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Gideon woke up in the middle of the night. The bed was cold. Harrow was gone. She frowned. She really didn't want to get out of bed. But she also didn't want Harrow to deal with a night terror or midnight thoughts by herself.
Gideon strained her ears to see (haha not) if she could hear Harrow in the adjoined bathroom. Hm. Nope.
Gideon gave herself 3 seconds (enough time to mentally prepare), then got out of the bed to look for Harrow. There weren't very many places to look in the tiny apartment the two shared. She opened the bedroom door and found Harrow standing in the kitchen boiling water for tea. (Gideon didn't understand why she didn't just microwave it, but alas.)
Gideon slinked up behind her wife and wrapped her arms around her waist. Harrow jumped momentarily before realizing it was Gideon.
Gideon nuzzled her head head into the space where Harrow's neck met her shoulder, placing a sleepy kiss - that lacked finesse - there. "Hey," she murmured.
"Hey," Harrow replied, tilting her own head back into Gideon's.
"What kind of tea are you making?" Gideon slurred, still nuzzled into Harrow, but tilting her head so that she could see over Harrow's shoulder.
"Chamomile," Harrow responded softly. She turned her head and placed a kiss on what she could reach of Gideon's head, which was mostly hair. Then, after a pause, "I had a bad dream."
"Tell me about it?"
Harrow frowned, her bottom lip quivering slightly. "I dreamt of you, when you were impaled on the railing. I was flooded with that feeling of hopelessness again. Nothing I could do, no chance to stop you. You.. were already gone." On the last words, a single tear streaked down Harrow's face.
Gideon unfurled herself so she could slowly turn Harrow around towards her, kissing over where the tear had tracked down to on her cheek, and, following its path, making her way back up to Harrow's eyelids, kissing one then the other.
"I love you," she responded, not knowing what to say to that. And then, because she couldn't let Harrow stay sad for longer, "I'm sorry you had to live a life where Ianthe was the hottest person you knew."
Harrow choked on a laugh (Gideon seriously thought for a moment her tiny goth would say "fuck you!" and die in turn), hitting Gideon on the shoulder. Gideon, who had grown up knowing harder hits from a child Harrow, smiled in response. She framed Harrow's face with her hands and kissed her wife again. "I'm sorry," she whispered, stroking her thumbs up and down Harrow's cheekbones. "I had to do it. But, by my shitty dad, I'm still sorry."
Harrow leaned into the touch. "I don't think I'll ever forget it." She whispered.
Gideon smiled sadly and let the truth sit for second, heavy between them. She hated it, but she owed Harrow's grief its heavy moment. "I know," she responded quietly. And then, truthfully - and in continuation of her life mission of Nonagesimus-can't-cry - "I'd hope the fuck not," and leaned in to raspberry her wife's neck before Harrow could catch on. Harrow screeched in delight. Gideon tucked Harrow close into to her chest and smacked kisses to any and all exposed skin she could reach. They both had a lot of pain that wouldn't go away over night or heal in one conversation. For now, she just needed to hold her wife close enough to assure her that she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, and keep her happy in the mean time. She pressed a final kiss to Harrow's temple, letting the silence envelope them as they watched the pot of simmering water.
She leaned close enough to Harrow's ear that she could feel the skin - and Harrow's accompanying shiver - on her lips. "You know we can microwave water?" she whispered conspiratorially.
"I will divorce you."