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The first time Sara wakes up from a nightmare with Ava there, it goes terribly. There’s a knife, Sara flees, and everything almost falls apart, on the very first night, before it's even really started. It doesn’t, it doesn’t fall apart, because Ava is persistent and Sara’s just scared, not actually wanting to end things, but it gets inches away from combusting.
After that, Ava is determined that nothing like that is going to happen again. She’s going to figure out how to keep Sara safe, how to keep their relationship safe, because figuring out things is what she does best. Fitting the pieces together to make a whole.
So, the next morning, she tries asking. She looks at Sara, at her gloomily poking at her cereal, obviously reliving the events of the night in her head, and decides to just try, even if Sara might not respond well. “How can I help, Sara?”
Sara looks up, her brow furrowing, confused. “With what?”
Ava finds the hand that isn’t holding the spoon, and takes it, linking their fingers. “With the nightmares. I want to help.”
“Oh.” Sara’s expression twists, emotions flashing behind her eyes. Sadness and defensiveness and denial and anger. “You can’t. I haven’t been able to stop them, no matter what I try,” she says, bitter. “I tend to just pretend I don’t have them. That I just give people nightmares, not the other way round.”
There’s something impossibly heartbreaking about that. That Sara would rather imagine herself as the monster haunting people than allow herself to be vulnerable, but it’s not exactly surprising.
“Okay,” Ava says, slowly, “but that’s not exactly what I meant. I can’t get in your head and get rid of them, but I can help you when you wake up from them.”
Sara’s expression is confused again, like she can’t quite comprehend that, the idea of Ava wanting to help. “You want to—”
“Help you. Yeah. Because I kinda like you, Sara. I don’t like seeing you hurting.”
“You kinda like me, huh?” Sara asks, a tiny grin on her face. She squeezes Ava’s hand. “That’s cute. You’re cute.”
Ava is temporarily stuck by the affection, stuck enough that it takes a second for her to notice that Sara is deflecting. Moving the subject away. “Yeah. I like you. So let me help you. Tell me what would help, Sara. Please.”
Sara holds Ava’s gaze for a second, for ten seconds, then looks away, pulls her hand away, and the gesture is pointed. Ava’s heart sinks. “I’m sorry. You can’t. I don’t want to put that on you. I don’t want you feeling responsible for keeping me sane. I’m not going to be a danger to you anymore, and that’s all you need to worry about. Nothing else. Not now, not one date in.”
“No, Sara—”
“I’m not putting that on you, Ava.” Sara’s voice is firm. “We’re only just starting. I’m not putting that on you.”
Her words leave no room for argument, and Ava drops the subject, albeit reluctantly.
But she shouldn’t have, because, the next time they spend the night, Sara wakes up again. True to her word, she isn’t a danger to Ava. There’s no knife this time. No threat of injury, to either of them.
Instead, Sara wakes up and just curls into herself, away from Ava. After a while, Ava can hear quiet sobs, and it’s too much. She hasn’t known Sara long, but she knows Sara isn’t one to cry, not unless it was something that was really affecting her. The sobs rack through Sara’s body, and it’s devastating to watch. Ava lasts about ten seconds before she gives in, has to do something. She turns on the light, sitting up.
Her hand finds Sara’s side, turning her over, bringing her back to face Ava. Her face is covered in tear tracks, her breathing heavy.
“Hey,” Ava says, quiet, soothing. Her hand rubs softly on Sara’s side. “Hey. It’s okay, Sara.”
Sara blinks, looks at her, rubs her eyes. She looks small, breakable, but her voice, when she speaks, is hard, masking vulnerability. “Fuck. Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you to have to—” she cuts herself off, shaking her head. “Maybe you just shouldn’t stay the night anymore. I don’t want you seeing me like this.”
Ava shakes her head, and this time it’s her turn to be firm. “Nope. I’m staying. You don’t get to escape that easily. You can’t just kick me out once you’ve had your way with me.” At that, Sara almost laughs, the sound watery. “I’m staying, okay, Sara? But you have to tell me how to help you.”
And then Sara ducks her head, shakes it, setting her jaw. “I can’t.”
Ava sighs. “Why? Why won’t you let me help you?”
