Prompt by Moleft

Lisbeth had been alternating between dozing against her window seat with nothing but a thin sheet wrapped around her and watching a horribly bootlegged copy of Sweeney Todd when her doorbell began to ring. There was only one person who would ever molest her doorbell at that time of the morning. She didn't bother throwing on any clothes; she just dragged the bed sheet wrapped around her frame with her to the front door, Mikael still beating the living shit out of the doorbell.

"For fuck's sake Kalle, it's four in the morning-" she started to come up with all the reasons he should be back in his own bed, but he pushed past her as soon as the door opened.

"Just invite yourself in, then. I don't mind at all." She called after him.

"I smell fresh coffee and a pack of Marlboro Reds. Don't act like I interrupted your beauty sleep."

Lisbeth was impressed where other more sensible women would be offended. Blomkvist rarely had the balls to make even a half-decent comeback like that. It also meant something was bothering the shit out of him. She caught him running his hand over the pink line that crossed this throat just under his chin while she lit her last cigarette. Maybe he was having more nightmares about Hedestad.

She stepped into the kitchen and grabbed two mugs from the rack above the coffee maker. When she stepped out of the kitchen he was sitting in her spot on the window seat. Fine. She wound up wedging herself on the opposite side of the bench, knees drawn all the way up to her chest with the sheet still draped over her.

"Thanks. You haven't been sleeping well either by the looks of it."

She sipped at her own mug while he placed his on the windowsill. "Some would think I don't sleep at all."

"I guess that's one more thing I know compared to some."

She just continued looking at him. He didn't come here to talk about her sleeping habits. He was here for a reason and she would wait it out until he finally caved.

Mikael swirled the coffee around the cup, inspecting its contents. "No cigarette butt at the bottom of this?"

Lisbeth smirked at that particular memory, shaking her head. He'd been holding that one incident over her head for the last two years. Now he rarely trusted coffee coming from her unless he made it himself. Contrary to whatever he had thought at the time, it was in fact and accident with no malicious intent.

"It's still up here," he said without warning, tapping a finger against his skull, "At the strangest moments all of the sudden you're laying in that kitchen covered in dirt and blood. I can't get rid of it, no matter how hard I try. I could be walking down the street to Millennium and then all I can think of is the message you left on my phone. It tortures me constantly."

"But what tortures me the most was being so distant from each other. How six words on my computer almost turned into your last words."

It was her turn to feel pained. Lisbeth rarely felt regret, but when she came around in Sahlgrenska alive and well, her final words haunted her. It sounded more like a suicide note than a genuine thank you like it was meant to be.

"I'm sorry about that." She said.

"I know. But promise me something. If things ever get that bad, I want to hear your voice. No emails or word documents on my computer at one in the morning. Call me, even if you can only whisper one word."

On the outside, she maintained her usual coolness as Mikael looked at her with expectant eyes. Of all the things she expected that he would say, he had gone in the complete opposite direction. She had expected something more along the lines of, 'please no more vigilanteeism,' not, 'let me hear your voice once before you die.' The idea had just enough of a kick to pull on heartstrings she'd promised herself her dead two years ago.

"I promise."