Chapter 71: Heal Together
Four more days passed. Dreamer had been in the infirmary for almost three weeks now. The skin on her chest and back had fully closed, but she was being held together by stitches. She continued to wear tight bandages around her chest, primarily for the purpose of holding her together. The worst pain was in her chest, as her bones healed—sternum slowly melding back together to protect her new heart.
She was getting restless. She wanted badly to leave the infirmary and at least walk around the guild, but Porlyusica had placed strict limitations on her. The old woman had absolutely zero trust for the other members of the guild, and was certain that the moment Dreamer walked into the main hall, she'd be caught in the middle of some rival-battle between Gray and Natsu, or slip on the beer covered floor, or get tackled by well-meaning friends who were too excited to think straight. Plus, Dreamer was strictly forbidden from doing all sorts of activities that involved the movement of her upper body. She wasn't even supposed to lift her arms up, or lean back, or bend down. While she understood that these restrictions were vital, since she'd literally died twenty days ago, it didn't stop her from wishing she could get out—sleep in her own bed, enjoy tea in the morning with Team Derelict Heart, go on a walk with Syllestra…
The infirmary looked a lot like a glorified bedroom at the moment. Her friends had decorated it with an assortment of things to make her feel more "at home." As usual, the ceiling hung with origami dragons. A stack of Sorcerer Weekly magazines sat on the bedside table. Posters littered the walls, most of them with motivational words and pictures of cats. There was a hand-stitched pink comforter on her bed, along with a stuffed unicorn for "snuggling." A box of get well cards, and many other lavish, or obscure gifts.
It was nice, but Dreamer did want to sleep in her own bed.
The good news was that it wouldn't be much longer. Porlyusica had gotten her on a regular diet again, taught her how to care for her wounds, and told her she'd be able to go home within the next few days if she continued to be careful.
It was dark, now. She wasn't sure what time exactly, but the guild hall had closed hours ago, and the sky outside her window was moonless. However, she did get to see the comforting glow of the garden lights from here. The same lights that Macbeth had put up, on a night that felt so long ago. The night they sat on a bench together, knees touching, lips drawing close…
She sighed. The action hurt her sternum. Macbeth still had not come to see her, and she couldn't deny how much that hurt. She craved his presence as much as she longed to get better.
She turned on the lamp next to her, and slowly sat up. Her sleep schedule was all sorts of messed up now. Despite the hour, she knew she wouldn't fall back asleep tonight.
Her hand ran through her hair and she scowled in disdain. Her hair was greasy and tangled, which was no surprise really, given that she was rarely allowed to shower. She'd been grossly humiliated the one time she was allowed to use the infirmary shower after waking up—since she had to have Porlyusica with her to wash her hair and back.
She glanced at the bathroom door now. She touched the bandage on her chest and spent a few minutes in internal debate. She resolved herself to being as careful as possible, before easing off the hospital bed.
Her movements were carefully measured. She picked up one of the nightgowns Mirajane had brought to her, a way-too-thin frilly red thing that resembled lingerie more than appropriate sleeping attire. But it was soft to the touch, and it would be nice to feel pretty after weeks being dirty, tired, and feeling generally disgusting. So, she took it with her into the bathroom.
She looked at her reflection in the mirror, once the fluorescent lights had flickered on. She was still gaunt and pale, with some remaining bruises, but she looked significantly better than she did when she'd first woken up.
She hung up the nightgown, then took off her shirt, which conveniently buttoned in the front so that she didn't have to lift it over her head. She looked down at her wrapped chest and made a sound of irritation. She totally forgot that Carla had done the clasps up in the back.
With careful movement, she tried to reach back to undo them, but the sound of popping in her sternum and the accompanying stab of pain made her arms immediately drop.
So much for showering.
She sighed and walked back into the infirmary, nightgown in hand. She'd just have to get over herself and let Wendy or Carla or Porlyusica help her in the morning. She flipped the switch off to the bathroom, then closed the door quietly behind her, not because there was anyone around to wake up, but out of force of habit. Raising a child for seven years meant closing doors as softly as possible in the hopes that somehow she would be lucky enough to not wake up the menace.