Pressing in closer, Sara swallows. She slots her head under Ava’s, and it almost seems like she’s doing it so she doesn’t have to look Ava in the eyes. When she speaks, Ava feels it against her neck. “Because I don’t know how.”
“What?” Ava asks, confused, her fingers carding through Sara’s hair.
“I don’t know what helps,” Sara admits. “No-one’s ever seen me like this before, so no-one’s ever offered. I had nightmares before I died, but never this bad. They got so much worse once I came back. I haven’t spent many nights with people since then. Usually I leave before we get to actually sleeping. It’s easier that way.”
“No-one—” Ava cuts herself off, a soft gasp escaping from her lips. “Sara…” she trails off, not knowing what to say. The idea that Sara's been dealing with all of this alone for two years is too much. Her heart breaks. She wants to cry, wants to break down, but she can’t, because she’s supposed to be the strong one right now. “You let me see... I...”
Suddenly Ava understands how much of a risk that first night had been. How much Sara had at stake. How much she had been willing to change her normal routine, what she knew, for Ava, after just one day.
“Yeah,” Sara breathes. “I let you see.” She presses a kiss to Ava’s pulse point. “But that doesn’t mean you have to help. I wasn’t— I wasn’t putting that on you when I made that decision,” she murmurs. “It’s okay.” Her mouth meets Ava’s neck again. “It’s okay.”
Ava finds Sara’s chin, lifts her face up, despite being loathe to move Sara’s lips from her skin. Her face is set in a hard line. “You did put that on me, Sara.” Sara opens her mouth to argue, but Ava keeps talking. “You did, and that’s okay. I don’t mind. But you just have to accept that, and let me help you.”
“But I don’t know how,” Sara protests. “I don’t know how to make it better.”
“So I figure it out,” Ava says. “I try things, you tell me if it helps. We figure it out together. Instead of me watching you agonising alone.”
“I don’t want you to have to do this,” Sara replies, still pushing back.
Ava shakes her head, pulls Sara in close, kissing her, just briefly. “I don’t have to. I want to.”
Sara’s eyes are closed, her lips slightly parted, as if she’s living in the kiss, even though it’s ended. She takes a breath. “Okay. Yeah.”
“You’ll let me help you?”
Sara purses her lips, nods, just once, that nod the only concession she’s allowing. Ava smiles, relieved, wrapping her arms tighter around Sara. It’s their second night together, but it feels like their twentieth, or their two-hundredth. Maybe things are moving too fast, but maybe, when you just fit, that’s okay.
“Okay, so, I guess I can put ‘leave Sara alone to cry’ on the list of things that don’t help?” Ava asks, lowering her voice, until it’s just a whisper, a whisper directly in Sara’s ear. There’s no-one to hear them, but Ava feels like speaking low, so quiet and exclusively for Sara, might make it easier for Sara to talk about this, her weakness.
“Is there going to be an actual physical list?” Sara asks, a hint of a laugh in her voice.
“I don’t know.” Ava shrugs with a flick of her fingers. “Maybe. If you think that would help.”
“Just don’t leave it lying around anywhere. I don’t want to talk to anyone else about this. I’ve lasted two years without telling anyone. I'd like to last longer if can.”
“Yeah, no, no-one’s gonna find it, Sara. You can trust me.”
“I know,” Sara says. And Ava can’t help but feel warm. Having Sara trust her feels like a milestone. “I know.” Sara’s voice is sleepy. Much sleepier than when she had first woken up, and it feels a little like an achievement, calming her down enough to get her to this point.
“Hey,” Ava says, softly. “Do you usually manage to get back to sleep after nightmares?”
“No,” Sara mumbles, and she sounds half-asleep already. Maybe that’s why it takes her a couple of seconds longer than it usually would to catch on to what Ava is implying. “Oh,” she says, nudging in closer, and, in that realm, that space where she’s only partly awake, all pretences and worries are gone, she sounds childlike, innocent, wondering at the idea of something having changed for the better.
“Looks like we’re already getting somewhere, then,” Ava replies, her fingers rubbing circles over Sara’s skin.
“Yeah, guess we…” Sara trails off, her breathing turning regular, and she’s fallen back asleep.
Ava watches her for a couple of minutes, to check that she’s fully asleep. When she’s sure, she speaks, quietly. “Gideon? Can you turn out the light? I don’t want to move—” Sara is wrapped up in her, and Ava doesn’t dare disturb her.
