You should get some rest.. I'll be fine after some water or a shower or something."

I feel his fingers gently, tenderly, meet the skin on my arms and he must immediately feel my goosebumps and cold tacky flesh.

"Sara.." he sighs tenderly, and his voice sounds so pained I can help but turn to look at him.

Stupid move.

As soon as I see the shadow of his worry laced face my walls break and I hear myself let out a single laughing sob and a tear falls from my eye.

"Sorry." I shake my head, embarrassed, and look away again.

He says nothing, but lifts his hand to turn my face back to his.

He inches closer, mumbles "Don't be.", and places a gentle kiss on my forehead before sighing, and untucking himself from the covers.

He turns on his bedside lamp and I watch as he pads his way out of the bedroom silently. His bow legged gait is adorable in his pyjama pants, and I can't help but smile to myself despite the situation and the churning in my gut.

He's been nothing but tender and perfect the last five weeks.

I didn't really know what to expect if and when we finally did come together and consummate our long time unspoken attraction... but it certainly wasn't this. At least not this soon.

It had been blatantly obvious to both of us for a long time what we really wanted from each other.. but as humans the execution of said desires doesn't always go the way we think it will.

I suppose I honestly thought we'd maybe start as friends with benefits... then maybe eventually grow into some kind of a functional romantic relationship. As functional as two science geeks married to their work can get, anyways.

He'd always been so seemingly emotionally unavailable, and so I figured if he ever took the leap, the physical aspect of it would be a lot easier to commit to than the emotional side of things. And honestly, who doesn't like to have good sex?

And trust me, it's good.

When he showed up at my door after the thing with Nick last month, I immediately saw in his eyes he needed more than the physical release of a one night stand or a casual sexual relationship.

I saw a surrender, of sorts. A giving in to himself and an openness I'd never witnessed from him before.

"I-I... Sara." He smiled and sighed, his weary eyes barely meeting mine, "I think I've figured it out."

I knew exactly what he meant, and my hands were on his cheeks and in his hair seconds later as he enveloped me in an emotional and tight embrace.

He made love to me that night without words, without some long drawn out conversation about feelings... he just made love to me. It was better than any fantasy my mind had conjured up over the years. So much better.

Every last inch of my body felt worshipped and needed and desired. The only words we spoke were each others names in passionate gasps as we climaxed together for the first time.

We sort of jumped right into this unspoken coupling after that.

We still haven't really talked about it, aside from confirming we should keep it to ourselves... and the awkward "what protection should we use" conversation. He's a simple man. Simple to please, simple to love.

His intentions have been clear, though.

It took him so long, years, to finally decide what he wanted.. and it was clear from that first night that what he wanted was a serious and steady relationship. He wanted passion and respect and tenderness and intimacy. He wanted companionship and comfort.

The first night he asked if he could stay over, it honestly took me by surprise. We'd had sex about three times before, but each time one or both of us had been called in after. It was good sex that afternoon, too. It always is, really. But that afternoon had been blow your mind, multiple orgasms one after another, good. I think I actually gasped "oh shit, Gil, fuuuck!" at one point. He isn't usually a lover of colourful language like that, but the cheeky grin I felt from him on my inner thigh confirmed he sure did enjoy it in the bedroom.

After, we were laying quietly together, side by side, and his hands danced along my tacky flushed skin. His fingertips traced a secret path from my rib cage, counting each one, down to my hip bone and he mumbled next to my ear:

"Honey, can I stay?"

I responded with a slow nod, and then kissed him hard on the lips, igniting another passionate round of love making, this time with me being the one to love him until he spewed profanities into my lips.

It's been like that ever since.

When we can, we sleep together.

It's generally a peaceful sleep, too, because we are physically exhausted from work and our new found intimacy. My mind has been able to relax and rest while I'm in his arms... until now, apparently.

I hear the whistle of the kettle blowing in the kitchen, and a moment later hear his bare feet pad their way back into his room.

God, is it too soon to know I love him?

Because the sight before me.. this man I've felt deep emotions for for years, my boss, my teacher and mentor and friend in a Cubs t-shirt and flannel pants, hair a mess from sleep and sex, holding two cups of steaming hot ginger tea at three in the morning.. I'll be damned if I feel anything but absolute, unconditional love.

I feel my heart in my throat, and the sting of tears return yet again.

He quirks a sad smile, and hands me my mug as he crawls back in with his own.

"Thank you." I murmur, as I blow softly on the hot liquid and take a careful sip.

I can see him just nod out of the corner of my eye, and I can tell he doesn't know how to approach this. I don't blame him.. honestly neither do I.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks carefully as his tired eyes search my face.

No, not really, I don't. But his face is so soft and full of affection, I need to learn to open myself up to him. If he's in this to be in this, it's going to happen again.. so he may as well know.

"I had this foster mother when I was thirteen for about six or seven weeks... she'd make me this amazing buttered sour dough toast and orange juice every time I woke up from a nightmare." I laugh, sadly, as I take another sip. "She was a good one, I think her name was Carol."

He smiles fondly, and then the apprehension returns, "Do they.. do you have them often?"

I nod, and shrug.

"On and off.. ever since my father died."

He is silent again, and I can feel his brain working.

"They're usually worse or more frequent when I'm over tired or.. stressed or something. They don't always wake me up, though."

"Are you stressed right now?" I can sense the insecurity in his voice, thinking our new relationship is the cause, so I turn my head and smile at him, as genuinely as possible.

