I'll sweep the stardust for you

Maeve

He pulls her closer and she lets her other hand shift into his still damp curls, brushing them back gently as she snuggles close to him. Her small body molds against his side and sleep already weighs heavy on her eyes, trying to urge them to close. She hums sleepily, eyes fluttering closed as she cuddles against his side, face tucked into his neck. "Of course, beastie..." Maeve mumbles, words already starting to slur and grow heavy with sleep as she starts to drift off in his arms.

Her mind drifts into that space between wakefulness and sleep, the crackling of the fire urging her to sleep. It's with her head pillowed on his chest and his arm wrapped loosely around her that she finally falls into a mildly restless sleep. While she isn't plagued with nightmares, her sleep has never been sound. Especially not with monsoon season so close. She's prone to waking up at the slightest sound or shift, but his arms are secure around her and it helps her rest for the time being.

Poor little girl
still waiting for her happy ending

SUNJATA

the flood

but am i too late? or hearts to your spades,
if i don't suit you? then what do you want from me?

He does his best to try and relax, and its with a glacial pace that he finally gets tired of staring at the ceiling. He can tell Maeve’s fallen asleep against him, and he’s tried so desperately to put all his other thoughts away, to stuff them under the rug in the hopes they don’t appear. His arm remains tight around her and the other is used as an additional pillow for his head, and after what feels like forever, silence overtakes them and him too. He finally ends up falling asleep, head angled away from her, long and deep breaths coursing through him.

He doesn’t know how long he sleeps before everything starts going south again, though. Beneath Maeve’s head, feathers ripple, long and blue and smooth to the touch, before they retract. His breathing stutters, once, twice, a third time before the weight of her in his arms keeps him from tossing and turning. Ah, but the dream isn’t over yet, because inside this dream this is the part of his past where he’s taken to the entry way of his childhood home, to a sneering father, with enforcers keeping him tied back.

The part that wakes him is when Shaju slits Lusea’s throat, as it always does. A sharp inhale of breath, akin to a gasp leaves him, Sunjata unable to keep from surging up, unfortunately moving Maeve should she remain, and presses his hand to the scar along his neck, the one that’s been tattooed over. His legs draw in tight and he fights to catch his breath, the feathers replaced with the dark scales of his snake shift. His arms wrap around his knees just enough to keep them close to him while also allowing him to rub at his face with his free hand, the other still pressed to his neck that pulls away slowly as if in search for blood. And all the while he closes himself off, shutting his eyes tight, using both hands to rub at his face.

so we're not written in the stars,
but i'm okay with that. i'm okay with anything

Maeve

She stirs at the first tickle of feathers, one brushing against her nose that draws a soft sound from her before she's nuzzling closer. However she doesn't get a chance to truly settle. There isn't even a moment for her breathing to even out because he's suddenly surging up, causing her to fall from his chest with a soft cry of surprise. Her eyes go wide and her heart races, beating a staccato against her ribs as her chest heaves. It takes her a moment to get her bearings, eyes flicking from the dimmed fire to the spot beside her only to find it empty. They alight on Sunjata a moment later, his hunched over form as his shoulders jerk with his erratic breathing.

Maeve moves forward, hesitating for a moment before her fingers slip over his back and she shifts to press against his back, "Hey... Hey.. It's okay, Jata. You aren't there anymore. Just breathe..." She murmurs, hands rubbing up and down at his arms, drawing in slow deep breaths as if she was guiding him in his breathing. Maeve slowly moves around to his front, kneeling in front of him with concern in her eyes as her fingers wrap loosely around his wrists, thumb brushing across the inside of his wrists. "You're not there... Can you look at me?" She murmurs, voice barely above a whisper as she gazes at him, waiting for him to look at her. If he even does.

Poor little girl
still waiting for her happy ending

SUNJATA

the flood

but am i too late? or hearts to your spades,
if i don't suit you? then what do you want from me?