Gideon hears, dims the light, and maybe, maybe, Ava hears a, “Thank you, Agent,” echo softly through the room.
As she falls to sleep, the feeling of Sara’s breathing against her, she realises that Gideon sees everything. That, sure, Sara hasn’t told anyone, but that doesn’t mean Gideon hasn’t seen. She’s almost certainly brought it up at some point, but Ava’s sure Sara would’ve pushed it aside, banned her from telling anyone, so it must be a relief for the ship to finally see Sara letting someone help, help her Captain in a way that she can’t.
Maybe she’ll be able to get on Gideon’s good side after all.
They don’t really speak about it, not during the day. Certainly not when other people are around, but even when they’re alone, Sara doesn’t bring it up, and Ava’s not going to, not if Sara doesn’t want to talk about it.
There’s other things to be doing when they’re alone, anyway, in the moments they get when neither the Legends nor the Bureau needs them.
They’re still strictly in the honeymoon period, after all, still strictly new, still learning everything about each other and wanting nothing more than to stay tangled up in each other for as long as possible, and Ava’s not complaining.
It’s not like she wants to bring up Sara’s nightmares when Sara is pulling her apart, piece by piece, making her feel things that she hasn’t felt in a long time, so she doesn’t. When it’s not the middle of the night, when Sara isn’t jerking out of a nightmare, Ava just lets herself let go, lets herself give in to just having fun with Sara, to kissing her and being close to her, to learning every line of her body.
And that’s obviously what Sara wants, too. To not have to think about the nightmares when she’s not having them or waking up from them. To learn Ava back, to be near, to spend time together and relax in a way she hasn’t been able to for years. To have someone she can talk about everything with, and not have to worry about holding back, about keeping secrets. Sara obviously needs that, and Ava is more than happy to be that person.
Every so often, the thought toys at the back of her mind that maybe it would be healthy for Sara to talk about this more than just at night, but everything is fragile, and Ava’s not going to push at it any more than she already has.
So they don’t talk about their it, don’t mention it until night, until Sara has another nightmare.
Ava had been worried that they wouldn’t always wake her up, but she needn’t have—Sara, during her nightmares, is loud. It almost seems like her body needs that, needs to let out the fear somehow, and, because she never voices the fear when she’s awake, the energy needs somewhere to go. It escapes as shouts and whimpers, worried noises.
So Ava wakes up. That night, she sees Sara tossing and turning next to her, her hands curled into fists—and decides to try waking her up, pulling her out.
It doesn’t go well.
At first, Ava just nudges her softly, Sara’s name a whisper on her lips. Nothing happens, and Sara’s breathing is getting faster, her face getting more strained, and Ava can’t bear it, can’t bear seeing her like that, so she nudges her slightly harder. That still doesn’t work, though. She tries once more, and when Sara stays resolutely asleep, Ava shakes her, gripping onto her arm. Even before Sara wakes up, it’s clear it was a bad idea. Sara’s body locks up underneath her, freezing, something in her alerting her senses to danger.
A second later, Sara’s eyes snap open, and then she’s gone, pulling away from Ava and jumping out of the bed so quickly Ava hardly even has time to react. Sara pulls the sheets with her, clutching them against her. The sudden cold is a shock to Ava, goosebumps rising on her skin almost immediately.
Ava blinks, swearing softly below her breath. Sara looks at her, her eyes wild in the dark, her breathing still heavy.
After a couple of seconds, the primal look disappears from Sara’s eyes. She no longer looks like a startled animal, just looks defeated, her body slumping as she wakes up, properly understanding where she is, and what just happened. A moment later, she echoes Ava’s expletive, rubbing at her temples, one hand still holding the sheets up. “Gideon?” Sara asks. “Can you just turn the lights on a bit?”
The room is filled with a soft glow, the lamps illuminating a small amount. Sara is still standing there, too far away. Ava could reach out, but she’s worried Sara would shy away, so she doesn’t, just sits up, pulling her knees in up against herself, waiting.
Finally, after what seems like an age, but can only be a few more seconds, Sara moves forward, settles back down on the bed. She tries to pull the sheets back over Ava, but it doesn’t work, because her hands are shaking.
