Archive of Our Own

You can’t help but wonder if this is all a dream, like this is just some sick trick your brain is pulling on you because it’s tired of putting up with your bullshit.

And can you blame it? You’re tired of putting up with your bullshit. If you can’t stand it, why would anyone else? It just doesn’t compute.

But then you wake up, roll over, and it hits you like it always does:

Oh shit, I really have a girlfriend now. 

This is probably the most cliche, unoriginal thought on the planet, but you think she’s beautiful when she’s asleep. Well, okay, you think she’s beautiful all the time (You curse the closeted hopeless romantic in you), but it’s a specific kind of beautiful when she’s tucked away from the world. 

You know all about the shit she went through as a kid. You know how those years of abuse and neglect shaped her into the hardened cynic she is today -  but all of that melts away when she’s asleep, and the only thing that’s left is a soft vulnerability that’s so unlike her that it’s almost jarring to look at. Sleep is one of the very, very few times when her walls come down and it’s always such a treat to see, because you know for a fact that she doesn’t let these walls down around anyone. It’s like a special secret that you can keep all to yourself.

Her eyelashes flutter, and you wonder what she’s dreaming about. She still has nightmares every now and then - sad, painful recollections of things the both of you wish you could forget - and even though they’re not as frequent as before, your heart still breaks when you think about it because you can’t protect her when she’s inside her own head. You can’t keep her safe from the things that are hurting her, and the thought of that kills you. She’s beautiful when her walls come down, but that also makes her susceptible to anything, and that only increases your desire - no, need to protect her. On really bad days, you’d stay up all night just to make extra sure she won’t suffer from another night terror. 

But, thankfully, today doesn’t look like one of those days.

You can’t help but reach out to her, smiling when you feel the pliant strands of brown hair sifting between your fingers. Your smile stretches just a little bit wider when you brush a few layers away and find the small patches of lighter hair towards the back of her head; they’re only visible when she puts her hair up, but they’re so light that they can actually pass off as blonde. You used to think that this might be leftovers from an old dye job, but as the months went by and the colour didn’t grow out you realized that this is just the way her hair naturally is, and it’s one of the many little things about her that makes you love her more.

As always, she reacts to your touch; she lazily rolls to face you with her eyes still closed, purring contently as she buries her face into the curve of your neck and throws an arm around your waist. You drop a kiss to her forehead and slip a hand beneath her shirt - your shirt, actually; she steals your clothes all the goddamn time now - to slowly rub circles on her back, and when she starts purring again you chuckle to yourself as you hold her closer. You never thought she’d be the cuddly type, but this girl was never predictable. You should’ve expected that by now.

After all the shit you’ve been through, it’s hard to believe that this is real. You crawled out of hell after spending an entire goddamn year in it, and it’s not like life was rosy before all of that happened, so of course you’d be conditioned to think that all of this is just some fever dream. For all you know, you actually died on the morning some Dark Army grunt took you out at the ambush in Shanghai and this is actually some version of the afterlife. Or maybe you’re stuck in a coma after getting stabbed on Christmas and this is your brain’s way of convincing you into believing that things are okay. 

Or maybe this actually is real and you just can’t accept it because you were so used to shitty things happening all the time.

What the hell are you talking about? Of course this is real. Stop gaslighting yourself. 

You’re arguing with yourself again, you know that, right?

Focus on the present. Focus on what’s happening right now. 

It’s morning and you’re in bed with a beautiful girl who is even more beautiful when she sleeps. She didn’t have a nightmare last night. She’s okay. She’s safe, you’re safe, and everything is fine. Everything is real.

This is not a dream.

At least that’s what you keep telling yourself.

“Can you shut up for a second?“

You quirk an eyebrow at her, completely taken aback by the abrupt change in pace. “What? No, why would-”

“Just shut the fuck up and look at me for a sec.”

“Darlene,” You roll your eyes. “We’re in the middle of-”

She snorts and reaches for your face, pressing her palms on your cheeks and turning your head so that you have no choice but to make eye contact. 

She rises up on her tiptoes and kisses you on the lips.

“Shut.”

Another kiss.

“Up.”

A third kiss. When she pulls away, the both of you laugh quietly amongst yourselves before closing the gap for a fourth time.

It takes you a second to remember what you were arguing about. “We can’t end every fight like this, you know.”

“‘Course we can.” She grins up at you, and it takes a Herculean effort to not lean in and kiss her again. “It stops the bullshit, which opens up the floor for productive conversation.”

You scoff. “So, is this the part where we have a productive conversation?”

She throws her thin arms around your waist. “Yup. Conflict resolution starts in three, two, one…” She bumps her forehead against your shoulder before looking up at you, patiently waiting for you to speak first. Those illegally large eyes would make you give in immediately on any other day, but not today.

