... ... ... A NIGHTMARE ... ... ...

Illy recovering consciousness, she felt as if hands groping her. No, that wasn't one of those salacious dreams with a concrete name on her lips. The hands now for real trying to rip off her jeans wasn't the ones she longed to be touched with. They were foreign, and that was oddly distinct like the cold ground under her languid body. The dread stormed, waking up ahead of her mind obscurely recollecting what had happened before she fainted, and ahead of her ability to react against abusing about to implement on her.

The following development stamped on her memory as flashy fragments due to the darkness of the woods, boiling emotions and drugs in her blood. Not sure she ever screamed, anyways, that's a useless stupid thing and waste of energy. But the villain's painful cries and severe curses were disturbingly echoed and stuck in her brain for long, once, struggling under the pressure, she grabbled a stone to smash the man on the head, and then, already herself hovering over, on impulse more rougher hits straight and purposely on his genitals to never be functional again. After that, hardly fixing herself, stumbling but kept running into the unknown.

When watching in movies scenes like that, she, though, always scolded those silly people for not knocking down the malefactor to comatose, and better tie him before scaping. That bright thought came to her belatedly in some distance, with only her heavy breathing cutting the silence, and the rustling under her feet. However, she doubted her capability to disable the threat, not 'cause of the lack of strengths, but on the contrary - afraid it could end up in fatal beating. Even amid those extreme circumstances she clearly didn't want to shoulder such a burden... Or at least she yet wasn't in so rageful mood for killing... She simply hoped that she injured his manhood enough he could barely walk, while she made her way to the rescue...

And so, later that night, as bolted from the hospital, the same fast as from the assaulter, to be back at the Department to help in searching - what she actually succeeded in with the assistance of her 911 fellows monitoring the calls from responsible citizens, despite the dissuasions, she went down to look that beast, captured and seated in the cage, in the eye, and showed not mercy, but no hatred either. His face was swollen probably worse than his private part. Knuckles on Antonio's hand were also badly scratched - obvious without guessing who arranged another injury. Still, the hurt and bleeding low organ required more and prompt attention, but nobody, except for the arrested, ever asked for medics.

"Wish you to live long... to have time to grasp all you've done, all the suffering you've put people through, those you claimed the lives of and those who you deprived of their loved ones. Let it be through physical anguishes you took upon yourself since you couldn't have coped with your demons. It was your choice. It is your charge."

Cold to thrilling was her speech, but no wrath in that, rather pity for his own miserable destiny, past, present and future. Whether it reached the abuser's mind, silent in ail or venom, but as a prophetic spirit in a tired body she stolidly paced to the exit, scarcely asking Erin to give her a lift home... to Antonio's disappointment.

Few hours as she's saved with merely a twisted ankle and her head to ache, but his anxiety didn't allay. The predator's caught to stand to the law, but that didn't seem to help either. Out of danger, but she felt as if her world's falling apart... under detective Dawson's gaze... full of condolence. She couldn't bear that. So, his company became unwanted. That's to break her heart, as well as his, with tomorrow to turn out the same intolerable in any case.

But screw that! At the moment she needed shower, rest and nobody. The latter's a lie, but let it be. Sleeping pills are better than somebody's embrace. A lie too, but let it be. Yet, sedative won't keep from nightmares, even before that wicked event occasionally stirring her up, while someone's arms could alleviate...

His presence she wouldn't mistake for an alien, it wouldn't come to unconsciously revive the dread just experienced. No. She knew that inherently and by default. But now she doubted that she'd ever be blessed with such a chance to have him cuddling her through the night, since she allowed no compassion. Therefore, before crashing, she might shed a tear, missing that tactile bliss as reminiscing about his tight life-affirming squeeze of her yearning flesh and soul when he'd found her safe. But no more. Fuck. No more.

