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Do you think about me all the time?
When you're lost and out at sea, am I on your mind?
You put the color into my black and white.
You're the fuel to my fire..
*
When Beato wakes up, the bed is shaking in the very slightest, which is probably what caused her to wake up in first place. While she’s gotten a lot better ever since Battler holds her in his arms each night (at least until they move around in their sleep), her sleep is still on the lighter side. It’s been months in the Golden Land already; finally, she has everything she ever wanted.
Of course, it doesn’t change some things, and how easily small stuff makes her cry and freak out, for example the smell of metal, the taste of oversalted dishes, even some words.
It’s true what people say; you only really experience the full extent of what hurt you once it’s over.
But Battler has supported her all this time, calmed her down, and still does. And so do others when sometimes he’s not around, either preparing a game for his little sister, or going to fetch her once her time comes.
(Time moves differently in the Golden Land, so it’s only been a few month while decades have passed for Ange in their original world.)
Her first thought is that she must have had a nightmare and must be trembling to cause the bed’s motion, but her heartbeat is calm, and her breathing steady. No, that’s not it.
She opens her eyes, but it’s still just dark. For a while, she just takes time to adjust from where she is on her pillow, until she sees that Battler is sitting up.
Trembling like hell.
Within a millisecond, she’s properly awake, multiple thoughts shooting through her head.
Is he okay? What happened? Did he have a nightmare? He probably did, since it’s night, and it’d be the closest explanation for this.
“Battler?” she asks, and ends up coughing because her throat feels all raw. She must have snored a bit, and she really needs to drink something.
“Go back to sleep Beato, please.”
“Like hell I will,” she grumbles, sitting up, and turning on the light with a flick of her fingers.
Once his face is lit up, she realizes how bad he actually must be feeling right now.
He’s as pale as back when he surrendered to her in their second game, looking just like he’s lost the will to fight all over again. His forehead is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, there are tears rolling down his cheeks to the point there are little patches of salt just sticking to his skin, white and crusty and making him look all the more miserable.
“Please just go back to sleep-“
He cuts himself off because a tiny sob escapes his lips, his entire chest trembling as a result.
“Like hell I’ll go back to sleep, Battler! What’s wrong? Did you have a nightmare? Please tell me what’s going on, please…!”
She knows she must be desperate, but also there’s no way she can bring herself to care. The love of her life, the one who was the only person to accept her for who she truly is, is crying in front of her, looking as if the love of his life had died-
She swallows at the thought, and takes a very deep breath.
“Battler, please. You’re always there for me, so let me do the same for you, alright? Please.”
She reaches out for him, slowly puts her hand to his shoulder. She’s thirsty as hell, but for now, Battler is her priority.
He always is.
She’s centered her entire life around him.
“Beato, please, I- I don’t want to burden you.”
“If you keep this up, I’ll burden you with Krauss’ business talk and sit you down with Eva and Natsuhi when they’re having another crying session about how their kids are in love with servants.”
It was meant as a joke, to lighten his mood, clear up this overwhelming sadness, but it doesn’t help at all.
“Love,” she starts again, puts her other hand to his cheeks and strokes away his tears, “please tell me what’s wrong, okay?”
Her ring brushes against his cheek bones, and she silently takes his other hand with the one on her shoulder, playing with his ring.
They’re married. They’re so happy together, right? Surely, Battler trusts her?
He takes a shaky breath, and takes her hand into his.
“I had a nightmare,” he finally admits, his fingers clinging to hers. He’s looking away from her. Not daring to meet her gaze.
She wants to ask whether he wants to tell her, because she knows that often helps her. He always makes him tell her. However, she doesn’t even need to ask him; he does it automatically.
“Listen, Beato. I don’t want you to blame yourself for this. Please don’t. It’s why I didn’t wake you up, but- I dreamed of the boat. The entire thing. And it felt so real. It felt like I was losing you all over again, like you were gone again, and I was so scared I’d forget you again, I-“
He breaks down. Properly. Not just quiet sobs, but he properly starts crying to the point Beato knows he’s bound to end up sick if this continues. He trembles even harder, and he looks so goddamn horrible, so godforsaken sad, like nothing could ever cheer him up ever again.
His face is twitching, and so are his hands, and suddenly he’s hugging her, pressing her to himself as closely as possible.