“Hey. Slow down. It’s okay,” Ava says, stopping Sara’s attempt, just grabbing the sheets from her hands and finishing the job herself. When they’re both covered again, she finds Sara’s hands.
They still tremble under Ava’s fingers. Sara isn’t looking at her. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice small.
Ava takes a breath, steadies herself. “No. No. Don’t apologize. It’s fine.”
“It’s not, I—”
“It’s fine,” Ava says. “I mean it. We’re going to help you. It’s just a matter of figuring out what works and what doesn’t. Now I know not to wake you.” Ava pauses, her brow crinkling. “Or was it just this time?”
Sara’s face twists as she thinks. She’s still too far away, though, and Ava loops an arm around her, pulling her close. “I think…”
“Yeah?” Ava prompts, her voice soothing.
“Don't wake me. I know it must be hard seeing me like that but I think… I think getting woken up is almost worse. You just have to let me get myself out of them. I’m usually pretty good at that.”
The thought of leaving Sara at the mercy of her subconscious is a hard one to swallow, but if she never has to feel Sara leaping away from her again, it would be worth it. “Okay,” Ava nods. “Okay. I think I can do that.” She pauses. “Anything else?”
Sara looks around, blinking, and then a thought dawns on her face. “Yeah. Yeah. The lights. If you— If I wake you up, if you’re waiting for me to wake up, turn on the lights. I think it helps pull me out.” The way she says nightmare, it twists in her mouth, bitter sounding, but maybe it’s an improvement just to get her to say it. “And it’s just, y’know, nice not to wake up out of a… nightmare into pitch black. And it’s good to see that it’s you, not anyone else.” Ava’s heart grows five sizes at the way Sara says ‘you’.
“Okay. Don’t wake you up. Lights on. Got it.”
And then Sara’s expression is twisting again, just when it felt like they were making progress. She's looking away from Ava. Her fingers are restless.
“Sara?”
“Hmm?” Sara still isn't meeting her gaze.
“Sara,” she repeats, and, finally, Sara looks at her again.
“What?”
“What's wrong?”
“Nothing,” Sara replies, so quickly it's clearly an automatic reaction, not a real answer. She's lying. That's painfully obvious. “Well, apart from all the normal shit. Apart from that, I’m fine. It’s fine.”
“No, seriously Sara, what's wrong? I thought we were getting somewhere, and now you're clamming up again.”
“I'm not—”
“You are. Don't bullshit. I can see through that.”
A sound escapes Sara’s lips, a soft, “Huh,” and she's pursing her lips, studying Ava. “That's new,” she says, almost to herself, like a mental note.
“What is?”
“No-one usually dares to call me out on it.”
Ava pounces on that. “So you're not fine. I knew it. I mean, it was obvious, but, I knew it.” She pauses, because she’s rambling slightly. “Just tell me what's wrong this time. Come on, Sara. Work with me. Let me help you.”
Sara sighs, pulls away. “That's the problem right there. You're putting in work. I'm waking you up, fucking up your sleep schedule, messing things up for you. I thought I could be okay with it, but I can't. I'm sorry. I can't make you do this. It's not what a good Captain does.”
“You're not my Captain,” Ava points out. “You don't need to worry about me. I can look after myself.”
“Fine. Whatever. Then it's not what you do to someone you're… dating.” The pause shows that Sara obviously doesn't know what to call them. It feels like more than dating, but it isn’t, not really.
But that doesn’t really matter. What’s more important is that they're going round in circles.
“God, Sara, I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be! Sometimes you just have to accept help, and I thought you had! Why are you pushing against this again? I know you don't know what's going to work, so we’re figuring it out! That's not the problem, so what actually is?” Sara doesn’t say anything. Ava’s mind spins, trying to figure it out without Sara giving her anything to go on. After a moment, she realises something. Her voice softens. “Hey. When was the last time you let someone properly help you with something that wasn't a mission?”
Sara shifts, uncomfortably, and it's clear that Ava’s hit the nail on the head, has found the weakness, the one thing that Sara doesn’t want to admit. It’s not just that she hasn’t ever let anyone in on this problem, hasn’t let anyone help with this. It’s that doesn’t let anyone help with anything.
“I'm not supposed to need help,” Sara says, staring at the ceiling.
“Everyone needs help sometimes.”
