What This Darkness Must Witness (prompt)
What This Darkness Must Witness.
What pulls her out of her sleep is the rustling of sheets. It’s a jittery restlessness, limbs without direction, a hand smacking her in the face, and sometimes, a knee jabbing her in the thigh. It’s the shaking body next to her and the ragged breathing.
It’s the “n-no… n-no, no” muffled into a pillow next to her; it’s the fear in her wife’s voice, the one that cuts through marrow and bone.
It’s not the first time.
Blinded by the darkness of their bedroom, Lexa shifts to envelop Clarke’s body in her arms. It’s best if Lexa spoons Clarke from behind, and sometimes it’s a struggle because Clarke’s is really strong and not at all cooperative in her sleeping state.
“Clarke, I’m here, it’s okay,” Lexa hushes as she wrestles with panic-stricken arms for control.
Soon Lexa will have Clarke’s torso in a tight grip, pressed up against her own chest,
And soon, Clarke will wake up from another nightmare of someone pushing her off a ledge, or a balcony, or some other vantage point high up. She’ll scream herself awake as she’s free falling, plummeting towards a merciless ground that’s still too far away to see, and when she does, Lexa will be holding her close, whispering comforting words into the night until it’s the only thing Clarke knows.
It’s not the first time.
“Clarke, you’re okay. I love you and you’re okay,” Lexa whispers, and when Clarke starts hyperventilating, Lexa knows she’s fully awake and consciously panicking.
This is the worst part; the time it takes Clarke to realize she’s safe. This is the part that shatters Lexa’s heart.
“This is our bedroom,” Lexa murmurs. “You’re safe. You’re in our bed… In my arms.” Lexa proves the truth of her words with a gentle squeeze of her arms around Clarke’s torso.
“I love you, Clarke,” Lexa continues and presses her lips against Clarke’s shoulder. “Do you feel my arms around you?”
“Yes,” Clarke breathes, barely a whisper, her hands gripping tight around Lexa’s arms, her eyes squeezing shut to rid herself of the nightmare still flashing behind her eyelids.
“Is it too tight?”
Clarke’s breathing is shallow, no longer hyperventilating, as she shakes her head. “No.”
“Okay. That’s good. Tell me what you see.”
“Two fourteen.”
“What’s that?” Lexa says, pretending she doesn’t know that Clarke is now looking at the illuminated red numbers on the alarm clock next to their bed. She needs Clarke to stay focused on what’s real.
Clarke doesn’t answer. Instead she taps with fingertips against Lexa’s arm, letting Lexa know she’s okay, that she’s back. When Lexa releases her hold, Clarke twists in her arms and buries her tear-stricken cheeks in Lexa’s chest as the pent-up anxiety slowly dissolves.
Lexa runs soothing fingers through Clarke’s hair and rubs calmness into her spine until Clarke’s breath is moist, but slow and steady against Lexa’s shoulder.
“Thank you,” Clarke mumbles.
“Anytime,” Lexa presses her lips against a sweaty forehead, letting them linger there until her lungs demand fresh air.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m quite fond of holding you in my arms,” Lexa murmurs through a lazy yawn.
“Sleep, Lex, I’m okay now.”
“You sleep. I’m not tired.”
“Lex.”
“Clarke.”
“Stubborn.”
“Bossy.”
Clarke sighs, snuggling closer to her wife, and Lexa shifts to make better room as she wraps her arms around her wife once again.
I love you’s are being murmured, and Lexa insists on staying awake, persistence in her arms, comfort on her lips, and an ache in her heart that’ll subside but never fully disappear.
It’s not the first time.
As Clarke’s breathing evens out, her muscles twitching in that half-asleep limbo, Lexa allows for her own unfallen tears to be soaked up by her pillow and for a shaky breath to escape into the night.
It not the last time either.