She lifted her head and dropped her hand from the doorknob.
That was when she saw him.
"Macbeth!"
He was sitting on the edge of her bed. His head was down, white hair hiding his face. Ordinarily, this would be an indicator that he was fast asleep, but given the tenseness in the rest of his posture, she knew this wasn't the case. He was wearing a black hoodie and sweatpants—far simpler attire than normal. It was also evident that he hadn't straightened or done anything with his hair, because the curls were more pronounced than usual. He also wasn't wearing shoes.
"You finally came," she said, unable to resist the smile that spread across her cheeks.
He kept his head down, but gave a slight nod.
"I saw the light come on." His voice was just above a whisper.
"From the boy's dorm? So, you walked over here?" And in a rush, apparently. Hence the lack of shoes. She noted that his toenails were painted black, which should not have been as surprising as it was.
"I did. Are you going to mock me for it?"
"No, I'm happy." She walked toward him. "I missed you, Macbeth."
He tensed even more when she sat down next to him. Automatically, he turned away from her, though he didn't stand up to get away.
Dreamer didn't care. She was overwhelmed with the joy of being close to him again. At last, all the pieces were back together. Her family was whole.
She leaned her head against his shoulder and breathed in his strong, chamomile scent.
He was stiff and unmoving next to her. Even this didn't bother her. She was content in this long moment, just to hear him breathe.
"Were you about to change clothes?" he asked, after a while.
"Hm?" she didn't move her head. "No, I was going to take a shower," she answered. She appreciated his attempt at conversation. She understood why he was being so withdrawn, but at least he was trying. "But I can't reach the back of these bandages, so I gave up." She laughed quietly.
There was another long moment of silence.
"Do you need help?"
She blinked and straightened up. "No, it's okay. I can wait until someone comes in the morning."
Although she'd given her answer, he turned. He still shielded his eyes from her. "I'll do it," he said.
"No, no, really Macbeth, it's okay! Honestly! I don't want to shower right now anyway, because you're here and I missed you, so showering can wait. Besides, you're, well… you know, a boy," he cheeks took some color, "and I'd rather you don't see—"
"Shut up, Dreamer."
Her lips clamped shut. Macbeth was already positioning himself behind her, crossing his legs on the bed and staring at her back.
"What do I do?"
"Um… Just," for some reason, she was suddenly nervous. "Can you just unclasp those clips that are holding it together? Then, I can probably unwrap it myself."
She felt the bandages being fiddled with. She held still while he undid the clasps, feeling the fabric beginning to go slack around her. The sensation was freeing, but it also made her stitches feel tight.
"Thank you, Macbeth. I can do the rest in the bathroom."
But his fingertips remained, slightly pressed against her skin and the bandage. He began to reach forward to loop the bandage around her.
"You don't have to do that," she squeaked, both from embarrassment at the feeling of his hand sliding forward to uncover her breasts, and a sudden sense of panic at the prospect of him seeing the wounds that lie beneath.
He paid her no heed. He reached around her chest to unweave the fabric from under her arms. One loop around. Two loops. She swallowed a lump in her throat and lowered her head. She didn't protest further, though every time his knuckles brushed the undersides of her arms, she felt breath catch in her lungs.
She thought about talking to ease the tension in the room, but she didn't know what to say. She was afraid to ask him anything about the battle, about Sânge, or anything relating to recent events at all. After all, she had no idea how it all had affected him—but judging by his appearance and the consensus of the guild, it hadn't affected him well. Piper had told her he wasn't even sleeping in their room, that he was usually wandering the halls like a ghost, with hollow eyes and slouched shoulders.
"Am I hurting you?" he asked. His voice had been quiet and careful this whole time. It was making her uneasy.
"No," she answered, then with a slight lilt to her voice she added, "but I bet you want to."