Heaving breaths try to ground him, but it hardly works as he checks for blood and finds none there, as he buries his face, rubs at the scar on his cheek, as he pinches the bridge of his nose. None of these work, and even as Maeve approaches, with soft words and the way she drapes herself, she’ll find him trembling in a way. Her words sound almost distant, and he wonders if it’s actually happened, before she’s moving around toward his front, her hands wrapping around his wrists, and he exhales a shuddering breath.

But gods is he stubborn. Her fingers move along his arms the scales begin to retract, only to be replaced with the dragon scales, sharper edged and thicker, as if it might ward her away. He focuses on  his breathing, on closing himself off, but he realizes he can’t quite do that, not like this, so he finally lifts his head, his dark steel looking at her and noticing that it was still early, the sun hadn’t even begun its ascent, and Sunjata shakes his head as he works his jaw.

He shakes his head again before he’s pulling out of her grip, nearly scrambling to get out of the makeshift bed of blankets, before he’s able to feel the cold floor against his legs, against his feet, and he nearly ignores everything and all things as he shifts to his panther shift, ears pinched to his skull, before he’s darting over to the kitchen, turning back into himself almost upon immediately hitting the floor in there. He runs some water in the sink, splashes some on his face to try and use it as a distraction to keep the nausea at bay, before he’s hunching over the sink and letting his hands scrub at his face. "I'm sorry." He manages to croak out, burying his face into his elbow after a long, excruciating moment.

so we're not written in the stars,
but i'm okay with that. i'm okay with anything

Maeve

Worry twists in her belly as she waits for him to look up at her. To acknowledge that he's awake. That he isn't caught up in that nightmare anymore. His choice to push her away with his shift works. The scales prick at the soft flesh of her palms and she lets him go, drawing back to give him space as her eyes swim with concern. He finally looks at her, that jaw of his twitching and working with clear distress as he seems to look right through her. Not exactly seeing her there or simply not wanting to acknowledge that she is there. Maeve barely even has a chance to say anything before he's darting away, shifting so quickly she missed it.

She fumbles to turn, getting twisted up in the blankets as she tries to track his movements in the dark. It isn't until he flees into the kitchen, suddenly drawing up at his full height again that she finds him. A tightness settles in her chest and her eyes sting. It's clear he's hurting. Hurting so badly and there is nothing she can do. He leans over the sink, knuckles almost white with the way he grips the side of the counter.

Her legs tremble as she gets them beneath her, rising to her feet as she cautiously begins to move towards him, "You don't have to apologize. It's okay..." Maeve murmurs, voice barely above the whisper in the darkness that still settles over the house. She keeps moving until she's at his side again, looking up at him with soft eyes and her hand lifts, barely resting on his arm. "Do... Do you want me to go?"

Poor little girl
still waiting for her happy ending

SUNJATA

the flood

but am i too late? or hearts to your spades,
if i don't suit you? then what do you want from me?

Everything within him aches. It aches with a bit more of a renewed strength, bouncing around within his bones as if they’re hollow tombs for all of his trauma, risen from the dead. He makes it to the sink, to splash the water on his face, to press his face then into the crook of his elbow, gripping the counter tight as he feels the whirlwind of everything come back to the forefront. So he apologizes, because it isn’t how he intended it to go, it isn’t how he intended every night to go – and yet here he is, on repeat, night after night.

She approaches cautiously, tells him that it’s okay and that he doesn’t have to apologize – but he feels like he does. Her hand lifts and rests softly atop his arm, such a delicate gesture that he almost flinches with it, before his arm loosens its tension and he manages to exhale a shuddering sigh, pulling his head out from the crook of his elbow to finally look at her. “It’s… It’s still late. I- it wasn’t because of you.” He stumbles over his words, taking a moment to suck down another breath, to swallow down the nausea.

