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Post by David Young Henning on Dec 22, 2010 9:53:02 GMT -8
He knew she was awake, not because she had cried out, but because she was returning his embrace with a steely grip, fingers digging deep into his back. Her hands felt cold, even through his shirt.
"Charlotte, what's wrong? Did you want me to get a doctor? Keep breathing... Breathe, Charlotte. Listen to the sound of my voice..."
Even if he'd wanted to get help, she was holding him so tightly that he probably wouldn't be able to get off the bed. And he was certain that whatever it was she had dredged up from the depths of slumber wasn't something she'd want to share right away... It probably wasn't even something he'd want to hear. But he would. For her sake. He held her close and kept murmuring soft nothings in the hopes that it would calm her down, trying to transfer- just as they had tried to will warmth into each other during the long car ride here- a sense of peace, tranquility, dreamless rest... and above all, the knowledge that outside, the rain was finally ending.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 22, 2010 14:39:44 GMT -8
Charlotte hadn’t meant to clutch David quite so hard... but she was finding it nearly impossible to loosen her grip at the moment. He was warm and solid... and reminding her that she was awake, now. He was very much anchoring her, keeping her from quite possibly having a panic attack. She focused on his voice, as her breathing finally started to slow, to lose its panicked, desperate pace. She shook her head slightly.
“No... No doctors. Nothing’s wrong. It was just a dream...” she told him. There was a hoarseness to her voice that wasn’t there previously. She could use some water... But right now she just wanted to stay in David’s arms. She was still cold... but at least she could breathe. “Just...” She wasn’t entirely certain where she had intended to go with that last. Just what? Just don’t let go? Just keep talking? So she left it as it was.
It had taken her nightmare showing her in horrid, bloody technicolor for her to realise what it was that had pinged as familiar about the scene at the lumbermill. It hadn't been the first time she'd discovered something (someone) lying dead on a desk. How had he known? How had the Smoking Man known about her mother? That was what terrified her more than anything. It also pissed her off a little.
She wasn’t sure if she should tell David this new realisation. At least... not right now. She didn’t much want to talk about her nightmare at the moment. She just wanted to lay there, and let the warmth of him slowly ease the cold that seemed to have permeated her body.
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Post by David Young Henning on Dec 23, 2010 15:30:27 GMT -8
Henning was oddly relieved that she hadn't finished her sentence. It meant she didn't want to talk, and he didn't think she should- Not yet, anyway. She wasn't crying, either. Not like she had back when... But this was a different time, different place, different situation. He was still a practical man who didn't believe that dreams were anything other than mind leakage, the muddled slideshow of the subconscious; but he hadn't remembered his own dreams in years, and he was so unused to seeing such a strong reaction to one, that he was prepared to believe whatever Charlotte was experiencing was something different. More... powerful, if that made any sense.
None of this makes any sense.
"Whenever you're ready, Charlotte," he whispered, feeling her slowing heartbeat as if it were his own. " If you never feel like telling me, if you decide to tell me ten years from now, doesn't matter. I'll be here. You just rest..."
Despite himself, he found there was still enough energy in him for levity. "Rest, Charlotte. I feel like I've said that fifty times already, and I'm prepared to say it fifty times again. Whatever it is you saw, it can't get to us in here. I'm sure of it. At least pretend to sleep..." He yawned, uncontrollably. "...And I'll pretend to stay awake, in case that doctor comes back. Deal?"
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 23, 2010 15:53:01 GMT -8
Charlotte smiled tiredly as David whispered to her. She was finally able to loosen her grasp, but she didn’t unwind herself entirely. She didn’t have the energy to. She would tell him... And she wanted him to know that. She needed him to know that. She tilted her head so she was looking at him, and slid one hand to caress his cheek, fingertips tracing a line from his brow to his chin.
“I will... I promise. Just... not now.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. It was an exhausted, raspy thing, but it was a laugh none-the-less. He told her that it couldn’t get to them in here... and she believed him. They were safe here. The bone-deep cold had begun to ease, and she no longer shivered quite so much.
“Deal,” she replied.
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