His hands paused. She felt the distinct sensation of his breath being exhaled against her neck, in something like an exasperated sigh.
"I'm just kidding," she said quickly, even more uncomfortable now.
At last, the bandage was completely undone. She clutched the nightgown she was still holding over her now exposed breasts.
"Thank you. I'll take a quick shower if you… will you stay here? I don't want you to leave yet…"
He didn't answer. His silence was starting to get under her skin now. It was making butterflies of anxiety flutter in her chest, which did not need any extra activity happening inside of it now.
"Macbeth?"
She inhaled sharply when she felt his fingertips drag along her bare skin. He touched the skin of her back, trailing along the edges of what she knew was a less-than-appealing, scabby scar. Even so, the tender, uncertain pull of his fingertips on her flesh made goosebumps rise all over.
She scoured her mind for something to say or do that could possibly make this less awkward, but she didn't have to.
One hand went to her left shoulder and clung onto her, as if for dear life, nails digging under her collarbone. The other snaked back under her arm so he could wrap it around her stomach and clutch the skin of her hip. A wet cheek flushed against her back, above the scar. She felt his body trembling as gasping sobs overtook him.
"I lost you," he cried, in his childlike tone reserved for moments of terror. "You were dead! I held your lifeless body in my arms and there was nothing I could do to save you… It was too late! You were gone, and I was all alone…"
He shook violently, crying these words through clenched teeth—words that must have been aching to get out for twenty days.
"And that was when I knew…" His tears were wet against her back. "I realized what my worst nightmare is."
"Your… worst nightmare?" She didn't know what to say or do. She just let him weep against her, as the lacrima heart pounded in her chest.
"You can't abandon me, Dream! I'd be lost!" He choked on tears, crying so hard that his breathing was perforated with moans of panic. "All my goodness. All my hope…" He shuddered. She inhaled sharply as his cold lips pressed against her spine. Then he spoke again, in an almost whisper.
"You are my freedom."
"Oh." It was a lame response, but her mental processors immediately went blank with those words. Her body suddenly felt light and warm all over, full of sunlight. Four simple words—made her feel the glow of her lacrima heart from head to toe.
His fingers kneaded at the skin on her shoulder and hip. He continued to cry against her.
"Macbeth… look at me."
He lifted his head. Dreamer tried to turn around and face him. Seeing her struggling, he moved for her, coming closer—facing her.
At last, he met her eyes. She allowed herself to be lost for a moment in those swirling pools of blood. Bright red rubies. Burning embers. She could tell that he was as tired as she was. The circles around his eyes, the paler-than-normal tone of his skin. She noticed that he had a new scar too, from ear to collarbone.
Instinctively, she reached up to cup his jaw—to touch his wounds like he'd done to hers. And in an equally automatic reaction, he tilted his head, resting his cheek against her palm.
Calm. Peace. Safe. Joy. Trust. Relief. Happiness. Hope. Love.
She hadn't used her magic since she woke up, but she wasn't afraid to use it now. She was glad at the opportunity to do something for him—the wizard who stood by her side when she faced Resmond. The one who challenged and encouraged her to be braver, fiercer, stronger. The man who had given up his past, his old guild, his old name to be here with her. Who fought to protect not just her, but Syllestra, and the rest of Fairy Tail, too. The man she loved.
"Don't be silly, Macbeth…" she whispered, as his eyes flicked back and forth between hers, drinking in her emotions. "You found freedom all on your own. It's inside of you, and always has been." Her thumb stroked his cheek. "You've always had a beautiful heart. Even before I found you in the wreckage of Nirvana."
He savored her words. His lips parted, tears continued to roll as she spoke. But he wasn't shaking anymore.
"But for what it's worth," she continued, with a genuine smile. "I'm glad I get to celebrate your freedom with you. I'm so happy that I get to be at the side of such a good man."
