7. Title: R.E.M.
Timeframe: 1 Month after "Conduction" –
So, basically, 6 Months post DoC
Rating: K
Spoilers: Very Mild DoC
Notes: This is a hell of a lot shorter than I thought it would be…
my apologies. I had a long set of readings and a test. The next scene will be longer.
"Rapid eye movement (REM) sleep is the stage of sleep characterized by rapid movements of the eyes. Most of the vividly recalled dreams occur during REM sleep. It is the lightest form of sleep, and people awakened during REM usually feel alert and refreshed. REM sleep is so physiologically different from the other phases of sleep that the others are collectively referred to as non-REM sleep."
They have come down to a routine. Months on the road have brought them to this predictable, safe point.
She will wake, just as the sun rises, and disentangle herself from him. She has begun sleeping beside him. Nothing he does will break her of the habit. They do not share blankets, simply use each other as rather bony pillows. Despite the weather, she will find a place to exercise, to warm sleep-dulled muscles. The shuriken will fly, she will tumble and leap and spin alongside it.
Always, he rises after her. It is more out of a desire to give her privacy in their little camp than out of a real desire to sleep. He will put his cloak back on, leaving most buckles undone, saving them for later, and will move to stir up the fire. As he works, he cannot help but watch her move. He will make tea, or coffee, whichever is within reach at the moment.
As he drinks his, he will continue to watch her, whether out of interest or out of boredom, he doesn't know. She always notices, and always shoots him a smile. The smile is followed by more acrobatics, as if to impress him. When she finishes, she trots over, accepting a steaming cup. Sometimes, she will comment on the lack of breakfast, and he will move to correct the error. When this happens, she hastily takes over. The Turks leave little time for the culinary arts.
"I'm surprised you don't burn water, Vince," she will usually say.
Other times, she says nothing at all, and, flushed from exertion, she will take over the cooking. Either way, he sits back, cleaning his weaponry as she prepares what food they can spare. Over the food, she will always pepper him with questions in regards to his sleep. He nods in answer, or shakes his head, depending. Every time, she manages to turn the conversation to dreams.
"You dream last night?"
Shake of head.
"What? Again? Did you have a nightmare?"
Nearly imperceptible nod.
"Man… Vince… don't you ever just… I dunno. Don't you ever just dream?"
Always the same. She will always turn the conversation to that question. And he will always shake his head. The nightmares are not nearly so vivid, not nearly so consuming as once they were. Yet they linger all the same. Every day he wonders if he will, one day, break the cycle and begin to have dreams again. The guilt has dissipated, returned to the earth, to the Planet, along with his burden, and yet he cannot seem to rid himself of the nightmares.
Amidst his silence and her chatter, they will clean their campsite, before pressing on into the swamp. There, they will fight, cleansing the area of serpentine foes. Sometimes he is the one to come to her side, sometimes she is the one pulling him free of danger. It does not matter, however, so long as they both return, intact, to camp.
They return to their roles, he stirs the fire, she heats the remains of breakfast, and they sit, repairing what needs repairs, idly making attempts at conversation, until she falls asleep, nestled against his side. He will let her sleep for a few hours, then wake her for her watch. Sometime before dawn, they trade.
And, before the sun rises, she wakes again, and they begin their routine anew.
Occasionally, someone will call, breaking their system, throwing a wrench into the carefully laid schedule. She is always glad for the contact, chatting away. When she hands the phone to him, he makes his report in a few short sentences, then hand it back. The world beyond their camp feels like an intrusion. He has little desire to allow it in.
He has no idea when it happened.
Over the course of the months spent in the familiar system, he begins to realize something unsettling. He does not wish to inform her, as that would make it all the more real to him as well.
Yet, one morning, as he watches her tumble across the clearing, shuriken flashing in the pearl-colored dawn, he cannot keep the thought from crystallizing in his mind. Strangely, for the first time since the feeling, since the thoughts, crept up on him, he does not care. Telling her will break their routine, but… perhaps it is for the better.
She trots up, smiling as usual, and takes up the cooking. Her smile falters slightly as she notes the look in his eye.
"What's wrong?"
He said nothing, simply poured her a drink. It was coffee that day.
"Did you have a nightmare again?"
He nodded.
"I… I'm sorry." She closed dark eyes. "I wish that didn't happen to you all the time, y'know? I wish… you could just have a really great dream."
He felt a small sound escape him. It surprised her, and she looked up, nearly dropping the pan. She set it down instead, curiosity over his laughter winning over hunger.
"To be honest," he began, holding out her cup. "I think I'm dreaming now."
Her blush broke the peaceful monotony even more than her smile did. And, for once, he was glad of it.
"This is so not a dream. If it were a dream, see, there'd be a giant pink marshmallow in the sky instead of a sun."
He could only shake his head, dark hair not quite hiding the smirk plastered across pale lips.