“I used to have them about my mother. Not even my father’s money could save her, but I would have nightmares that somehow I could and then…I’d fail. Again and again. They always felt so real, and it took a while to wear off the next morning.”
He has no idea how similar his nightmares were to the one she just had. She can’t explain that without talking too much, and opening up that far isn’t on her agenda today. Not yet.
“I’m sorry about your mom,” she says, sadly.
“And I’m sorry about your daughter.”
“I don’t want to dream about that anymore.” Her face breaks with a quiet sniffle that’s quickly sucked back in. “What do I do? How do I make it stop?”
She shouldn’t be asking him things that are her responsibility to fix, but here she is doing it anyway.
“If I knew, I’d tell you, sweetheart.”
Her heart vibrates the moment that endearment rolls off his lips. It flows easily until he seems to realize what he’s said, andthen he pales, looking away with an embarrassed tint to his cheeks.
It would be simple to let go of his hand now and pretend it never happened, but she holds tight and offers him a comforting squeeze when she still needs that herself. She wants to crawl right into his lap and never leave. The urge is so strong that it’s a conscious effort not to follow through and give in to that pull that begs her to seek safety in his arms. That’s when the light bulb in her brain explodes and the glass shards stab her in all her fleshy, vulnerable parts.
She is falling for him.
She’s falling for him fast and hard, and she might not be able to stop it before it’s too late.
She’s felt her fair share of schoolgirl infatuation before. The occasional bout of lust as she got older is no stranger, either. She thought she loved Jack at first until he showed her who he really was. Thought she loved Finn as much as she could love anyone who wasn’t her own blood, as much as she was capable of. She was wrong both times, so how could she trust herself now? Her heart is too tattered to make logical choices anymore, if it ever succeeded before.
Doesn’t matter, though, because once he gets tired of her, he’ll realize the error of his ways in even entertaining the possibility that they could be something. She isn’t easy to be with. She gets caught in her head, and that creates too much back and forth, too many mixed signals. It’s confusing, and men have needs.
She’s heard that one, too, more than once.
Maybe the fact that she’s falling for him won’t matter when he gets tired of waiting for her to put out. It sounds crass even in her head. He may have questionable morals if the story of his infidelity is true, but he doesn’t seem the type to want what she isn’t ready to give.
Then, he offers her a small half smile, and she melts so easily, and smiles back so quickly, that it’s more than a little bothersome.
She motions to his arm still stuck in a sling with her free hand. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No. I’m healing up just fine.”
“Good.”
The desire to kiss him or run straight out into the Alaskan snow and never look back are equally as strong.
She wonders how soft his lips might be, then it’s her turn to blush the barest hint of pink before looking away. How many second chances is life going to give her, she wonders, before she’s brave enough to reach for a little bit of what she wants, even if she can’t allow herself all of it?
“How about some breakfast?” he tries.
“Okay.”
They eat packages of energy bars under the covers after she’s moved back to her spot at his side. By the time the wrappers are empty, things feel lighter, less dire, less like she’ll make a wrong move and break apart.
The fact that she still wants him is something she’ll have to deal with another time. Preferably, when they aren’t stuck in a research bunker at the end of the world.
* * *
Later, they check out the computers and files in search of information. Trying to figure out who uses this place and what for.
She drops a clipboard on the ground by accident in a loud clatter, and Theo flinches like she struck him. It only lasts a second, and she doesn’t draw attention to it. Picks upthe clipboard and drags her hand softly down his arm in a comforting stroke that he leans into. Someone doesn’t flinch like that unless they’ve been hit. She knows that fact all too well.
He’s given her bits and pieces about his life before. His father was actively neglectful, maybe even abusive, if sending your child out into the wild to battle against their sibling for your affection qualifies, and she thinks it might. Moments like this highlight how little she actually knows about his past. Did his father hit him? His brother? Someone else? The last thing she’ll do is ask and make him uncomfortable.
“We should make pancakes later from that boxed mix,” she says absently, trying to lighten the mood and distract him.