“Not me. Not the Captain. I help people. Not the other way round.”
“Everyone needs help,” Ava repeats.
“But it doesn't have to be you,” Sara says. “You’ve got enough going on with work, your life, with everything. It doesn’t have to be you.”
“Tough. It is me.” Ava finds Sara’s face with her hands. “Hey. Look at me. I’m here. I want to help. Don’t throw that away because you’re scared. Please.” She can only hope that her voice is as firm and final as she wants, needs it to be.
“I can't—”
“Sara.”
“You shouldn't have to—”
“Stop fighting me, Sara. Let me help.”
“No—”
“Sara.” Her jaw is tight, and she can feel tears pricking behind her eyelids, tears she pushes away. “Please.”
Sara’s eyes flick towards Ava. She is silent for a second, for ten seconds, for thirty seconds, the silence stretching out, then she finally says, “Fine,” her voice small.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, okay, Sharpe.” She sounds resigned, worn down, but not in a way that suggests she doesn’t want this—in a way that makes it clear that she had desperately wanted to say yes, but had been trying to find reasons not to, so she wouldn’t have to put this on Ava. It was sweet, in a way, but Ava doesn’t need protecting. She can make her own choices, and, right now, the decision is easy. Sara needs her, so there's no option other than helping her.
“You’re not going to keep pushing me away? For real this time?”
Sara closes her eyes. “No. I guess not.”
Ava lets out a small sigh of relief. A tiny breath, but Sara obviously notices, the sides of her mouth quirking up slightly.
“Gideon?” Ava calls out. Gideon dims the lights back down without needing to be asked. Sara has turned her head on the pillow, is properly looking at Ava, and, in the dark, there’s something in her eyes, something soft that maybe wasn't there before.
Ava presses up on her elbow, leans down, kisses Sara, her hand weaving in Sara's hair. After a second, Sara pulls away, twisting her head, breaking the kiss before it can even really get started. “Mmm,” she hums. “Don't tempt me.” But her voice is a low drawl, and she's got that look on her face that means she wants to be tempted.
“I wasn't trying to.” Ava laughs, rolling away, looking at the clock. “It was just a kiss. It's 3am. I have work tomorrow. We’re sleeping.”
“It might help me, though,” Sara says, smirking, her hand on Ava’s side, pulling Ava back over to face her.
“Oh really?” Ava decides to humour her for a second.
“Yeah. Sex definitely helps with bad dreams.” Sara presses in close, her mouth inches away. “And I can be quick.”
Ava knows she can, but she's trying not to think about that, because they really do need to go back to sleep. Sara’s fingers creep lower, under Ava’s shirt. Ava carefully removes them. “Not now, Sara.”
Sara sighs, but it's only slightly frustrated. “Okay.” Sara nods. “Yeah. Sensible. You're so sensible.”
“It's one of my better qualities,” Ava says, drily.
“You’ve got lots of better qualities,” Sara murmurs.
“Uh huh,” Ava says. “Sure.”
Under the covers, Sara links her fingers with Ava, presses one last kiss to Ava’s skin, on her jawline, and closes her eyes, cuddling in close. Ava wishes other people could see her like this. Soft and vulnerable and almost innocent looking. She knows Sara would hate it, but it might be good for her, to let other people see that.
“Yeah,” Sara mumbles, her mouth still against Ava’s skin. “Much more sensible to fuck you in the morning.”
Ava just laughs, crosses off ‘innocent’ from her mental list of attributes, and taking comfort in the feeling of Sara close, falls back asleep.
The next time Ava stays over, Sara sleeps through the night, and Sara doesn't wake Ava up with a shout, but, instead with a light touch on her shoulder and a kiss on her cheek, immediately pulling Ava out of her sleep. It doesn’t take much to get Ava up. She’s always been a light sleeper.
But, before she realises everything is okay, Ava goes immediately into panic mode, examining Sara on automatic, checking her up, until Sara smiles, points at the clock. “Hey. It’s okay. It's morning, Aves. I didn't wake up during the night.” She pauses, biting her lip. “I didn't know whether to wake you, but I figured you'd want to be up, since it’s a work day.”
Ava forces herself to sit up, but, because she doesn’t have to be worrying about Sara, allows herself the luxury of waking up slowly, not trying to be fully awake and alert straight away. “No, yeah. Thank you. I do want to be up.”