“You started it.” You mutter.

“Why does it matter who started it?” 

You throw a glare at her. “I thought this was supposed to be a productive conversation.”

That wasn’t what she wanted to hear, and you can tell by the look she’s giving you. “Fine.” She heaves a dramatic sigh. “I’m sorry.”

You furrow your brow to emphasize the fact that you don’t buy it, and when she reads your expression she sighs again. “What? I am. I was being an asshole.”

Your expression doesn’t change. “And?”

She throws her head back and groans. “And…I should’ve listened to you instead of biting your head off. You were only trying to look out for me.”

She’s getting better at this. Communication was never really her strong suit and the both of you know it, but practice makes perfect, and compared to where she was when you first met, she’s made tons of progress. You’re insanely proud of her and all the hard work she’s done on herself. She’s still a little rough around the edges - and to be honest, you prefer it that way because that’s part of what makes her who she is - but she has a better handle on her emotions now, and she’s learning to be comfortable with vulnerability. Opening up to someone - anyone, even the people she’s closest to - has always been a challenge for her. For as long as she can remember, she absolutely detested the idea of it.

You can’t blame her for it, though. You hate it too, and communication was never really your strong suit either. Exposing yourself to another person and trusting them with the parts of yourself that you can’t even stand to look at is a big risk, and who wouldn’t be terrified of that? 

But she’s seen every inch of you and she hasn’t had a single bad thing to say. She knows everything there is to know about you, including the things you wish you could forget, and she loves you anyway. That’s something you can’t find in just anyone.

You smile, and when her expression lights up at your approval your chest starts to swell with something warm and fuzzy. 

“I’m sorry too.” You murmur as you step in to kiss her forehead. “I overstepped; I just worry about you sometimes.”

She snorts. “You’re a pro at worrying about me.”

“I am, and I worry because I care about you.” You plant another kiss to her forehead. “But sometimes I worry too much, and I need to dial it back a bit. You’ve always been able to do shit on your own and I need to give you the space to keep doing that.”

“I appreciate it.” She nuzzles your neck; her hair tickles your skin. “But…you don’t have to dial it back too much.” The grin stretched wide across her lips is adorably cheeky. “I kinda like it when you dote on me. Makes me feel special.”

“Noted.” You chuckle and dip your head so you can touch her lips with your own. “And for the record - you are special. At least to me.”

“Aw, shucks.” She smiles against your mouth. Her eyes soften as she raises a hand to place it on your cheek. Her thumb strokes the skin beneath your eye. “You don’t have to worry about me. I can take care of myself - and I know I can because I have you now.”

She pulls you in for a hug, and you respond by you folding your arms around her small frame. You stay like that for a few minutes before she quickly changes the subject by asking what’s for dinner, and you laugh it off before resuming the rest of your evening.

You just hope you’re getting better at this too.

“Where have you been all my life, Darlene?” Trudie throws her head back with a hearty laugh, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “You’re a natural.”

She lifts her head from her handiwork to give you a sly grin. “Maybe you’ve been surrounded by terrible baking assistants your whole life that I just look exceptional by comparison.”

She tops off the snark with a laugh. Your mom laughs with her, and you actually roll your eyes this time. You rip off a small piece of prosciutto and stick your hand under the table for the dog, but your eyes widen when you spot the pup patiently sitting next to your girlfriend, tail wagging excitedly as she sneaks him a generous portion of the ciabatta she just helped make. You know she’s good when the dog turns down your meat offering for a piece of bread. 

That’s just how it is when she tags along on your visits to Philly. The entire house is drawn to her, almost like she’s the centre of their universe. Your whole family forgets you exist, but you don’t mind it so much - partially because you hate being the centre of attention, and partially because watching her interact with your crazy family makes you feel bright on the inside.

It’s also just really nice to see her so happy and surrounded by people who genuinely give a shit about her. She deserves it after everything she’s been through - not just with fsociety and the Dark Army, but everything before that too. She lived her whole life feeling unloved and unwanted, and maybe you can’t turn back time and give her shitty parents the reckoning they deserve, but giving her a chance to be a part of your family seems to be the next best thing. It didn’t take very long for her to fit in; they loved her the instant they laid eyes on her.

Now that you think about it, that’s kind of a recurring narrative with her. There’s just something about her that draws people in. It’s impossible to not fall in love with her, and even if they resist at first - just like you did, once upon a time - she’ll always find a way to pull them back into her orbit. You can’t even pinpoint what exactly it is about her that attracts everyone within a five mile radius, but you know it’s there because you see it happen to literally everyone she comes across. Heads turn when she walks down the street, and they don’t just give her passing glances; their eyes linger for a few seconds, and you swear the only reason why they look away is because if they don’t they’ll end up walking into traffic or a lamppost.