"No." I shake my head, "Ever since Nick I've just been... my dreams have been more intense and more... personal."

"You're in the box." He nods, knowingly, as if he's dreamt the same thing. He takes another sip of his tea.

"No.." I shake my head and feel my heartbeat thumping again. Quietly, my voice shakes, "No, you are."

I hazard a glance at him again, and his eyes are dark with sadness and surprise, his eyebrows knit in confusion.

"Tonight you used the gun." I half chuckle, half sigh. I'm trying my best not to let on how deeply horrified it left me. "That's what woke me up."

"Honey..." he can see right through whatever face I'm trying to pull to disguise my haunting, and places his tea down on his side table.

"Can I.." he starts, unsure, "Can I touch you?"

I nod, slowly, and within a second he's taken my warm cup from my cold hands, placed it on the table too, and his arms are around me and my walls finally break.

I'm sobbing into his shoulder uncontrollably and I don't quite know where my breathing starts and my emotions stop. With every gasp that escapes my mouth, his arms tighten around me and his right hand finds and massages my neck through my sleep tangled hair.

I can vaguely hear his deep voice in my ear whispering things like:

"It's ok, honey."

"I'm fine. I'm here. I'm ok."

"Shh, Sara."

His strong hand rubs comforting circles on my back over my tank top, willing my lungs to resume their natural rhythm.

Eventually they do, and I can breath again.

My vision is blurred and my swollen eyes hurt and my nose is unattractively running all over the shoulder of his t-shirt, but he kisses my temple softly.

"Sara," he whispers, and I can sense the agony in his tone.

"I'm sorry. It's so stupid and irrational.." I begin with a shaky voice. "I'm ok, really. Just embarrassed, honestly."

"No. It's not stupid Sara." He speaks firmly, as he backs himself away from me just enough to make eye contact. His own eyes are red rimmed and I see the faintest hint of tears in them, too. "I... I should have been here for this a long time ago."

"When I asked you to sleep with me all those years ago." I laugh, and he nods knowingly.

"I should have said yes." He smiles with a boyish glint in his eye.

I chuckle and glance down at our entwined hands.

"How do you normally handle them? How can I help?"

"Gil," I laugh again and shrug, "This is already helping plenty. Usually I'd just come into work early, or go for a run or take a shower or sleep on the couch or something.."

"You will not sleep on the couch." He speaks, his voice firm. "If you sleep in my home, you sleep in my bed with me, Sara."

"I don't want to wake you." My voice is small. "This isn't what you signed up for, Gil."

His eyes squint as he searches my face before clearly deciding to abandon our tea. He rolls over to turn out his bedside light again before sighing gathering me in his arms and laying us back down in the dark.

He encourages my head to rest on his chest, and I can feel his steady heartbeat thumping under my cheek.

My left hand instinctively finds its place on his other breast, and his fingers entwine with mine there shortly after.

I feel his free hand snake up my spine, and eventually land and settle at the nape of my neck as his fingers lazily trace their way through my hair.

I exhale a deep sigh of relief and breathe in his scent.

"Thank you." I whisper, and simply feel him nod, and kiss the top of my head gently before we fall back into a comfortable, dreamless sleep together.


I let myself into his cold condo, and turn on the entrance light.

He's not home yet, and although we have reached a deep level of intimacy that is undeniable, being in his home without him is still odd. Even odder, is the fact that he left the lab before me, but I still beat him home.

Even after the events of yesterday.. the shower sex and the nightmare at three am.. it still feels vaguely like I don't belong here on my own. This is his space, not mine.

He gave me a key last week with a shrug and said, "For when you're back before me."

I guess this morning is one of those times.

I shuck off my shoes and toss my jacket neatly over the back of the couch before making my way down to his modern open concept kitchen to grab some water.

Just as I'm filling the glass with ice from his fridge, the door opens again with ease as he steps in holding a large paper grocery bag.

"Hey." I smile, as a boyish grin spreads over his face.

"Hey." He replies, as he quickly makes his way down to the kitchen to meet me. "You used the key."

"Whats all this?" I reply with a nod, gesturing to the grocery bag.

"Dinner. I'm going to make a focaccia and salad." He explains as he start removing simple ingredients from the bag proudly, and then finally reaches in to pull out a fresh baked loaf of bread and a large jug of Tropicana orange juice, extra pulp.

"And this is for emergencies." He smiles, his voice softer.

I reach over to inspect the market bread, and feel the tears begin to sting my eyes again, "Sour dough."

He nods.

"I know we haven't really... talked... about what all of this is, Sara and I'm sorry for that. I'm not good at..." His voice shakes a little as he gestures between us, the honesty and openness a new frontier for him, "but I did sign up for this. I signed up for you, and you can wake me up anytime."

His eyes are bluer than I've ever seen them, and I know for a certainty that I love him. A part of me probably always has. But right now, in this simple and uncomplicated moment in his kitchen I know more than ever that I am deeply, passionately and completely in love with him.

Instead of telling him, afraid to scare him off, I simply walk over to him and kiss his soft lips. I'm certain he understands, because his hands find my hips and gently pull my body as close to his as physically possible.

We fall into his bed again for our slowest, most emotional and tender bout of love making yet, and a silent tear spills from my eye as I climax under him. He kisses it away with his swollen lips as he unravels into me, too.


Xoxo

Happy Sunday ;)