xx
'Cause I want to be with you, but I need a place to start;
I'm surrounded and captured by the armies of your heart,
and I feel so alive, so I sing, and I hope you've realized:
I will stay here, safe and sheltered in your palm,
'til it's time to wing towards the sun.
xx
Armies Of Your Heart | Elizaveta

Tom knocked softly on her bedroom door before easing it open and peering inside. She met his eyes, offering a small wave, and he stepped inside and shut the door, walking slowly over to the bed with concern on his face.

"Did you sleep at all?" he asked, and she shook her head. He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, reaching for her automatically before thinking better of it and stopping halfway. "Me neither," he said, and she caught his hand in midair, holding it on the mattress near the midpoint between them.

"I don't—" she started, her voice catching from lack of use and the remnants of last night's tears. She cleared her throat, and said, "I don't know how to… be vulnerable. To choose that instead of fighting it. I don't…" She closed her eyes. "…know if I can do this."

He watched her for a minute, then said quietly, "Is there anything I can do?"

She shook her head, looking at him and tugging his hand just a little bit closer. "You've been perfect. I don't deserve you."

"You do," he said back, voice quiet but firm. "There isn't one thing on this earth too good for you."

Her heart hurt, and she couldn't help but smile even as her eyes filled up with tears. When they spilled over, he picked up his hand and cradled the side of her face, brushing his thumb through the tracks and then leaning in to kiss her gently on the lips. She hooked her hand around the back of his neck before he could pull away and sighed into the kiss, her chest loosening and heart breaking free of the vice that had gripped it.

It wasn't ever going to be easy, she knew that—but she needed this. She couldn't throw it away out of fear. She just could not do that.

"So," she said when she finally let him go, "I need to find a psychiatrist."

Blinking his gaze away from her lips, he met her eyes seriously. "Okay. I should do that too."

"Quite a pair," she said, her lips quirking up ironically.

"I'd rather do this with you than do anything else with anyone else."

They stared at each other for a long moment, then Tex's voice came through the door.

"We're heading out, Rachel."

"Okay, have a good day!" she called back, and then lowered her voice again to ask Tom, "Do you need to get the kids?"

"Jed will keep them." He said it evenly, a non-issue, but Rachel was hit by guilt, closing her eyes again.

"I'm sorry."

"They're with family, safe, happy. It's the perfect time to focus on you."

"I shouldn't—I don't want to interfere with your life, not if I'm making it worse."

He slid forward on the edge of the bed, closer to her head so he could stroke her hair and then rub her back. She looked up at him, her face pinched, and he moved his hand to smooth over the lines of her face, pressing gently at the frown and pout until she closed her eyes in peace instead, breathing slowly.

"One day is not going to make my life worse. Neither is one night of missed sleep. It… I… The only thing that would make my life worse… is not having you in it."

Eyes still closed, she nodded.

"Even then, if it was best for you, I would survive. If you would be happier without me."

She blinked her eyes open, meeting his, and he swept his thumb across her cheek, cupping the side of her face.

"Is that the case?"

Her lips curled up, just slightly, and she shook her head, and he smiled back, closing his eyes for a second and exhaling in relief. Leaning over, he pressed his lips to her forehead and then her mouth again, lingering there with soft, chaste kisses that simply said again what had already been said in words.

"Think we've got a chance at a nap?" Rachel asked a moment later, and Tom glanced to the other, empty side of the bed. "I know I cheated you out of your sleepover. Would you like to nap with me?"

"I would like nothing more," he said, and after Rachel got up to use the bathroom (and furtively apply a little deodorant since panic attacks followed by sleepless nights were not the most fragrant combination), she crawled back into bed and settled her head on the pillow, waiting for Tom to slide in behind her. He curled his arm around her waist, palm flat against her belly, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head as she breathed in, deep and slow, relaxing against him.

"I wish," she said on her exhale, and felt him hold his breath behind her. She pressed back slightly, from her shoulders to the small of her back, conforming her body to his. When she sighed, another deep breath in and out, she focused on how much easier it was to breathe with him there. "I guess fear is a part of life," she went on, "but I hate being afraid. I'm tired of it. I want to be brave."

"You're the bravest person I know," he said quietly, and she closed her eyes as the rumble of his voice came through her back, "and I feel the same way. You know that, right? I'm scared, too."

Her eyes welled again and she pressed them tightly shut, allowing the tears out only in traces, wetting her lashes without touching the rest of her face. She covered his hand with her own and he turned his wrist, holding her hand in his palm.

"If I could take it from you, I would. But I can hold your hand, when you need me, if it helps."

"It helps." She blinked her eyes open, taking her hand back briefly to press the pillowcase against them before closing her eyes and turning her face into the pillow, pressing back again, just slightly. Tom's arm tightened on her waist in response, his hand closing around hers and his chin lowering to rest on the top of her head, and she breathed out, "I love you."

