A/N: Finley talks to Cullen while he's sleeping. Fluff.

...-...

Finley cast a quick spell on her neck to banish the soreness there. She and Cullen had been sitting on that couch near the entrance of her room, going over reports. While he hadn't said anything, he hadn't needed to for her to know he was having withdrawal symptoms, and that they were hitting him hard.

She'd eased the tensions in his neck a few times, as well as numbed the headaches so that he could concentrate, but hers were temporary remedies at best, and she always felt guilty as her spells faded and his aches hit him all over again. She didn't know how to heal addictions though—Cassandra had told her she doubted there was a cure for that. Finley felt if she had some way to study such a thing, she could find one.

Maybe.

But she wouldn't experiment on Cullen. Even if she meant well, it wouldn't be right.

Even though she'd decided this, sworn it to herself, sometimes she regretted that she didn't at least try something. When he hurt, he hurt so much.

Yet he never complained.

Regardless, they'd managed to get through all the reports as her latest spells had been wearing off, and Cullen had suggested they stay on the couch for a few minutes before heading to bed. Finley had held her arms out to him, and he'd slumped down against her, head resting on her shoulder as he pulled her legs up and over his lap, turning her so that her back was against one of the armrests. He'd passed out so quickly, one arm draped over her and the other wrapped beneath her so that his palm pressed against the small of her back.

She ran her fingers through his hair, and he let out a soft grown before mumble a string of incoherent syllables.

Finley kept playing with his hair, ruining the meticulous style he put so much effort into so that she could play with his curls. "In a talkative mood tonight, are we?"

More mumbling.

"Alright, but nothing bad," Finley ordered softly before kissing his temple. "Think happy things."

In the midst of another string of meaningless syllables, the words 'Finley' and 'can't tell' caught her attention.

It was probably awful of her, but she always talked back when he started talking in his sleep, and sometimes, he got more coherent. The first time, she'd thought she'd woken him with her shenanigans. However, he'd muttered something about the nugs not holding their shields right, and then gone back to incoherent mumbles.

While she really oughtn't to play with him like this, she liked to think it was harmless. And maybe she even helped him not focus on the bad. There were quite a few nights where he cringed, mumbling names she didn't know, and didn't dare ask him about, and begging for their safety.

She'd tried to leave him his privacy during those nights, yet it was usually those nights that he was wrapped around her, clinging to her like he was about to drown in a stormy sea.

So instead, she talked about other things, nonsensical ones. Sometimes, he'd follow her conversation, talking about the bird army that they could train and how it would upset the fennecs to be left out. The more absurd it was, the quicker it seemed to shift his dreams and thoughts.

It didn't always work, but it was something.

And she didn't really dare to wake him up. She had, twice, when his dreams were at their worst, but the next day he would always be so exhausted. So instead she tried to banish his dreams with words.

Tonight looked like it wouldn't be a bad night, luckily enough.

He curled closer to her, grumbling her name again in his sleep, along with 'can't tell'.

"Oh, we definitely shouldn't tell Finley," she agreed, idly wondering what it was that shouldn't be told, and if it was actually something, or if he was concerned she might be displeased with the way the fennecs held their daggers.

Non-magical dreams were so weird.

It was no wonder the creatures in the Fade were so confused by the real world. She'd heard a story from a friend of a friend who had said he saw a rage demon yelling at a squirrel, demanding it act with the honor he knew it to have. It had squeaked at him and scurried off, and the rage demon had apparently set the whole clearing on fire.

Poor squirrel.

Finley was glad she hadn't been there to see it.

"Can't," Cullen agreed. He'd taken a while to respond, and she'd thought maybe he'd fallen into a deeper sleep. Hoped, really.

"Definitely not," Finley replied, kissing his temple again. "Never ever."

At that, he grumbled, tightening his grip on her a little as he pressed his face further into the crook of her neck. "Someday."

Her fingers pulled gently at his curls as she stroked them. "Someday, then."

"Just…don't know how…" he mumbled. He said something after that she couldn't catch.

"Well, you are brilliant, so I'm sure you'll figure it out," Finley offered, stretching her free shoulder. She should have insisted they go lay down before letting him pass out. If she weren't a healer, her body would have ended up so stiff in the morning that she'd barely be able to get up.

His breath tickled her neck. "Can't just say…" he took a few breaths, voice drifting off.

Finley knew what he was getting at. He'd told her a few weeks ago in his sleep, and several times since. While she really should have brought it up to him when he was awake by now—it was selfish that she hadn't—she liked having this secret. It made things so much easier.

Kissing his curls, she adjusted her arm that was wrapped around his shoulders as best she could, sinking down a little so that she could rest her neck better against the armrest. Cullen mumbled something in his sleep and adjusted himself accordingly, so that he could put his head back on her shoulder.

She bit back a laugh at that. Resting her hand in his hair, she closed her eyes. His dreams wouldn't be too terrible tonight, so she could afford to get some sleep herself. "Can you keep a secret?"

His incoherent slur of syllables sounded like a question.

"I love you, too."

She felt a smile against her shoulder, though it quickly slipped away as he rambled on, too slurred for her to follow. His tone was happier, though. Closing her eyes, she let her dreams reach up to claim her.

Love wasn't perfect. There was fear of rejection and of the future, of loving too much and scaring off the other, fears for just about every aspect of it really. Even so, the fact that it was there was something that dulled those fears just a little.

Love wasn't perfect, and that was perfect for Finley.