I would do anything for love Chapter 8: Night Terrors, a bill fanfic

The day went by, they were both restless, stressed, confused. Jo found she couldn't relax, even after a long hot bath. As day turned to night they were both going through the motions, the trauma of the previous twenty four hours too sharp.

It was one in the morning. He couldn't sleep. Lying on top of the covers, so close, yet so far from the woman of his dreams. Images whirling constantly in his head. The pains in his battered and abused body, mixing with images of the fire, the smoke, the flames... his mother... his mother was calling him... Maman... He awoke with a jerk. His breathing harsh, coming in snatches.

Carefully, he pushed himself off the bed, heading for the bathroom. He ran some water into the basin, and splashed some of it onto his face, it didn't help. He looked up into the mirror, seeing himself... hating himself... he was a burden... he couldn't keep the people he loved...

That tiny voice in his head. A tiny little sound, a siren call, cracked and old but still there. You want to, you will feel better, you deserve it... He stared at his face in the mirror, reaching out to open the bathroom cabinet, the old fashioned razor was still there. A packet of blades. He picked it up. Pulled out a blade. A detached part of his mind wondered just what he was doing.

His mind traced his movements, feeling its way through the past, picking over the bones, the crackle of the waxy paper, the feel of the old fashioned steel blade between his fingers, he looked at himself in the mirror seeing himself as a child, the images of Jo and his mother mixed up in his head. His eyes burned fiercely as he fought down the tears...

Alone

It was in his head, scraping away at his mind like claws, it was engraved on his heart...

The blade trembled between his shaking fingers, as he watched himself intently in the mirror, wanting to see that instant of pain, as he traced the inside of his left arm and the blade sliced into his flesh.

"Stuart!" He heard a shocked gasp behind him, and his eyes turned to see the reflection of the woman standing in the doorway.

Jo moved swiftly forward. "Stuart... oh my god... what are you doing?" She reached his side, grabbing his wrists, turning him to face her, pulling his hands upwards, towards her. "Stu..." she stared in horror at the blade in his hand, and the cut on the inside of his arm. Then she realised that there were more scars, old, very faded, scarcely visible, unless you were actually looking for them, and realised that this was not the first time he had done this thing.

She searched his face, his eyes looked empty... as though all the emotion had drained out... carefully she pried the razor blade from his unresisting fingers and dropped it in the basin. He let her bathe the cut, dress it, she had a firm grasp around his wrist and he followed her when she pulled him back towards the bedroom. He seemed to have no will left, all the fight ripped out of him.

Jo lifted the covers and slid into bed, moving over, holding the covers up, inviting him to get in beside her. The lost look in his eyes worried her. Obediently, he got in beside her, and she pulled the covers around him. Her hand closed over his, and he stiffened. She looked at his rigid body, lying on his side, facing her, staring at her almost without recognition, and realised that she was seeing inside for the very first time. And that she was the first one he had ever let this close to him. She had found a key to the real Stuart. And he was scared of that.

She inched closer to him, the frozen look on his face changed, and he burrowed against her. He was shivering, and she slipped her arms around his neck, holding him as close as she could. He muttered something she didn't understand, but she held on anyway, certain that she needed him as much as he needed her. The last twenty four hours finally took their toll, and she wept. Uncertain exactly who was holding on to who, Jo buried her face against his shoulder and let go.

She awoke to sunlight again. The soft, warming glow filtering below and between the curtains, it cut across the bed between them. She looked across at her sleeping partner, noting the marks that this case had left on his body, the bruises, the cuts, the scrape marks... he was lying on his right side facing her, his burnt right arm folded up across his chest, the hand resting against his left shoulder, the whiteness of the bandage covering his forearm from wrist to elbow a flagrant reminder of how close they had both come to death. His left arm was stretched out, the fingers of his hand curled limply around her wrist, as though trying to reassure himself that she was still there. Even in sleep, he didn't look relaxed, there was a slight frown on his face, and Jo very carefully eased a little closer. He shifted, and reached out to pull her close against him.

He was strong, his muscular arm was holding her against him and just how fragile she felt came as something of a surprise. It wasn't the first time that Stu had put an arm around her, but this time was different. Jo couldn't explain why or how it was different, it just was. It was a voyage of discovery. She was fond of Stuart, she knew that, it took this case to show her the truth, that somehow he had sneaked beneath her defences into a corner of her heart. She had watched them terrorising him and hurting him and she had felt grief and fear, terror that she would lose him without having the chance to tell him what he meant to her. Then, last night, the glimpse into his lonely world, where he felt the need to punish himself for being alone, that was a terrible revelation. She knew he struggled with the intimacy of relationships, that his relationship with Sam had started out casual, and it's rapid decline had panicked him into making all sorts of mistakes; she knew he armour plated himself with the veneer of shallowness that had seen him rejected time and time again.

He moved again, settling her closer. He moved his right arm up across the pillow, and his lips brushed her forehead. Jo tilted her head back, uncertain of where this might be going, but not wanting to end it. His lashes lifted, and twin pinpricks of brown looked down into her eyes. Impulsively she leaned a little closer, as he bent his head and kissed her.

As his lips brushed hers, Jo realised that she wanted this, whatever would come between them, right here, right now was their time. She leaned into his kiss and opened her mouth, tentatively his tongue explored and she returned the favour. Her hands slid round his neck, as he rolled, lifting her against him, taking her full weight with ease.