"Dream…" He breathed her name like a prayer—in a way he'd never uttered it before. Broken. Husky. Longing. "My one sweet dream…"
She looked at his parted lips, noticed how the space between their faces had slowly receded. She wanted so badly to… but…
"Macbeth…?" Her lips parted too. "Did you…" The thump in her chest was profound, identical to a pounding heart. She felt tears threatening to form in her own eyes, but she willed them away. "Did you mean it? When we danced and I…"
"No." He cut her off. Then softer, "No… I didn't."
"So…" her cheeks felt hot. "Does that mean… Do you… How do you feel about…"
He cut her off again, but this time it was without words.
He closed the space between them and pressed his lips against hers. It was jarring at first, because of how unexpected it was. And neither of them moved for a moment. They just lingered in a pocket of time, as if they were each expecting the other to pull away.
Neither of them pulled away.
Instead, Dreamer released a sigh and she dropped her hand from his cheek, in favor of clutching his hoodie. She moved her lips against his, welcoming him, and this moment. He responded instantly, delving deeper into the kiss with her.
He tangled one of his hands in her hair. The other went to her waist, to feel her soft skin again. He savored the taste of her lips at long last. No teasing, no almost-kisses. This was real. This was his response to the unspoken question.
He didn't need to say it. Dreamer felt it. She felt the love in the way he moved his lips, as if he were relishing every second—soft, gentle, passionate. She felt it in the way he touched her, the way he stroked her skin. She felt it in the whimper at the base of his throat, and in the way he breathed her name in the space between kisses. She felt it like an aura around him, a wild, deep love. The kind of love that anchors you to another person. The kind of emotion that pervades space and time, brings people back from the dead, echoes into eternity. It was the kind of love that breaks apart the wood of time, because it doesn't follow arbitrary rules like time. The kind of love that some people only find in their sweetest dreams.
That's what this moment was. The sweetest dream. A dream shared together, of a hope, of a future.
She was feeling drunk off of it, the overwhelming power of both of their emotions. It caused her to breathe deeply in ecstasy, and wrap her arms around his neck to pull him closer. She wanted to be as near to him as possible. She had waited so long for this. She had imagined the taste of Macbeth's kiss since before he had given up the name "Midnight." All his teasing and devious glances and smirks… She resisted the urge to moan against him as the passion overwhelmed her.
It was as she was tangling her fingers in his white curls and welcoming his tongue into her mouth, that her sternum gave a loud pop, accompanied by pain. She gritted her teeth and dropped her arms. He leaned back and looked at her with eyes swimming in concern. His cheeks were flushed, and he was panting slightly as well, which was nearly enough to make her plunge right back into another kiss, but she opted for listening to her body instead.
"I'm sorry," he said, as he scanned her over for any obvious damage.
"Don't be." She smiled, and looked down to check the scar on her chest. Luckily, she hadn't popped any stitches or reopened the wound. She must have just unsettled the bone a bit. "A little pain is worth it," she giggled. "I've been waiting for that kiss for a long time."
He looked at her face and smiled in response. The warmest, least sadistic smile she had ever seen on his face—hardly befitting of an ex-assassin.
"A little pain is worth it?" he repeated the phrase as he looked her over again, with a smirk beginning to play at the edge of his lips.
"What? What are you looking—" She looked down in worry, wondering if she had popped a stitch after all. No, the space between her breasts was just as it should be and… The space between her breasts… Her totally uncovered, jutted-toward-Macbeth breasts.
"HEY!" She gave an 'eek' of surprise and quickly lifted the nightgown back up to cover herself, though the damage had already been done. The blood in her cheeks was boiling hot now.
"I'm pleased to see that your important body parts remain unharmed," he said, the smirk only growing wider.
"Really, Macbeth?" she deadpanned. "My heart gets ripped out and you're just happy I have my boobs?"
He laughed at this, then gave a shrug.
"Unbelievable. I thought we were having a sweet, heartfelt moment!"
"Technically, you can't have a 'heartfelt' anything, anymore," he pointed out, as the old glint returned to his eyes.
"Very funny." She huffed. "Am I going to be the butt of a bunch of 'heart' jokes now?"
"Gajeel already made a list of good ones."
