DISCLAIMER: not mine, please don't sue.
a/n: Yes, I'm back again. Natalie's return (now was that awesome or was that awesome) appears to have cured my writer's block. Thank you so much for every message and comment. You guys continue to be amazing and I can only hope you like this new chapter too. I'll post the next one in a couple of days. It will be a shortie and it will (finally you say? :) mark the fic's transition to the "M" zone.
- NIGHTMARE -
The lock clicks.
The knob turns.
The front door opens - slowly and silently.
She is in the bedroom, folding clothes to clear a path on her bed for paperwork and, later on, who knows what else. Her lips form a tiny grin at the thought. She picks up a t-shirt - the one she lent him the other day. It somehow managed to escape the laundry pile and his scent still lingers in the fabric.
A floorboard creeks.
The noise turns her head in the direction of the living room. Standing very still and quiet, she listens and tries to remember if he still has her key.
Then there's another faint creek.
Maybe.
Or maybe it's just her imagination. She backs up towards the nightstand, grabs her phone and checks the time. He's probably still at the hotel. She looks up his number, then dials. If he's here, his cell phone will give him away.
It's ringing but her home stays silent. The call goes to voicemail, so she ends it, throws the phone on the bed, fishes the baseball bat out from under it, then cautiously walks up to the bedroom door.
She listens.
Nothing.
She steps out and looks around.
There's silence but somehow it feels unnatural.
She sees a flash of black from the corner of her eye but it's too late. She is tackled to the ground by a masked stranger. Grappling, they hit the carpet with a loud, flat thud. The fall knocks the air out of her lungs and the bat slips from her grip. It rolls off - out of reach. Her attacker pins her down. She tries to fight back. She struggles but the intruder is bigger, heavier, and stronger.
He stares at her, his eyes glazed over, and in them she sees her own reflection as his dark, suffocating shape presses down on her more and more.
She twists her hip and manages to get her left leg free. She kicks and pushes with all her might, trying to pry him off her. With his balance thrown, his grip loosens and her right arm slips free. She doesn't hesitate and hits him as hard as she possibly can.
Then everything goes black.
She snaps awake, heaving, and automatically glances at the alarm clock but it's glowing numbers aren't there. It was just a dream. This time. Just a dream, she keeps repeating in her head. With a trembling hand she wipes sweat off her forehead, then hugs her knees to try and stop her body from shaking.
But then she hears a stifled groan and she tenses instantly. "Natalie?" a voice asks in the dark. A familiar one.
She wills herself to move, reaches over and switches on the small lamp on the nightstand. She looks down and sees Eli sprawled out on the floor by her bed, the alarm clock right next to him. His eyes are watering from the pain and his nose is bleeding. "Are you all right?" he asks, squinting.
An absurd question given that he's the one bleeding.
"Oh god," she says, trying to untangle from the sheets. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry."
"It's okay." He swallows hard and feels his nose. It's not broken but his fingers come away red and sticky, and he stares at them.
Apparently, not all was just a dream.
She kneels down by his side, quickly grabs a couple of tissues from the nightstand and balls them up. "Hold this to your nose." He obeys and his head tilts back."No, no, don't do that." She grabs his free hand to pull him up. "Come on." With some struggle, she helps him up. He staggers in the stinging, blurry half-light and she quickly sits him down on the edge of the bed. "Lean a bit forward," she instructs him and he does as he's told. He takes a few deep breaths through his mouth and wipes his punch-induced tears with the back of his hand.
He was awaken by her screams and bolted to her bedroom in blind, half-awake worry - only to be stopped by a fist.
Her fist.
Caring is sure proving to be an increasingly hazardous business.
She is crouching in front of him, her hand resting on his knee, fixing him with a firm, raw gaze. "Did you hit your head?" He doesn't react right away. He's probably just reeling from the experience but she can't leave this to chance. "Eli?"
Finally, he glances at her, slightly drowsy, a bit disoriented, and still in pain. Her tiny reflection floats in shiny brown. She has to avert her gaze but quickly forces it back on him. "Did you hit your head?" she repeats her question.
"No," he answers and sees a tinge of relief flash across her face. "Are you okay?" He knows it's a stupid question. But he can't help asking.
"I'm fine." She always is.
She pulls some more tissues from the box and offers them to him. "Here." He quickly switches the red pulpy mass for a crispy white one. "Pinch your nostrils."
"It was my fault," he says in a nasal voice. "I heard you scream and I wanted to wake you."
"Well... you did." She cracks a sad, tired smile. "Thank you," she adds, rubbing his knee, "Sorry I hit you."
"Guess it was long overdue," he remarks, his eyes smiling. She shakes her head, lips twisted by a stifled grin. "But, for the record, I'm glad Mills took away your bat." Despite everything, a small laugh escapes her and he feels beyond proud to be the cause of it.
He slides off the bed to the floor with a muffled groan, his knee joints cracking faintly. The pain in his lower back flares up too.
He sighs. "Oh god, I am old."
She chuckles. "You definitely have a flair for the dramatic," she remarks and settles down by his side. "You are not that old." He looks at her and she holds his gaze. He feels her hand rub his thigh."You're just tired."
"And you punched me," he deadpans.
"And I punched you," she agrees but a smile soon breaks through.
They sit like this for a while, in silence, leaning against the bed.
"Did you dream about him?" he asks. "The um... the-that guy who...?"
"Yes," she says and looks away. He nods but doesn't press her further.
"I keep seeing his eyes," she confesses after a long stretch of silence. She lets out a shaky breath and tucks her hair behind her ear. Her entire body feels heavy with cold, numb exhaustion yet the thought of sleep is unnerving.