"I love you too," he murmured back, and she sighed one more time, turning her mind to sleep.

She slept like a rock, her body desperate for rest, and woke abruptly several hours later. Though every part of her body weighed her down, begging to stay in bed, her primitive brain was awake and she knew she wouldn't be able to fall back asleep.

Turning in Tom's arms, she found him awake and quietly watchful, and groaned, ducking under his chin to press her forehead to his chest.

His laugh vibrated against her skin, and then his words: "Sleep well?"

"Yes, but my body does not appreciate me dangling the carrot of a full night's sleep in front of it and then snatching it away. My body is displeased."

"Your body's pretty talkative, huh?"

"I'm a doctor," was her muttered defense against his teasing tone, not that it meant much.

"What's your body say about the concept of food?"

She straightened up, putting her head back on the pillow, and blinked slowly at him. "Undecided."

"When's the last time you ate?" he asked quietly, and she dropped her chin, her lips pressing together.

Of course, it had been when they'd shared dinner with the kids, and at this point, that was… almost twenty-four hours. She didn't feel hungry, but exhaustion and adrenaline both suppressed hunger signals, so that was no surprise.

There were parts of the past twenty-four hours she would probably want to keep, but it was hard to see them around the parts she would slice out with a scalpel if she could.

"I was thinking we could go downstairs and walk until our bodies wake up enough to feel hunger, and then eat," he said, and she nodded. "Either wear what you're wearing or change quickly, because we really do need to get some food in you."

So no shower, but she did go to the bathroom and brush her teeth, put on more deodorant and a fresh shirt, and tie her hair back in a bun.

On the elevator ride down, she slipped her hand into his, and by the time they walked out the front doors she was gripping it tightly. The sun was just beginning to set, and people were walking every-which-way along the sidewalks, picking up groceries and bringing children home from parks and some, she supposed, just out for a walk, the same way they were.

There was nothing wrong, no threat—in fact, it was almost idyllic—yet Rachel's heart was pounding, her stomach churning, and she realized after a moment that she was repeating a mantra of it's okay it's okay it's okay in her head.

Turn right out of the glass exit doors—it's okay it's okay it's okay—start down the sidewalk with the sun at their backs—it's okay it's okay it's okay—join a stream of people walking walking walking—it's okay it's okay it's okay—keep her eyes trained on the ground and her hand tight around Tom's—it's okay it's okay it's okay—and then Tom was holding a door open for her, leading her into a dimly lit hall and wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

He was rubbing his hand up and down her arm, and after a moment she blinked at the floor and looked up at him.

"That was a bit much," he said.

"Yeah."

"You wanna try to eat?"

"Sure."

She felt a bit distant, a bit removed, as he led her through the hall and into a small restaurant, low lighting and quiet chatter and straight lines. Looking at the menu, she found it was an Asian fusion restaurant and felt a wave of relief as she sought out familiar favourites, miso soup and garlic chicken with broccoli, the thought of the food calming her.

Eyes still on the menu, she drew in a slow, deep breath and exhaled before closing the menu and looking up at Tom across the table. He did the same, and returned her smile when she offered one.

"Where did all those people come from, anyway?" she asked wryly, sliding her hand across the tablecloth to wait at the side of the middle, palm up, for Tom to take it.

"It's a lot to take in," he agreed, tone gentle and eyes watchful. "Everything's centralized, so where there's people, there's a lot of them. We could try driving a bit further out, walk where it's a bit less dense."

That sounded good, and she nodded. "You'd think I'd be used to it, being on the ship for so long."

He frowned slightly. "That was months ago, and before. Some things I never would have expected feel completely different now. Go easy on yourself."

"You're okay though."

The waiter came over to take their orders and the conversation paused until he'd walked away again, then Tom said, "I've also been in the world going about my daily life while you've been recovering from a serious bullet wound. But even if that weren't true… would you please go easy on yourself? You don't have to be okay right now."

She raised her eyes, squinting at the wall above his head even as she smiled a little at his tender words. When she met his eyes again a moment later, she shrugged her good shoulder and said, "I'll try."

He just smiled at her, still holding her hand, and she smiled back.

Once they'd finished their meal and made it back upstairs, Tom paused to the side of the apartment door and leaned his back up against the wall. He didn't reach for her, but she stepped into the space between his feet anyway, leaning up against him and resting her forearm on his chest. He looked down at her, smoothing his hands down her back to rest on either side of her hips, and she stared up at him, neither of them moving for a moment.

"We should reschedule our sleepover," she said eventually, and he nodded.

"That would be good."

"I'll…" She dropped her eyes to his chin, pressing her lips together briefly. "…try not to run away again."

"That would also be good," he said gently, "but at least if you do, I'll know why."

