Good Morning

Eleventh Morning

It's a long time before she wakes again, but it's because of the pain she finds emanating from her wrist. His fingers are clenched tight around hers, pressing against the wound, trying to stave off the ache that has already begun to swell up inside her veins.

Her eyes open slowly, and the sight of him lying beside her makes her heart flutter, and then beat faster than usual. It's strange to see such a large man in the throes of panic, but there it is. Panic mixed with guilt and confusion. She can tell by the way his eyelids twitch and his jaw clenches that he hasn't slept well at all. He's probably tossing and turning and thrashing around in his dreams too.

"Nya?"

His voice breaks through her thoughts, and she turns toward him immediately, forcing her muscles to relax and loosen. "Yeah." She sighs heavily, and pulls her hand free of his grasp. They're both laying on their sides facing each other, but he's pulled slightly closer to her than she'd prefer. But it works for now.

He swallows thickly, and rubs the stubble along his jawline with the heel of his palm. When he finally speaks, he sounds exhausted.

"Did I... Did I wake you up?"

"No," she replies honestly, although part of her wishes he had. Part of her wonders if she should've woken him up sooner. Or maybe just stayed awake with him. If he couldn't find any comfort in sleep, perhaps she could help with that instead. She thinks about asking him if he needs anything else, but decides against it. Maybe later tonight when they're alone together again.

For some reason, she feels like that might be better.

They stare at one another in silence for a good ten minutes before his thumb slides over the edge of his bandage where his stitches meet his skin.

"Are we going to talk about what happened yesterday? Because I'm not sure that I want to anymore."

She takes a deep breath in response, and lets it out slow. There is no way to dance around the issue, so she says the most abrasive thing possible.

"Why did you do it? Why did you jump in between the blast and me?"

"Why wouldn't I?" he asks with an exasperated huff.

"Because you didn't have to! We knew your plan worked, right? So why bother? You could've saved yourself, you could've gone back. You could've done anything!"

He rolls onto his back, and stares up at the ceiling for several moments before responding. "You don't understand, do you?"

She scoffs at that. "Of course I do."

"And you would have done the same if our rolls were reversed."

"That's different," she argues, but she knows that isn't true.

"How? How is it any more complicated than saving someone who cares about you? Is it less important because it wasn't planned ahead of time? Are we not allowed to save people we love? What happens if we're in a situation where we need to sacrifice ourselves for them? Do they deserve to die because you weren't careful enough?"

He pauses, waiting for her answer, but she remains silent. He continues anyway, but she's still lost somewhere in her thoughts.

"I watched you die twice. I'm not playing that game again."

She has no response for that. Because it's true. She would die for him, and he for her. What a tangled life they live.

"So how do we fix this? How do we make sure it doesn't happen again?" He asks, voice firm but fluttering with uncertainty below the surface.

"We don't," she tells him honestly. She lies down beside him and rests her head on his shoulder. "We keep going. We keep fighting. Whatever happens, happens."

He kisses her forehead and hugs her close. "And I'll try to never let it get to that point again."

"And I will too," she whispers.

He strokes her hair as she falls asleep, and she hopes with all her might that he means what he said. That he won't ever put himself in jeopardy for her sake, because if she's being honest with herself for once, she couldn't bare it if anything like that ever happened to him again.