Work Text:
They get back from war battered and bruised. Once the medical checks are over he just sweeps her up in his arms and heads for his tent.
"Goddammit, Wick, I can walk."
She knows it isn’t that convincing, not when her head is on his shoulder and her entire body is shaking with exhaustion and the remains of whatever had carried her through the pain in Mount Weather.
But she needs to say it. Just in case he’ll put her down.
"Shut up, Raven." He hasn’t gotten his voice back yet. It rasps and grates its way down her spinal column, settling in the base of her stomach with a warm, liquid feeling as his feet carry them across camp.
She would call it safety, but no one is safe down here.
He shoulders his way into the dark little space that holds his bedroll, a table that she can see is covered in plans and gears, and a small lamp. He sets her on her feet then, but so gently it brings unwelcome dampness to her eyes.
"I told you," she whispers as his shaking hands work to light the lamp, "I’m fine."
The soft yellow glow from the little lantern casts long shadows on his face as he turns back to her. “I was in the room with you. Just fucking lie down.”
"Medical said-"
He grunts and runs a hand through his shaggy blond hair. “Medical confirmed you aren’t going to die on anyone tonight. That’s all they’re up for right now. I have somewhat higher standards when it comes to your wellbeing.”
"Kyle…" she doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to accept what he’s offering, or how to walk away from it. She’s frozen there, longing and scared. Hurting and hidden.
"God, Raven." His voice breaks and he just wraps her up in those long arms. He’s everywhere, warm and solid and shaking and, yes, safe. "I was so fucking scared for you."
The cold terror licks at her again, just remembering the table, the soldiers, his furious yelling at them to leave her alone. She shivers, and he tightens his grip.
"Not my favorite day ever," she says into his shirt, earning a huff of indignant laughter. She feels him straighten to step away and fists her hands in his shirt. "Don’t."
He reacts immediately, leaning back into her. “I’m here.”
She closes her eyes and just breathes him in, the sweaty, bloody, alive mess that he is. Two days - a lifetime - ago, he’d told her to figure it out, that he wouldn’t play games.
"I don’t have an answer for you." She forces her lips to say it, steels herself for the distance, the frustration, for his disappointment. "I wish I did."
If anything, he holds her tighter. “Idiot.” The tears that prick her eyes are unwelcome and unexpected. She had thought, after Finn, that she would never cry again. “I think you get a few days to recover from public torture before I make you declare your undying love.”
“Wick,” she gasps, caught between terror and laughter, tilting her head up to look into his eyes reproachfully.
There’s a soft, desperate look on his face. “Just stay. I have to know you’re close tonight. Please.”
Her breath catches, but she buries her head against his chest and nods, relief and exhaustion warring with the tiny spark of hope that he’s ignited in her cold, lonely soul.
She’s been so worried about the dangers of needing him, it never occurred to her that he might need her.
He wraps himself around her that night, and she’s not sure he sleeps. Every time she wakes up he’s there, calming her nightmares or just holding her. It’s not until the first rays of sun slip through a rip in his tent that she feels him relax into her.
She can go - slip out while he sleeps. He will probably forgive her, given all they’ve just been through.
But he hadn’t left her, at the dam or after. She’d asked him to stay with her and she hasn’t been alone since. He’d only asked for one night.
Raven hates losing. Besides, he’s awfully warm.
Decision made, she resettles herself against him and tries to ignore her racing heart.
Maybe it will get easier. To stay, to try, to believe in happy endings.
For now, she’ll settle for the safety of his arms.