Author's Note- Though not explicitly stated, this spans a period of a few months in which Will and Alana continue their little sleeping arrangement.
At first they don't sleep together, not in any sense of the word.
Alana insists on the couch, though it hurts her still-healing back something awful. Will tries to argue that point, and fails, then tries to argue the point that she is not used to so many dogs, and fails, then exhausts every point in his arsenal before he finally caves in and brings her his best pillow and a warm blanket. They go through it every time she comes to sleep over, and every time Alana's stubbornness wins out. "You can't blame a guy for trying." He says, wishing her good dreams and leaving her with a smile.
She pays for her stubbornness every morning with a horribly sore back, but feels good knowing that, of all the things robbed from Will in recent months, some even robbed by her, she hasn't taken the man's bed.
Will brings her two Aspirin and a fresh cup of coffee in the mornings, to take her mind off the pain and ease some of his own guilt at not parking himself on the couch when he hears her car pull up.
Alana is the one who brings about the end of the couch business, about two months into their sleepover arrangements. She is having a rare good dream when she is startled awake by a noise. A human noise, she realizes as she emerges from her sleep fog, a very Will Graham-sounding noise. A noise like he is in pain.
Her mind jumps to her worst fears as she jumps to her feet. She is in full adrenaline fight mode, thinking of probable places for Will to stash his gun, of the best way to approach the situation. She settles for a knife and does her best to keep silent as she creeps up the stairs, cursing inwardly at every creak of wood.
Will's door is slightly ajar. Her breath catches in her throat as she holds her knife at arm's length. A knife is a poor substitute for a gun, and she is admittedly not skilled in the use of either as a weapon, but it is better than facing her new worst fear with nothing in her hands. Be brave, Alana. Don't be blind, she repeats to herself, steeling herself for the worst.
When she jumps in, she finds only a fretful Will, still trapped in sleep. She lets the knife clatter to the floor and doesn't think twice about going to him. About shaking him awake.
"Alana? What is it? What's wrong?" He asks, as he recognizes the person sitting beside him on his bed, her eyes wide with fear.
"I heard you moaning and it sounded like...it sounded like someone was hurting you." He knows who the someone is without asking. He doesn't hesitate to hug her to reassure her that it was just a nightmare, that Hannibal Lecter wasn't back to finish the job he started all those months ago. "This should be the other way around." She says, chuckling. "I should be the one holding you."
"We're kind of...holding each other." He points out. "It's nice." He murmurs, after a few minutes of silence. It is quite nice, she thinks, being enveloped in warm arms and the faint smell of his deodorant, with Will absently playing with her ponytail. She doesn't think about stroking small circles on his back, noting the softness of his t-shirt and making a mental note to ask him where he bought it.
"Do you want to stay?" He asks after a while. "You don't...you don't have to." He stammers, letting go of her as he realizes what he's just asked.
"I think I want to." She smiles. "At least you'll save on the Aspirin in the morning."
It doesn't cure the nightmares, the new sleeping arrangements. They both know this. They know the intricacies of a human mind that has undergone trauma well enough to know that the other is not a cure-all for the trauma they had survived. That there might not even be a cure all; Will's arms holding her in an embrace won't replace Abby's pushing ones, and Alana's scent won't replace the stench of blood that permeates through his own nightmares. The nightmares still hit heavy and often, no matter how many times they share a bed.
But there is something in the human contact that comes immediately following the jolt awake. There is something lovely about being pulled back from the abyss just when it gets to its apex, getting to wake up and fall straight into warm arms and reassuring whispers, getting to snuggle on the couch with warm mugs of tea and dogs when sleep won't come back.
Will whispers his first "I love you." on one of those nights, his lips grazing Alana's ear as he breathes the words ever so softly. He half-hopes she won't hear him; he's not sure how she feels, whether this is something she too wants, and he is terrified of alienating her. The one person left who can offer him that kind of comfort he has become so accustomed to as of late.
It all but melts him in her arms when she smiles, turns her head and whispers her own "I love you." back.