"You're totally serious, aren't you?"
This back and forth banter was almost even more welcome than the kiss they shared. It reminded her that they were still the same. Something massive and life changing had happened, but their hearts hadn't changed. Well, technically her heart really had changed, but regardless…
"Are you going to shower?" he asked. "Would you like me to leave?"
"No!" she said, too quickly. "I mean… If it's okay with you… I'd really like you to stay with me the rest of the night."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Not like that, pervert!" If she could bend her body that way, she'd have smacked him.
"Can I sleep in your bed?" he cocked his head to the side, with the ever-present mischievous smirk.
"I… well… as long as you get out before people show up in the morning then I guess…"
"Are you going to wear that skimpy nightdress?"
"MacBETH!" She frowned super-hard to show her displeasure, before struggling to get off the bed.
"It was an innocent question, Dream." By the drawl in his voice, there was nothing innocent about it whatsoever.
She started for the bathroom door and heard him get up to follow.
"What are you doing?" a suspicious glance at him.
"I'm going to help you." This was said without the slightest hint of humor.
"Help me what? Shower?" she laughed, which hurt.
"Yes."
"N-No, you can just wait on the bed! Seriously, go away Macbeth!"
"No chance," he snapped. "And let your pride get you hurt? I won't let that happen."
The passion in his tone made her feel lightheaded again.
"Well… Okay, but… you're only allowed to wash my hair and my back, and you have to be careful around the scab and you have to promise not to be grossed out by it, because scabs get gross when they get wet. And I'm going to hold a towel over my chest and I'm not taking off my panties so don't get any ideas!"
"Whatever you say, sweet Dream," he taunted.
"A-And the same goes for you! Keep your clothes on!"
"I'm to wear this oversized hoodie in a steamy bathroom?" he asked.
"I… I guess you could take that off, but…"
He held the door open for her, with that tender smile on his face once more. "Teasing you is so much fun, Dreamer."
She smiled back at him and wordlessly walked inside.
He obeyed the rules entirely. He didn't say anything while he washed her hair and carefully washed her back and massaged her shoulders. He simply served in silence, then turned around so she could do the rest herself.
There was a surreal sense of comfort in having him there with her, to help her while she healed. And it occurred to her, while she was standing under the hot water with his fingers splayed in her hair, that that's exactly what they were doing for one another. Helping each other while they healed.
He was helping her in a physical sense, yes, but it was more than that. All the pain and regret from her past—all the things she had never faced and had been too afraid to fight… Macbeth helped her. He stood by her side and helped to fight, to win, and now he would be by her side as she healed from the emotional wounds. Likewise, she had been at his side, while he fought the pull of darkness that chained him to Zero, to imprisonment in the tower, to a life without freedom. And she would continue to be at his side as he healed and atoned, and became the man she already knew he was.
He helped her dry off and put on her "skimpy nightdress." He held her hand as she walked back to bed, because she had complained about feeling dizzy. He turned off the lamp and crawled onto the small hospital bed beside her, and nuzzled against her like a tired kitten. They kissed again. A few times, though she couldn't say exactly how many. They were sleepy, lingering kisses, on the lips, the hair, the neck, the shoulders. Wordless reminders that they were, indeed, there for one another. Reminders that neither one had to heal alone.
Macbeth and Dreamer fell asleep curled up together on a hospital bed in the infirmary. They fell asleep under the unspoken agreement that they would heal together, side-by-side growing together along the branches of time, their names carved in the wood. Macbeth and Dreamer.
A/N: You guys waited 71 chapters for that kiss. I am astounded by your patience.
Just a heads up! The next three chapters are feel-good filler, intended to lighten the load after the whole "Resmond kidnaps Syllest, Dreamer dies, the world is almost destroyed" arc. After that, we will have the final chapter of One Sweet Dream, which will be an extra long chapter, just for you! I can't believe it's been almost an entire year since I started posting chapters, and you all have stuck with me this whole time. *tears of joy* Let's run to the finish line together!