“It's - It's just every... night.” It’s no wonder he’s so exhausted all the time. “I- you can stay, I just… Need to focus on something else for a moment and it’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.” The Attuned finally decides, tearing his gaze away from her to grab an empty glass beside the sink, to fill it up and down it in one go before he sets it in the sink and reaches up to rub at the scar again, at the compass tattoo there, shutting his eyes and exhaling a shaky sigh to distract himself. "I'll be fine." He reiterates, trying to ease her worries as well as his own.

so we're not written in the stars,
but i'm okay with that. i'm okay with anything

Maeve

She's never heard him stutter once. Never seen him struggle to get words out the way he is right now. Even when he snapped at her at the clinic or when they were talking in the cathedral. The words came easy. Some as sharp as daggers and others sweet as honey. Now though? Now they drip with pain and remorse, seeping out of them like an acidic poison that eats away at him until he's nothing. Until he's nothing more than his trauma. Except Maeve isn't one to be deterred. She has seen nightmares. She's lived through her own and so many times had she just had someone, anyone, it would have been better. It would have been bearable.

So even as she asks if she could go, even as she waits with bated breath for him to decide if he wants her here, Maeve vows that she won't make him go through his alone. She withdraws her hand when he moves to get a glass of water, watching as he quickly downs it before he's looking at her again. "I didn't think it was because of me, Jata. I just don't want to make it worse by being here." She doesn't. That's the last thing she wants. The very thought that she might makes her sick, but this isn't about her. It's about him.

And then he shares something that breaks her heart further, makes the ache in her chest grow stronger. Every night. He goes through this every single night. No one here to help him though it. Maeve swallows thickly, seeming to war with herself for a moment before she moves forward to hug him. Her arms wrap around his waist and her cheek presses against his chest. "I could make you some tea... We could sit for a little bit..." She whispers the suggestion to him as she rubs soothing circles into his back, licking her lips as she draws back to look up at him, but not releasing him yet.

"I get them too... Have since I was little." She admits quietly, eyes dropping to look at his chest for a moment before they lift back to his face. "My mom left when I was only three, you see. My father was too deep in the bottle to know what to do with a child." This likely isn't the time to admit this. To share all of this information when he's coming down from a nightmare, but he said he needed to focus on something else and this was something else. "I used to wake up crying and screaming, but instead of holding me or anything like that... He'd scream back. Scream until he was blue in the face before he'd leave. Either he'd leave or he'd stick me outside as if that would make my crying stop."

Maeve tucks her face against his chest as she shares all of this, finding it hard to look him in the eye as she shares this. A story she's never told anyone. "I always thought that if I just had someone who cared enough to stay. Who could handle the crying and the screaming and my fear... Then maybe it wouldn't be so bad." Her throat is tight as she draws back to look up at him now, "I know I'm not Nate. I know I can't make things better, but I can be here for you. You don't have to be alone right now."

Poor little girl
still waiting for her happy ending

SUNJATA

the flood

but am i too late? or hearts to your spades,
if i don't suit you? then what do you want from me?

The glass is abandoned and Sunjata tries his best to comfort both her and himself that it would be okay, he’d be fine, that things would be normal and easy to pretend as if nothing had ever happened, and when she moves closer, tucks herself in between the space of himself and the sink where she can hug him, her head resting on his chest where beneath the lightning scars, a rabbiting heartbeat thunders on. “You won’t.” He assures her quickly, still as can be, feeling the way she tries to soothe him from his fears, tries to help him focus on something else. “Tea… Is good.” He agrees wearily, finally managing to get himself under enough control to peer down at her, working his jaw while she begins to explain her own nightmares.

Part of it worries him, too, somewhere deep down that he’d never want to be a father like that – how terrified he was of becoming so like his father – but so far he’d done well. At least he had that going for him. The rest of it though? His lips form a frown as she explains further, and as she tucks her face in against his chest, he finally finds it in himself to let go of the counter, to wrap an arm around her. “I’m sorry that happened to you.” He manages through a hoarse voice, some semblance of getting his feet back under him until she says Nate’s name and his heart thunders again.