"Acknowledging in advance that you disagree," she said carefully, before looking up to meet his eyes again, her eyes soft and brow slightly furrowed, "you're too good for me." She paused, and corrected, "To me," but she wasn't sure whether it was actually a slip in the first place.

Without looking away from her, he drew in a deep breath through his nose and sighed it back out, before saying, "I love you."

She smiled, her eyes dropping to his lips as she slid her hand up around behind his neck, pushing up on her toes and saying, "I love you too," before kissing him. His hands moved to press firm at the small of her back, holding her against him, and even though the longest she might possibly go without seeing him was one week, she kissed him like it was the last time she'd be lucky enough to do it.

When the empty space in her felt full, she dropped back to her heels and rested her forehead against his chest, breathless. Her hand stayed at the back of his neck, her thumb smoothing over the curve of his skull, and he kept his arms around her until she looked up again and stepped away.

Fishing her keys out of her pocket, she unlocked the door and then looked up for one more kiss, smiling into it as Tom cradled her face in his hand and then said, "Goodnight, sweetheart," waiting with his hands in his pockets for her to step inside and close and lock the door behind her.

Then she pressed her forehead to the wood, her heart feeling too big for its place inside her chest. It still hurt, which she found unfair—that happiness should hurt, and loving, but she could look at it now as a healing wound. When you first pressed the edges of a wound together, and threaded stitches through, it hurt so much that you wanted to tear out the stitches and let it heal wide open, but if you held on through the worst of it, there would come a turning point, and eventually the skin would be bonded once more, only occasional jolts of pain to remind you it was there.

She felt him in her heart already; the healing had begun, and tearing him out now would be to tear a half-healed wound open, or remove an artificial valve that the body had already grown around.

Why the hell was she thinking in medical metaphors, anyway? She loved him. He loved her. Thank God, thank God he loved her.

"Is that you, Rachel?" Tex's voice called from the living room, and she called back a rough hello before clearing her throat and poking her head through the doorway.

"I'll just fix up a pot of tea," she said, and gestured in a way that meant, would you like some? He shook his head, holding up his bottle of beer, and ten minutes later she joined him on the couch, curling up in her corner with a steaming, fragrant mug.

"So that's all taken care of," he said, watching her, and her face split automatically into a grin that she attempted to tame, dropping her chin and angling her face away.

"You were right," she said without preamble, "and Tom was right. Kathleen was probably right about something at some point too. I don't mind admitting my mistakes."

"Yes, you do."

"Yes, I do, but not in this instance. I didn't want to be right." She stared down into her mug. "Although…"

He huffed. "What?"

"I don't necessarily think I was wrong," she said to her tea. "That is to say, sure, it's worth the risk. It's worth making an effort and letting it play out. But if… however this ends, it will… it will be my fault." She shrugged her uninjured shoulder, not looking up. "I know he loves me, he wants me, but he deserves better."

That last was murmured, her shoulders drooping over her mug, and she was surprised a moment later when Tex was in front of her, holding her by the upper arms and ducking his head to catch her gaze.

"Rachel," he said firmly. "You are a beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, loving, caring, incredible, incredible woman. You have flaws because everyone has flaws, but trust me when I say that if el capitan had to find someone better, he would be searching a long, long time."

She pressed her lips together, narrowing her eyes until they were almost shut, staring hard at his cheek. The corner of his mouth ticked up, one of his hands sliding down to her forearm, his thumb rubbing gently at the skin there.

"You want that? To send him off on a search for the perfect, better-than-Rachel-Scott woman?"

She glared up at his eyes, holding a stubborn frown for all of three seconds before her smile twisted at her lips. "Of course not. I've already told you—"

"Hmm, yeah, that was real convincing. Try this: I am more than good enough for a dude who's really just aggressively decent, and he is lucky to be loved by me." He blinked at her, expectant, and she shook her head, grinning. "I am…" he started again, encouraging, and she tipped her head to the side.

"I am more than good enough," she repeated reluctantly. "Not gonna say that part. And he… is lucky… to be loved by me." Her stomach twisted, and she breathed deep into it, trying to resist the urge to take it back.

"Very good," he said approvingly, like a primary school teacher. "Now, do I need to write that down for you, or will you remember it?"

"You're stupid."

He raised his eyebrows. "Say it again, then."

Heaving a sigh, she mumbled quickly, "I am more than good enough and he is lucky to be loved by me."

"One more time."

"I am more than good enough and he is lucky to be loved by me and I hate you."

Smiling, he pushed up on the knee he'd folded under him and pressed a scruffy kiss to her forehead before getting to his feet. "If you forget, I'll remind you. Goodnight, darlin'."

"'Night, Tex." She finished her tea and went to bed, exhausted enough to sleep even if she did still have far too much on her mind.