His free hand soon finds hers - it's still so cold. She smiles at him. He smiles back, then checks the tissue ball.
"How's the nose?" she asks.
"Better." His thumb gently rubs her knuckles and she entwines her fingers with his. "How's the hand?" he asks.
She chuckles.
"I used to have nosebleeds all the time when I was a kid," he says, dabbing at his nose, then sniffs. "So this is actually kind of nostalgic."
She regards him with a faint smile. "Only you can make nosebleeds sound like a positive experience."
"That's why I get paid the big bucks," he jokes. And she laughs. It's short and sweet - like her. But his smile fades and his jaw sets when his gaze shifts to the cut on her forehead.
"I'm okay, Eli. Really," she says.
He blinks away and stares at the carpet for a while - until his anger and frustration finally boil over. "Well, I'll be okay when you don't wake up screaming in the middle of the night," he says, his voice thick with barely restrained emotion.
Her eyebrows pull together. "Eli-"
"I'll be better than okay after I strangle that son of a bitch with my bare hands. I-"
She suddenly grabs his hand with the tissues in it and guides it back to his nose. "You," she says, "are bleeding again."
His eyes flash with mute anger and there's a sullen twist to his lips as he tries to stop the bleeding and get his temper under control. He squeezes out a quiet and strained "sorry".
"It's not that I don't appreciate your late night homicidal rage," she remarks, a note of playfulness creeping into her tone, trying to lighten his mood, "but slow down a bit, okay?" His gaze turns to her and she leans closer. "Because I get to strangle him first," Natalie whispers, then plants a small kiss on his cheek.
He fights it but ends up smiling anyway.
"I'll be right back,' she says, getting up, and before he could say anything, she hurries out of the bedroom.
He's still sitting on the floor when she re-enters her room. "A little late-night snack?" he asks with a crooked smile, nodding at the smallish bag in her hand.
"It's for you," she says, offering the bag of frozen peas to him. "It will keep the swelling down."
He rises to his feet, wincing a bit. "Right," he says, taking the peas with a small grin. "The last thing we need is for this thing to get even bigger," he jokes and lets out a slightly nervous chuckle. She tilts her head, a smile playing at the corner of her lips. "I-I mean my nose," he says but regrets it immediately. "Obviously," he adds, almost to himself, eyebrows drawn together in a worried manner, looking a bit flustered. All of a sudden he's acutely aware that they are alone in her bedroom. He swallows. "I don't know why I said that." Idiot.
She bursts out laughing - she can't fight it any longer. He smiles but it is erased by surprise when she closes the distance between them and hugs him.
The laughter suddenly stops and the hug tightens. He waits for the sobs but they never come. He relaxes into her embrace, then pulls her closer, becoming a fuzzy, soft, dark shape of comfort and warmth. After what feels like minutes, she finally exhales. "You are very huggable," she remarks, her voice thick and heavy and muffled by his t-shirt, and he laughs softly. Not many have accused him of that, that's for sure.
She slowly pulls away - not too far away -, then, after some hesitation, cautiously leans back in. Careful to avoid his nose, she plants a quick kiss on his lips.
He studies her for a long, silent moment and she holds his gaze.
"This is crazy, right?" she asks.
Surprise and confusion crease his forehead. "What do you mean?"
Tired and embarrassed, she shakes her head. "It's just..." she trails off, eyes cast down, trying to find the right words. Her fingers curl into a fist, then uncurl. Then she looks back up at him with defeated exhaustion and helpless amusement. "I've never... I don't do this, you know."
His eyebrows furrow. He doesn't know. "You're not the hugging type?" he teases and she is struggling to be serious.
"I'm not the letting-people-I-barely-know-sleep-on-my-couch type."
He swallows and nods. "Well, I'm afraid I'm prone to sleeping on strangers' couches, so..." The joke derails into an uncertain smile. She looks slightly conflicted and it unsettles him. It's time to get serious. "Natalie, if you want me to leave, just tell me and-"
"No," she says suddenly, cutting him off, then her gaze shifts. She reaches for his hand, turns it palm up. Her fingertips slide over the ridges and arches and the faded ink stains.
One way or another, yesterday has marked them both.
"What do you need?" he asks quietly.
She smiles faintly. It is crazy. She wants to keep touching him. She wants more of him. "I..." but then she changes her mind. And sighs. And peers up. "A few hours of sleep would be great."
He stares, then an idea occurs to him. "Wait here," he says, then hurries out and re-appears with his cell phone in hand. "Where's your phone?"
She gives it to him. After some fiddling, lip pursing, and eyebrow furrowing, he gives it back, then taps the screen for her.
Slow, rhythmic ticking ensues.
She peers up, slightly confused.
"It's a metronome," he says. " 40 beats per minute but you can change that if-if you want to. Or," he taps the screen again and the ticking stops, "just turn it off completely if it annoys you."
She smiles. "You have a metronome app on your phone?"
"It's all the rage these days," he jokes but his grin is shy. "I-I find it relaxing. The um... the ticking. It... it makes the quiet less... you know..."
"Quiet?" she asks.
"Yes. More ordered. More... digestible, I guess. I... I don't know. I'm weird," he tries to explain, running a hand through his hair. He's sharing something personal and it's clearly not something that comes naturally. "But maybe it helps you, too." He clears his throat. "Helps you fall asleep."
"Thank you."
"You are very welcome."
She regards him for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek. His eyes narrow playfully. "Yes...?" he asks with a smile in his voice. She pulls his phone from his grasp, puts it on the nightstand with hers, then turns back and steps closer.
"There is something else."
He blinks. "Okay."
She hesitates. "It might sound a bit weird."
"Everything sounds a bit weird after 3 AM."
TBC