She looks up at him before he can hide it, the pain that flashes across his face, that breaks through the mask that’s already splitting apart from the nightmare, and he clamps his lips shut for fear of saying the wrong thing at first. But if they’re being honest, he might as well start. “Nate… He knows why I get like this… Why it happens and – and how to help. He’s done it for… A long time with me.” He manages, before that edge of terrorizing sorrow manages to make his throat thick. “I… I miss him, Maeve. And I don’t know how to do any of this by myself.” He has to pull away from her now, backing up enough to rest his back against the opposite counter for the island so that he can rub at his face. “I have to do it right, I have to fix what I did, and – and maybe he’ll come back. I can’t do this if he doesn’t. But I don’t know how to fix it so he does.” He isn’t sure if she knows enough about him to now exactly just how far Sunjata’s mental state is when it comes to the idea of losing Nate, but he tries to lay it as flat as he can.

“I- I’m terrified.” And hurting and alone and a father without realizing what it was like to truly be one. Without having one he grew up with to give him some idea of what to be like, what to expect. “I won’t… I won’t make it, Maeve, if I don’t fix it.” Between the traumas and nightmares and everything else, that would be the final straw.

He takes a grounding breath, one that steadies the fear that trembles in his chest. And when he finally looks at her again, his gaze is dark, hollow, quiet, empty. “Thank you… For staying. For listening. For not letting me be alone tonight.”

so we're not written in the stars,
but i'm okay with that. i'm okay with anything

Maeve

There is talk of tea and soft apologies given in regards to her own story, but none of that really matters because he's talking about Nate. Talking about Nate and drawing away from her while he degrades himself to nothing. She lets him draw away and goes about making the tea as he spirals for the second time in her presence. Maeve learned then that just letting him go worked, but was rather destructive. So she waits. She finds a kettle and fills it with water, placing it on the stove before lighting a burner. She waits for it to whistle, waits for him to stop, and waits to set him straight.

Maeve takes a breath, keeping her back to him while he breaks and she waits. Then he's thanking her and it's her turn to speak. To set things straight. To remind him of what he is. What he's capable of. The kettle starts to whistle and Maeve kills the heat, finding the tea to set it to steep as she keeps her hands busy and back to him. "I know you miss Nate, Jata. I know you do and it's okay to miss him, but... but you can't keep doing that. Doing this." She stresses, voice firm as she finally turns to look at him, letting the tea leaves turn the water a golden amber shade as she sets him straight.

Her eyes are still soft. Understanding can still be found there, but also a determination colors her irises. "You are not nothing without him. He does not make you who you are. He does not define your worth, your ability, any of it. I know this is hard and I know you are struggling. I know." The Madame takes a step forward, looking up at him as her brows knit together and there is a conviction there that he perhaps hasn't seen before. "You can do this. You can. You're strong and capable and you will get through this and you will take care of your daughter. That is your job right now. Nate has to work on himself. On his convictions. You have to work here."

Maeve draws in another breath, reaching past him for the teacups and turning back to where she left it to steep. Carefully she fills the cups, adding a bit of honey and lemon to each before pressing his into his waiting hands, forcing him to look at her as she holds his gaze. "You will do this, Jata or so fucking help me I will drag you through this myself. I'm not letting you break." Her words grow soft, a promise laced through them as she looks up at him, reaching up to cup his cheek and to let her fingers run through his hair softly, "Now drink your tea and come rest with me."

Poor little girl
still waiting for her happy ending

SUNJATA

the flood

but am i too late? or hearts to your spades,
if i don't suit you? then what do you want from me?

He spirals on and on and she remains silent, letting him become a hurricane, that begins to slow into his floodwaters, into the way he seems to leech all the good and content and happiness from everything. It’s still dark outside and he finds himself speaking while he breaks, focused so much on the way she flits about the kitchen, seeking out pieces here and there in order to make the tea, all while Sunjata can’t seem to get his head back on straight.

