A/N: I wish I could say this was short and sweet, but…..I dialed up the angst for this one. Never fear! I've got two extremely fluffy chapters ready for future publication, and there'll be more. Just hang tight! (Again, these don't flow in a super well-defined timeline, but they are being published chronologically.)
Nightmare
"Ezra." Her voice was thin and brittle. "Look at me."
He wouldn't. The space of the entire room was between them and Sabine wanted to close that gap desperately, but his posture told her not to try. She'd never seen him like this—so stiff and rigid and closed. But then, nothing like this had happened before.
Sabine touched the bruise on her cheekbone. It was still throbbing. As far as shiners went, it wasn't even in the top five worst she'd ever had. It wouldn't take long to heal, she knew. Give it a week and a little ice, and it would be barely visible. She just didn't know if Ezra would get over it as quickly.
"It was a nightmare. Worse than that—a night terror, Ezra. You—"
"I didn't know what was real," he snapped. His eyes were on his lightsaber hilt, clutched tightly in his hand. His face held nothing but revulsion. "I could have killed you."
She'd found him on the tower's balcony, gaze fixed on something she couldn't see, hands outstretched, tears coursing, screaming her name, Hera's name, Kanan's. She'd put a hand to his shoulder and spoke gently, trying to wake him. He'd spun around in an instant, fist swinging as he drew his saber. She'd ducked, but not before his knuckles found her eye. If he hadn't reverted to his street instincts and ignited his saber first…
Sabine put it from her mind.
Force knew Ezra was thinking about it enough for the both of them.
"I'm not worried about that," Sabine said roughly. "I'm worried about you." He opened his mouth and she cut him off, nearly yelling. "And if you tell me you're karking fine, I'll shoot you where you stand."
He stood there, shaking his head, staring at the ground.
"Talk to me," she pleaded.
His eyes snapped to hers. "You're still shaking."
She was. Her body was coming down from the adrenaline rush and every muscle was still tense, quivering. Her hands were the worst, but she was gripping the back of the sofa to hide that. "I'm not scared of you, Ezra," she said tiredly. "Let me come to you."
He stayed silent, and she took that as permission, advancing slowly across the room. He watched her with a skittish look in his eye and he flinched when she gently eased his saber from his grasp. "Sabine—" He fingered the bruise on her cheek and she watched how his face turned grey.
"I'm alright." She held his hand. "I'm alright."
"It was—that night," he choked. "On the gunship—Kanan—"
She breathed in and out slowly. "Has it always been like this?"
It made her sick to think of him living with nightmares of this severity over the last five years.
"No. I mean—" He dragged a hand over his head. "Not like this."
"For how long?"
"Been getting worse since I came home. Just—being here—it's—"
Sabine understood; it had taken her nearly the first full year to be able to walk by the old refinery site without her chest constricting. She'd had a chance to be on Lothal and let that wound heal. Ezra hadn't. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I thought I could handle it," he mumbled. "Most nights, just waking up next to you helps."
"You should have told me." The admonishment was gentle.
"I didn't want to put you through it every time. Living through it once was bad enough."
"Living through it again and again without anyone to lean on is worse, Ezra." She sighed. "I used to call Hera when it happened to me. And she did the same."
He looked at her sharply. "You dream about it?"
"That, the Duchess, the day you disappeared. I mean—it's been a while. But there have been nights I just…didn't go to sleep. Can't dream if you don't go to sleep." By the look on his face, she judged he'd come to the same conclusion. "How many nights, Ezra?"
"Three? Five? I don't know."
Sabine closed her eyes, cursing her own stupidity. She'd woken at least twice the last week to find him climbing out of bed; once claiming he'd had caf too late and couldn't sleep, and another time claiming he needed medicine for a headache. She thought he looked tired, but he didn't otherwise act out of the ordinary. She thought maybe he was just feeling under the weather. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"I'm sorry, Sabine." His voice was breathy, hitching. He touched her cheek, his eyes red and brimming. He looked like he was drowning. "I just—I'm sorry."
"Shh." Slowly, she put her arms around him. "Shh."
After several long, empty moments, he returned her embrace. They eventually went back to bed, sleeping with the light on, but Sabine didn't rest. She knew this wasn't over. And she was right.
Nightmares—though none to match this episode—continued to plague Ezra. It was days before he would kiss her again, weeks before he could look at her without a flash of guilt in his eyes, and months before he'd go to sleep without his lightsaber locked away. He talked to her about it all, but not, she suspected, half as much as he needed to.
When she could no longer stand seeing the shadows under his eyes, Sabine decided they needed to visit the old refinery site—even if it was going to hurt them both.
