life in death was she. [nel + murdoch]

[Nel Sayo]

"Ow--" she yelped, trying to twist out from under his hand, but his grip was too sure and her body already too tender. So she just shoved him in the shoulder, at least the intention of thrusting him back. "--stop, Doc, you're hurting--"

She saw that look in his eyes, knew that look by now, and tried again to shrink away from him.

"Nothing," she backpedaled quickly. "Nothing, I don't know, I didn't do anything, just forget it, all right?"

[Murdoch]

His fingers loosened when she said he was hurting her, made an effort to swallow back the anger that he knew had lit his features.

"Nel, please. You have to tell me what you saw. I... just please, I need to know." He hadn't seen it, had only glimpsed the fires from the rooftops of Sunberth as he escaped the city and the searchers surely looking for him. "I'm sorry, I know you didn't do anything wrong. I'm not mad at you. Just... tell me," he said, exerting every whit of his self-control to keep from shaking her until she explained herself.

[Nel Sayo]

"It was just a dream," she insisted.

A soon as she felt his fingers loosen, she twisted sharply out from under his hand, lurching out of his lap and scrambling to her feet. Straightened the fall of her soaking wet sleep shirt and shoved the sleeves up to her elbows, shooting him a glare as she paced over to the hearth to stir the coals.

"It was dark, I don't know, and I was being dragged, and then they threw me into a fire, and --" An exasperated sigh, as she shoved at the coals and turned to look at him, features abruptly exhausted just by retelling those faint details. An angry flare lept into her eyes. "I don't ask you, I don't push you to tell me what you dream of -- I don't want to talk about it, it was awful, and the minute I do say something, you nearly wrench my arm off --"

She turned back to the hearth, shoulders raised defensively high.

"The linens are gonna mold if you don't strip them."

[Murdoch]

He gripped the edge of the mattress, giving his hands something to crush instead of her frail body. His shoulders remained locked, and the tendons in his neck stood out as he fought for control - and it was, perhaps, the most effort he'd ever put into controlling his fits of temper. Most of the time he simply apologized afterwards, teased and cajoled her until she forgave him whatever damage he did to her.

"Were you being dragged by your hair?" he whispered, the words so empty and hollow it was as if they came from some forgotten corner of the room instead of from his lips. "The fire - it was as large as a warehouse," he murmured, eyes slammed shut, and now there was no question in his voice. No, he knew that fire. "The flames don't leap the way a bonfire does, don't burn cleanly. They hug the ground, black and oily, and the stench of it... it's a thing that would burn for eternity and never waver." He swallowed, the putrid scent of the Slag Heap filling his nostrils. "And the man who dragged you there was thin and dark, with one of those waxed moustaches that only pretentious men wear."

He waited, eyes closed and his body hunched over, waited for her to deny it, to tell him it really was just a dream, that she hadn't seen them killing her.

[Nel Sayo]

She twisted to look at him when he asked about how they dragged her to the fire; surprise lit her eyes so profoundly that she couldn't hide it. How had he known that? The memory churned across her expression as he went on, describing the fire, whose flames she could say she knew intimately.

Her bare feet made only the whisper of a sound as she walked back over to him. Didn't touch him; knew better than to touch him, but her shadow spilled across him, firelight licking the scene. Shadows tumbled between them. She wanted to tell him a lie, and it would have been so easy. To just say no, to just tell him that it had been a different fire, that he had no idea what she'd dreamed of, couldn't have possibly known.

A long silence stretched, interrupted now and again by the crackle-pop of the fire slowly warming within the hearth, the waking cry of the birds as they rustled beyond the window. Carts rumbling in the street below, the city coming alive.

"It was just a dream," she whispered eventually, apologetically. Like she would have dreamed something else if she could've. "I -- Doc, it was just a dream."

[Murdoch]

He swallowed again, convulsively, and when she stepped closer he swayed towards her a little, as if he would settle his forehead against the damp front of her shirt but she was too far away.

She's a petching psychic, he thought, and it circled around and around his head until he couldn't think straight. Is it the past or the future? They'd do it again, they'd do it again...

"Have you ever had a dream like this before?" he ground out, his voice as rough as if he'd been the one screaming himself awake.

[Nel Sayo]

"No," she murmured, her voice a tiny echo of what it usually was. The spectre of sound, trapped somewhere between her heart and her throat. "Not quite like this one."

When he swayed, she took another step towards him, and reached tentatively over to brush her fingertips across his shoulder. He could reach her, if he wanted to. She put so much trust, so much faith into the belief that he wouldn't hurt her, that he wouldn't just lash out and kill her for having a nightmare.

[Murdoch]

He shuddered away from the touch instinctively, twitching away from her, and there was a creak as his hands clamped down even harder on the mattress. But he couldn't keep that up, like a dog who'd been kicked too often and still looked for an open hand. A moment's hesitation, and then the air trembled out of him and he laid his brow against her stomach.

"Not quite like it," he repeated, nuzzling his cheek against her ribs as he raised his head just a little. "But something similar. What happened last time?" he asked, something desperate in his voice. Something that begged her to tell him that nothing happened, it was just a memory, to say it well enough to convince him so they could strip the sheets and go back to this insanely normal little life they'd created for themselves. Let them pretend a little longer, just a little longer...

[Nel Sayo]

"Please don't make me tell you," she whispered desperately, her fingers threading into his hair, both to comfort him and to reassure herself. If she could just smooth it away, just let the nightmare fade. She knew what she risked by ignoring it, but had always told herself that knowing what might happen -- what would happen -- was not a part of her, was not something she was capable of, or even wanted.

She couldn't relive that horror as well, side-by-side the fresh one, couldn't remember the shame alongside this new shame. The helplessness. The darkness. A bow of her head over his, the pale tumble of her hair spilling to curl past his shoulders, and she shook her head almost imperceptibly.

"I -- can't."

[Murdoch]

Well. Now they knew. At least they'd been warned, at least now he could stop it.

He tipped his head back just a fraction, enough to set his temple against hers, his nose tracing a simple caress against her cheek, disappearing into that curtain of white curls and musical shells. The morning light barely penetrated it, and for a moment they stood apart from the world, some sliver of time and space that nothing else could touch.

"Pack up your things," he said softly, lips whispering against her cheek, "and get out."