Her voice picks up once he’s apologized, and when she turns she’ll find his shoulders slumped, covered in those navy blue feathers that fill out the tattoos there, an utterly defeated look crossing his gaze as he avoids her own and looks to anything but them. He settles on the stove behind her, his jaw set tight. “I don’t know how to stop.” He offers her weakly. He doesn’t know how to stop getting like this. Perhaps when he wasn’t always sent to his breaking point it would get easier, but it was hard to find confidence and happiness within someone who simply wasn’t. It was hard to find determination in someone that felt like it all was a lie.

His lips part to challenge her back on his strength, on how capable he was, because it felt like right now everything was spiraling out of control. And how could he care for a five year old if he couldn’t even get his shit together? A shattered look crossed his face for a brief moment before he’s avoiding her gaze some more, reaching up to run at his face, leaned back against the counter’s edge, feeling broken and jagged and painful all at once.

She turns from him to grab the tea and only then does he manage to pinch the bridge of his nose, as if it may help him get a hold of himself or the tears that threaten to show. And by the time she returns he’s shutting down, he’s getting that long look in his gaze again, but he finally manages to meet hers even as his feathers flare a bit — a hidden track to his emotions for all of Maeve to see. “It’s not like I have a choice.” He manages gruffly, through a tight throat and aching head.

She tells him to drink his tea and he takes the cup to cradle in both of his hands, staring at the liquid as her hand cups his cheek, as her fingers run through his hair. “Okay.” He finally manages, waiting for the tea to cool before he’s taking a long sip of it, trying to let it burn out the cold that’s settled in his gut. He wants to apologize again, but he stuffs it down with another sip from the tea, trying to avoid everything else.

so we're not written in the stars,
but i'm okay with that. i'm okay with anything

Maeve

It isn't exactly the response she wants. One she's hoping for. Maeve knows better than to expect a sudden upswing. For him to take her words to heart and recognize them as something more than just words, but he's in the thick of it. Nothing will get through to him right now and she accepts that. She's a patient person; full of understanding and kindness. It's part of what makes her so good at her job. This isn't work, but the same skills apply here as well. Maeve sighs softly, watching the feathers fluff and twitch with the emotions coursing through him right now. The hurt and despair that makes them flare up from his skin.

His words don't sting. No venom in them to eat away at her emotions or the tenderness that wells up in her chest, encouraging her to soothe him. There is simply a bitter acknowledgement and acceptance in what things are for him. It's a start. Maeve will take this over him shutting her out. Even if she can see the light leave his eyes and the tightening in his jaw. The tell tale signs that give away how he's drawing back into himself, shutting out the world in an attempt to lessen the hurt that's so clearly seizing his heart.

Maeve sighs softly, taking up her own tea and watching him carefully sip from his. The muscles in his jaw feather, clearly something on his mind that he refuses to give words to. She takes a slow sip of the amber liquid, letting its warmth spread through her belly to try and soothe the worry that has taken root there. Maeve could handle his outbursts. She could handle the way he battered her emotions with the rain of his own. She could handle all of that because in the end she cared. She cared about him. Even if he didn't want her to. Even if it was clearly unwise based on the tragedy that seemed to cover his life. Yet here she was, a small light in the darkness to help guide him through it all. To steer him away from the cliffs he seemed so set on driving himself into as some form of punishment for the things collapsing around him.

So she lets him drink his tea in silence, simply being with him as she leans against the counter opposite of him. Green eyes watching each little movement and waiting for her que to move in. When his cup is as empty as his eyes, she sets hew own down and draws close. Maeve carefully pries the cup from between his hands, placing it on the counter and replacing it with her own as they curl around his fingers to tug him forward. "It's okay, Jata... It's going to be okay." And it will be in the long run. Whether or not Nate comes back. In the end, it will all be okay. It'll just be hell getting there.