Sara is still smiling at her.
“When was the last time you slept through the night?” Ava asks, intertwining their fingers. Sara doesn't answer for a second, and Ava gets lost in how well their hands fit together. After a moment, she trails her gaze upwards. Sara is concentrating, trying to remember.
“Too long ago.”
“So we’re maybe getting somewhere?” Ava asks.
She's not vain or blind enough to think that she's fixed Sara just like that. She knows it’ll take time for things to properly getting better. She's sure she’ll be woken up again before long, probably even tonight, if she stays over again, but it's something.
“Yeah, I guess. I guess we are." Sara shifts them so that she's on top of Ava, her weight already a familiar one. Her hands either side of Ava’s head, she leans down, laying kisses on the skin of her face. “You're so good at this,” she says, in between kisses. “Someone should hire you to fix things.”
“Like time?” Ava suggests.
“Mmhmm,” Sara says, finally actually meeting Ava’s lips. “Like time, yeah.”
Of course, Ava is right. It doesn't last. She didn't think it would. But, in a way, she didn't even need it to last—that one night was enough, was proof that she’s managing something, that something is changing, and that's all she needs.
She doesn't stay that night, something calling her back home at the last minute, but she does the next day, and, almost like clockwork, at just before 3am, Sara gets restless enough to wake Ava up.
She's almost shaking, her eyelids moving relentlessly. Ava holds back from waking her, like she said she would, just reaches out, finds the light switch, filling the room with just enough light.
Sara is mumbling something, something Ava can't make out but that sounds urgent, and then, finally, her eyes snap open. She lifts slightly off the bed, her eyes searching for a second, and then she sees Ava, and flops back down, the fight and worry leaving her body.
“Bad?” Ava asks.
“Yeah,” Sara sighs.
“You're okay now,” Ava says, her hand on Sara’s arm. Sara closes her eyes, and one of her hands moves up to find Ava’s.
“That feels good,” Sara murmurs, and then she's moving Ava’s hand, slowly dragging it across her skin, until it's resting at the base of her throat. “Oh,” she breathes, then holds Ava’s fingers down as they try to move away, worried, at the sound. Ava can feel her heart pounding, but, as the seconds pass by, it slows under her palm. “Yeah. Like that. There. That’s even better.”
“You sure? It's not too vulnerable here?” Ava moves her fingers, slowly, letting Sara get used to the sensation. Letting her get used to the feeling of her hand resting over the hollow of her neck, over the sensitive skin there.
“Oh, no, it's definitely too vulnerable,” Sara says, matter of fact, and just that admission is almost certainly more than she would’ve allowed herself to admit a couple of days ago. “I think that's why it's working. Reminds me what’s real.” Her hand is still on Ava’s arm, keeping it in place. “You, mainly. You’re real, and I’m real, but the nightmares aren’t.”
“You think this will help? Can I touch you here without you putting my hand here? In the future?”
“Yeah. Yeah. This is good. I feel… good.”
“Yeah?”
Sara is still clinging onto Ava’s right arm, but, with the hand she has free, Ava presses up slightly, leans over, wiping some hair out of Sara’s eyes. “Well, kinda. Partly I'm thinking of all the ways you could kill me like this,” Sara says, a rueful laugh escaping her mouth.
“I would never hurt you,” Ava says, and she knows Sara knows this, but she still needs to say it.
“I know,” Sara says, echoing Ava’s thoughts. Her fingers curl more tightly around Ava’s wrist. “I know.” She turns so she's facing Ava. “And, you know, you should be flattered. No-one ever gets this close to my neck.”
Words like these are the closest Sara ever gets to admitting that she trusts Ava, and Ava will happily take them. She's learnt to read between the lines of the words Sara says, finding her explicit meaning behind the masks she puts up.
Hiding her true feelings behind words that mean she doesn't have to admit to vulnerability.
“No-one?” Ava asks, turning on the tone that she knows drives Sara wild. Low, almost a whisper, but still enticing. Sara shakes her head. Ava's thumb strokes over the skin of Sara’s neck. She can feel Sara swallowing. Sara's eyes are watching her movements warily. Ava presses up again onto her elbow, looking down at Sara.