And thus, she wasn't aware he sat in his car in front of her building 'till the break of day, watching for any movement in her windows. If there were some, he'd knock on her door and fulfill her wish, he, though, had no clue of. It rather was his own selfish relevance... to hold her and prevent her from any harm. To give her all the loving as soon as she asked.

But he longer didn't see it coming, since with her return from Chicago Med, where she stubbornly didn't want to go, she averted her eyes from his. That made him fear and suspect something more serious did happen to her, while she misled them for the sake of her dignity. And that's why he beat the shit out of that skunk. None but Erin, who was accompanying the girl on every step the past hours, after leaving her home, assured Antonio that there was no sexual abuse. And still, it didn't soothe him...

The choice of his cautiousness to prolong with expressly showing how truly he cared.

The charge of his poor heart and mind to endure her disgrace, or whatever it was.

The next several days were crappy. And since she refused to take a holiday to heal, Voight sent her to a psychologist, peremptorily.

Fine. If they are competent, it's fun and useful to commune with them. She'd had such practice and also herself was leaning to mental science. Not a bother. Though, she did apprehend now to dig for trauma, old or new, but... all she found herself talking was Antonio, Antonio and Antonio. Blatantly offloading each detail and every emotion concerning him from the very start. So, by the end of the session that wise and collected woman to examine her condition couldn't hide the smirk at this desperately smitten female. Total embarrassment and total understanding she's sunk.

And yet, afresh with the team, she kept unintelligently avoiding him and merely peeked, pining, when he didn't see. Ridiculous, but she even conceived the idea to quit... if things wouldn't settle somehow. Sound despite this feeble folly, of course, she realized he's noways to blame, it's rather her preposterous issues. Nonetheless, she couldn't lay them on the shelf, just like he couldn't do that with his feelings and guardianship.

"I'll drive you home," he sprang from his seat once saw her packing up to leave, and then they both looked at Erin. One glance of hers appealing to women's solidarity and another glare of his saying to stay aside. He, as senior in rank, quickly won over.

To hit him hard or kiss him deep? But she did neither, instead barely audibly grumbling as paced behind him. While he mutely opened every door for her and each time sought and anticipated her eyes to meet his. But no luck. And no single word he was granted, still, took no offense.

Ugh, thank God, he didn't try to pull the same trick, as being her escort, in the mornings, she'd blow up in a blink. But that dumb scenario repeated itself few more night, wearing thin completely, and so, she was about to weep, looking through the window at the city drifting by. He's so fucking patient and regardful, it rived her heart. Enough. She needed a break. To think all over. To have a respire from his desirable to a heartache persona. To get back to herself - rational, strong, independent. But when she jumped out of his car, he suddenly followed and called for her.

"No! No! No!" Whatever he was going to tell her, she didn't want to listen, she didn't want to hear his voice, she didn't want to face him... otherwise she'd fail... and fall into him, losing her ground even without heels.

"We can't go on like that..."

Her neglect in this situation he would try to bear, but he sensed she's on the verge. Her attitude towards people remained intact as light and friendly. But his attendance made her gloomier and heavier, as it seemed, tentatively raising the hell inside of her. Thus, doomed to ordeals, physical or moral, he couldn't let her be, either he couldn't just recede. That's why he ventured to spill his guts, and come what may. Yet, she cut him off on the spot... only to disembogue herself... way too dramatically, inconsistently and puzzling. Because she didn't rehearse it and because indeed she had too much to say, to give, to ask of. But in the expository chaos of her emotions he finally read her unfeigned and vital need of him...

Mistaken or not, come what may again, but he put all the decision and the meaning into his kiss, applied upon her lips on his own risk... To deepen it once she answered. To resume it once she demanded. To lengthen and extend once she sank it voluptuously.

This is it. That easy to dispel all misperception, uncertainty, fears, sorrow, pain, darkness and nightmares. With a kiss... as the exact panacea to give it to each other proactively and multiply, to drink it shamelessly and untiringly. Whatever life had in store for them, from this moment on, they believed they'd manage - together.