Maeve guides him back to the living room, towards that dying fire that houses crackling embers, and into their small nest. She lays down first before guiding him down with her, managing to gently nudge him until he's laying on her chest instead of the pillow. Maeve wraps her arms around him, tangles her legs with his, and cradles him against her form. A feat in itself given how much larger he is than her, but she does it. Fingers brush through his hair and smooth down feathers as her lips press a kiss to his forehead. Quietly she begins to hum, crooning to him that same lullaby from the gift she gave him.

Poor little girl
still waiting for her happy ending

SUNJATA

the flood

but am i too late? or hearts to your spades,
if i don't suit you? then what do you want from me?

It takes a little bit of time before he’s managed to drink down the tea, all the while he continues to draw into himself, to pull all the broken bits and pieces back together where he might be able to keep them from poking out and hurting anyone else. He’s slipped, here, shown her far too much of himself beneath the mask, has tried to inadvertently push her away when he’d realized it. But it was all too late now, especially as he finishes the cup and she still approaches.

She takes the cup from him and he lets her, her hand small in his own as it curls around his to pull him along with her. And he’s exhausted, bone tired, the way he follows after her with hunched feathered shoulders and a dragged down appearance glimmering through a dark gaze. All he can offer to her confirmation that things would be okay, is a hum of agreement, despite it not feeling like it. He moves on autopilot now, drawn toward the makeshift bed with her, tugged down to join her.

His head finds its way to her shoulder, his cheek pressed against her collarbone as he tries to fight down the tension within him with the help of her heartbeat and smoothing hands down the feathers. His arm moves to wrap around her, to try and offer some semblance of his usual self as she tries everything he can to draw him out. Her humming song does wonders for drawing him away from his inner turmoil, focused on that and the cracks of the log until he manages to fall into a tense, trembling sleep again.

so we're not written in the stars,
but i'm okay with that. i'm okay with anything

Maeve

She doesn't fall asleep before him. Instead Maeve fights it until she feels him slump. The tension held in his body finally giving way to her gentle touches as she holds him to her. Carefully she draws one of the lighter blankets over them, not needing anything more with the heat that rolls off of his body. Her humming doesn't stop until he's been asleep for well over thirty minutes. Only when she's sure that he's finally resting does she let her eyes close. The weight of everything settling on her chest along with the weight of him. She's not going to let him do this alone. No matter how he pushes or lashes out. No matter what he says. He's not going to be alone. It's the last thing that crosses her mind before she drifts off too. Nothing but the sounds of his breathing and the fire left to soothe her.

Maeve sleeps through the rest of the night and Sunjata does too. Her mind is empty. No dreams coming to haunt her. It's nothing but his weight and his warmth and his arms around her. For the first time since Locke left, she sleeps peacefully.

Poor little girl
still waiting for her happy ending

SUNJATA

the flood

but am i too late? or hearts to your spades,
if i don't suit you? then what do you want from me?

He’s out like a light, finally, despite the lingering tension that continues to appear randomly throughout the rest of the few hours of sleep he manages to catch. And when he wakes, he’s still tangled up with her, with a blanket that's settled around both of them. He rises as gently as he can, trying not to disturb her, trying to pull the feathers from his partial shift back into his skin. And for the most part it works, but as he had said, he did leave a few of the navy ones behind.

He sits up, checks in with Haai and finds that Kamaria is still sleeping, and breathes a quiet sigh of relief at that. Light filters in through the windows and casts the living room in a dull grey morning light, and he can’t help the slight breath of relief he takes to find that there wasn’t another impossible thing waiting at his doorstep.

So he pulls himself away, ensures the blankets are still settled on Maeve comfortably, pauses to grab the papers he’d been looking at last night, before he’s standing up completely and moving back into the kitchen, grabbing the cups they had left there, so that he might set them in the sink and get some water heating up for coffee. He steps back, bracing his arms against the counter, with one risen to rub at the bruises at his neck, idly staring at the papers and the information he’s scratched in.

so we're not written in the stars,
but i'm okay with that. i'm okay with anything