𝗗𝗜𝗚𝗜𝗧𝗔𝗟 𝗦𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘

Cosmic Love

CW: internalised homophobia 

When James wakes, Isabell is quiet.

Too quiet.

She is perched on one of the front seats, her head resting on her knees as she traces pictures into the steam on the window. Along the bottom is his name, the handwriting wobbly but the spelling perfect.

James smiles in spite of himself.

He rubs his eyes, leaning forward to tug affectionately at Isabell's hair.

"Morning, doll."

Strangely, she says nothing.

She is cold, he realises, her skin like icy marble beneath his fingertips, and her eyes are puffy. The sleeve of her dress is hiked up and the exposed flesh of her forearm is raw and red, like she's been scratching frantically at it.

Something turns in his stomach.

James lifts her carefully into the back seats, even more unsettled when she doesn't protest. Isabell is funny about being picked up, very hit-or-miss, but even on her good days, she would never let someone do so without protest.

This time, however, she simply crawls in his lap, hiding her face in his shirt. He runs a worried hand through her hair.

"Talk to me, Iz. What's wrong?"

There is a silence, and then, suddenly, her shoulders start to shake.

Isabell is crying, he realises, the sort of crying where she's struggling to breathe. She clings to James like she's drowning, gasping and clawing at her skin.

James' heart squeezes like a fist.

"Hey, hey, it's OK, Iz!"

He grabs her hands to still the scratching, rocking her gently back and forth as she sobs. She seems impossible to comfort, like she's furious at something he can't understand. Something inside of herself, maybe.

Whatever it is, she needs help, and he's the only person around to do it. He cups her face in his one free hand.

"Take a deep breath for me, Izzie, nice and slow."

Still, Isabell can't stop crying. She whimpers, trying desperately to get out of his grasp, and James realises that being restricted is only panicking her more. He lets go of her wrist, backing up a little so she can remain in control. It doesn't help a lot, but there's a fraction of improvement.

When she sniffles again, he shushes her softly.

"We're OK, doll, we're OK. Just breathe for me; in through your nose, out through your mouth."

He demonstrates for her, breathing exaggeratedly so she has something to copy, and after a few moments, she does as she's told. James smiles at her.

"That's my girl. Keep going like that, just like that. Focus on me, Iz. Just me and your breathing, that's all there is in the world."

Isabell hiccups. She reaches forward and wraps her hands around James' wrist, squeezing tight. It takes him a few moments to register that she's feeling for his pulse, and he encourages her as best he can.

"Yeah, just feel my heartbeat. Keep your head straight. You're doing great, Iz."

They sit like that for a while; Isabell clinging to his pulse and James soothing her all the way through. By the time her breathing finally evens out, his reassurances run as easy and clear as if it is his first language.