Sara shakes her head. Ava's fingers still rest in the hollow of her neck, and she stays like that for a second, before leaning down, her mouth finding the skin just below Sara’s jaw. “Not even like this?” she asks against the skin, before trailing her lips further down. Sara shifts under her, her eyes closing.
“No. Not even like that.” There’s an edge to her voice, because it’s a confession in as many words.
Ava starts, pausing her exploration for a second. She hadn’t been expecting that answer, partly because the question had been hardly more than an absent minded muse, and partly because Sara likes this. A lot. Ava knows that from the expressions Sara makes any time Ava has her lips against her pulse point. The admission doesn’t make sense unless she really does see Ava as different from other people she’s been with, even after the short amount of time they’ve had. The thought is almost too much for Ava to comprehend, her mind short-circuiting slightly.
She knows Sara has a past, knows from her file that she's never held back from finding pleasure wherever she can. The thought that she'd deny herself that sort of touch because of a vulnerability, a vulnerability that she shed for Ava without Ava even knowing, is heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time.
Ava doesn't know what to say, so she doesn't say anything, just keeps working her way down Sara’s neck, towards the neckline of Sara’s shirt, over her collarbones and the skin there.
Sara tenses slightly, grips down on the hand still resting on her neck. She opens her eyes, and Ava can literally see as she steels herself, pushes the thoughts down, turns her expression light. “And there are other things they could be doing with their mouths, you know?” she says, defusing the situation with a joke as easily as breathing. “Not that this isn’t good, but, if you want to get the job done quickly…” she trails off, a tiny smile on her face.
Ava would push it, push her not to deflect like that, but Sara's spilled enough already. “Yeah,” she says, moving her hand away from Sara’s neck. Sara frowns at the loss, and then her expression changes when it works its way underneath the hem of her shirt, Ava's fingers on her stomach. “There are other things mouths can do.”
Sara laughs, lightly, then turns to Ava, registers the look in Ava’s eyes, and her expression turns serious.
“It’s Friday,” Ava says.
“Yeah,” Sara says, pursing her lips as she gazes back. “It is.”
“I don't have work tomorrow,” Ava says. “I don't have to be anywhere in the morning.” Ava's hand slips lower, over the lace of Sara’s underwear, so different from the plain cotton that Ava wears, that Sara relentlessly teases her for. “Sara?”
“Hmm?”
“Can I?”
Sara nods. “Yeah. Yeah. Please.”
Ava smiles, lays one last kiss on Sara's lips, her fingers looping under the underwear and pulling it down at the same time as she slides down Sara’s body. “You’re gonna forget that nightmare.”
Sara sighs, already sounding a little blissed out. “Yeah, if you say so.”
Sara is mumbling a name in her sleep. John. That’s the name. Ava tries not to think about what that means, tries to just concentrate on what is in front of her—Sara, stuck in her mind. Her body is rigid, something in her nightmare truly rocking her to the core, and it’s taking her longer than usual to pull herself out of it. Ava just turns the light on and waits. At some point, her eyes close, and, of course, that moment is when she feels Sara lurch upwards, gasping, her eyes searching around the room for a threat that isn’t there.
Ava's eyes fly open, her hand going to Sara’s shoulder. “It’s okay. Hey, I’m right here.”
Sara looks at her, her eyes wild for a second, then slumps down as Ava’s hand moves across to rest at the bottom of Sara’s throat.
“It’s okay,” Ava repeats, and Sara’s eyes close. “Here, I thought you gave nightmares, not had them.” It’s almost a joke, at this point. After the countless nights Ava has had disturbed by Sara’s demons, they both know better than anyone that Sara has nightmares, and lots of them.
“First time for everything,” Sara says, her voice dry, a hint of sarcasm. If it makes it easier for Sara to make light of the nightmares, sometimes, instead of talking about them, then Ava’s gonna let her, especially after one that seems to have been more harrowing than most.
Still, she just has to check. “You wanna talk about it?”
“No. I’m— I’m fine.”
Sara rolls over, Ava’s hand falling from her neck, and Sara moves to hold it, gripping down tight, her need obvious in her actions, if not in her words. She’s not fine, not really. But she’s closer to fine than she was, closer than when she was before she let Ava help her, and that’s something, at least.
That will have to be enough, for now.