đ take a nap with yours
Leonâd asked no questions when she turned up at his place at two in the morning.Â
He looked as if he was staring at her ghost â sheâd only recently been found and returned to US soil, and a part of her reasoned that he possibly hadnât been given the news yet. Her eyes were rimmed red, fatigue etched in every limb from an impromptu four hour drive to get to DC, and she barely had to whimper his name before his gentle hands, tactile and real, delicately coiled around her elbows to coax her inside before she broke.Â
Heâd said she was stronger than him â that she could carry the weight of trauma so much better than he could, had admired her calm when theyâd reflected on Hardvardville when all had been said and done.
But lately she couldnât hold up those walls anymore, despite every part of her inner spark doing its damndest to fuel the furnace. Sometimes the trauma endured and the lives lost along the way came to her. Her well was dry, no more tears to give, but she shuddered despite it â scared to lose another of her closest thanks to her nightmares chasing every waking hour.Â
Sometimes the rescuer needed saving.Â
His voice was low, a gentle rumble beneath her ear as she hid her face against his chest, vaguely aware heâd careened her toward the couch where theyâd folded in on one another; her fingers anchored tightly to his shirt as if letting go would have him disappear while he cocooned her with his limbs as if to shield her. It wasnât the first time such physical contact brought relief from their own respective inner demons, and it was likely never going to be the last; they shared a bond few others had.Â
She, too, was alive â despite it all and for how sheâd not succumbed to the whorls of the sea.
Time was stagnant in that moment, Claire only aware of the solid thump of Leonâs heartbeat, the security of his arms, and his fingers gently tracing circles against her spine. For the first time in days she could breathe and the air didnât smell tinged with blood or tasting of salt, and the relief of it somehow managed to draw blood from the stone as she wept once more.Â
For her team, her friends. For Moira.Â
As the tears subsided Claire weakly drew up as far as she dared for a moment, scrubbing a hand roughly over her face as she felt her grief ebb into fatigue. Leon grasped at her wrist to stop her from being too harsh on herself, his eyes transfixed on the mottled bruises still painted on her flesh from where the bracelet had been, a darkness â a protectiveness â reflected on his features through the low light of the room as it lined the edge of his face.
âIâm sorry,â she mumbled, following his gaze as it moved to her eyes once more, a shaken breath drawn through her lips. âI shouldâve called â I didnât know where to go.â
He shook his head. âOpen door policy,â he said, releasing her wrist so he could tuck some of her hair behind her ear, thumb grazing her cheek. âAnytime. Thought you knew that already.â
She made a faint sound of acknowledgement in the back of her throat, tiredly leaning into his touch as her eyes slipped closed. The more her body unwound from the stress of trauma the more leaden her entire being felt despite fight or flight still trying to domineer her very core. She wormed one arm between his torso and the couch, her head sinking against his chest once more as he smoothed his fingers through her hair.Â
She hadnât slept in days, her nightmares often keeping her up and her gun not being enough of a security blanket nestled beneath her pillow, but there she felt the safest she had in days.
Though she knew the answer was yes she still tiredly slurred: âCan I sleep here with you tonight?â
Leon squeezed her gently in his grasp, wordless acknowledgement that brought about a sense of peace. Sleep soon came, the staccato of his steady heartbeat as he too let himself be pulled under rending a pitch black dreamscape, free from the horrors of the island, free from sorrow or pain.