It feels like he’s going to choke her with how he’s gripping her, but she can’t die again, so she decides to endure it.
When she reaches around his back, she realizes that his shirt is sweat through, too. He will have to shower before going back to sleep.
“I’m here, Battler,” she mumbles, forcing him away for a bit so that she can change her position to a kneeling one. Then, she hugs his head, properly, pulling him close until his cheek is resting against her chest.
She strokes his hair, again, and again, and again.
None of them say any more.
Battler always finds the right words to comfort her, but that’s because he’s really not at fault for much, is he? Beato knows that it’s unfair to blame him for not contacting her after he lost his mother. He was a child.
But when she made the decision to die, she was nineteen years old, fully capable of making her own decisions, and she decided to go for the most egoistic one possible.
She told herself it was for his sake; that he would hate her for her body, and that she would forever be a burden for him. How could she have been so short-sighted? The burden of an alive person is always so much less than that of a dead one.
She must have been deliberately ignoring this, thinking only of herself, not believing him, only to find out that he couldn’t care less about what she looks like.
He found out the truth and dedicated it all to bring her back to life and then married her right away.
“I’m here, Battler, and I’m so sorry,” she eventually manages to whisper, her voice way too shaky to speak up properly.
This is her fault. For once, she won’t let him say stuff like ‘don’t blame yourself’. What bullshit. She is to blame for this. She’s the one who made an egoistic decision and even do it in front of him. Drag him down with her, something she had anticipated, and deep, deep down, probably even hoped for.
“No, Beato-“
“No, Battler,” she says firmly, stopping her fingers from combing through his hair.
“Just as you have your sins, so do I. So let me bear this sin. This is my fault. And I’m so, so sorry.”
“Kiss me three times,” he whispers, out of nowhere, not even responding to her words, “so that I know this isn’t the same situation. Please. Snap me out of this, I can’t get the pictures and sounds out of my head. Please.”
Something inside of her breaks, and then there are tears in her eyes, too. She lets go of him, leans down, and kisses his lips. Without waiting for longer.
He tastes of salt, and suddenly she just can’t bring herself to care about anything at all anymore.
She presses her lips onto his so hard that it hurts, so that he knows she’s right here with him, and when she runs out of breath, she kisses his face, everything of it, and then his lips again.
At first, he barely responds, lips trembling below hers, but then he finally does, sinking into the touch, his still shaking hands reaching for her shoulders and stroking them just a bit.
“Hurts, Beato,” he mumbles in between two kisses, so she grows softer, but the want and need to just push herself onto him until he can’t breathe is still there. She has to make sure that he’s okay.
That he knows this is different.
That he knows her heart is beating now even though it’s not, and that there’s blood running through her veins even when it’s not.
“I’m here, Battler, understand me? I’m sorry. It was terribly egoistic of me. I know I can’t make this up to you ever again. But please let me know what I can do to help you. You don’t have to accept my apology.”
Her breathing is heavy because she’s spent too much time just kissing him over and over again until her lips started feeling bruised.
“I accept your apology, Beato,” he says, seemingly calmer now, although he’s still just as pale. His loud sobs that were bordering on screams have stopped, the tears have dried just a bit. “I accept it, just as I accept you, okay? Don’t call yourself egoistic. I don’t understand why you did what you did because I’m not you… but I can see what drove you over the edge, still. And I don’t blame you. It’s just- the memory is still with me. And it hurts. And I woke up thinking you were dea-“
She doesn’t let him finish the word, kisses him again, taking his face into her hands.
“I’m here,” she whispers firmly against his lips, “I’m right here, Battler. We’re in our bed. We’re… we’re married too, you see?”
A chuckle escapes her, and he reaches up for her hand, their rings meeting.
“I’m here, Battler.”
This will probably take more than just a few months to resolve, to get over, and maybe they never will.
Maybe this will take forever, and the taste of sea water will forever remain on their tongues, rose thorns constantly pricking at their hearts.
But what counts is that for now, he’s calmer, so much calmer, his breathing still coming in gasps, but more regulated ones.
“You’re here, Beato.”
He softly strokes her hand with his thumb, wallowing, his eyes all teary and blurry
“You’re here, Beato, aren’t you?”
“I’m here, Battler. I’m right here with you.”