She commands attention, even when she doesn’t want any (Which doesn’t happen very often). To you, it makes total sense: It’s overcompensation for the severe neglect she endured as a child. If no one’s gonna notice her, she might as well draw attention to herself. It explains her tendency to be brash and obnoxious, and while it can be a little overbearing at times, you know it’s just one of the many defensive mechanisms she uses to keep herself safe. If you’re patient enough to peel back the endless layers of anger and sarcasm, you’ll find a lonely, damaged girl who just wants to know that she matters.

If only you could just tell her that she doesn’t have to be like that anymore. Sometimes you wish you could just look her in the eye and tell her that she no longer has a reason to keep up with that facade. She doesn’t need to puff up her chest and pretend she’s impenetrable - in fact, it’s okay to let others know that she isn’t.

But you, of all people, know how difficult it is to depart from old habits. Maybe she’s so desensitized to her own coping mechanisms that she doesn’t know where she ends and the trauma begins.

Either way, you just want her to be happy. You want her to be safe. You want her to know that she matters, that she’s important, and that she’s special. You’d flip hell three times over to make all of that happen - and that says a lot because you never felt so compelled to go to bat for someone like this before. If you could reach out and rearrange the structure of the universe and life itself so she no longer feels the need to put up a front to protect herself, you’d do it in a heartbeat. 

“Dom.” Her voice forces you out of your head; she’s staring at you with her brow furrowed. “Where did you go?”

You’d be here for a very long time if you answered her question honestly, and you definitely do not have plans to stay in Philly for another night.

“Nowhere far.” You respond with an unconvincing smile, but when she rolls her eyes and laughs, you know you’re off the hook…at least for now.

So you shake it off and try to help out with the next batch of ciabatta.

She laughs, and you pause to gawk at her. “What?”

She shakes her head. “Why do you always do that?”

You’re blinking cluelessly. “Do what?”

“This.” She reaches up to gently grasp your hand, which is half-buried in your hair. “You do it every time you’re nervous.”

You’re still blinking. Your hand is still stuck in your hair. You look so stupid. “I do?”

“You do.” She laughs again before dropping her hand so she can wrap her arms around you. “We’ve been a thing for over a year now and you’re still a nervous wreck. That’s never gonna change, is it?”

You shrug. “I guess not.”

“Well,” She cocks her head to the side. “I hope it doesn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because,” She grins before pulling you down by your shirt collar for a kiss. “It’s one of my favourite things about you.”

It’s funny - and also kind of scary - how much your relationship with her has been teaching you about yourself. A lot of things have changed since she barrelled into your life - your relationship with sex being one of them.

You hate admitting it, but you were always a little (And by a little, you really mean a whole fucking lot) submissive when it came to physical relations. It always baffled you because you have a hard time trusting just about anybody, and being a bottom takes a lot of trust. Maybe it’s because you’ve been a bit of a control freak all your life (Thank you, social anxiety) and sex is one of the very, very few instances where you’re comfortable enough to let loose for a little while - but that doesn’t really make sense because you’re usually in an extremely vulnerable position during sex and it takes an entirely new level of trust to just let someone else do stuff to your body, especially if they’re a stranger you met online or at a bar.

Whatever the actual reason is, all of that went out the window once you came back from your adventure overseas and decided to give your relationship with her another try. It’s the complete opposite when you’re with her; for once, you like being in control. You like calling the shots. There’s something incredibly intoxicating about deciding what she feels, where she gets to feel it, and when she feels it. You can see why this can make others feel powerful, but that’s not really the case with you. It’s more like you just enjoy making her feel good. You like making her feel good, and you like it when you know you’re the reason why she feels good. You take pleasure in pleasuring her, and that’s why you know your relationship is legit, because it’s not just about you and whether or not you’re getting laid; there’s an emotional component now, and that’s something you never really experienced in your past relationships, at least not at this level. 

And the funny thing about it is that before you guys were a thing, she preferred being in charge. She told you once that it’s a trust thing with her too; she never felt comfortable enough in her past relationships to allow someone else to sit in the driver’s seat. With you, however, it’s different. She trusts you. She knows you wouldn’t do anything to hurt her on purpose. She knows she’s safe with you, and maybe that’s why you like being on top now. Maybe it’s because you know she doesn’t just trust anyone, and that makes you feel special. You want her to know that you appreciate being one of the very few people in this world that she feels safe with, and maybe sex is one of the ways you can do that. You want her to know that she can trust you. You want her to know that it’s okay to be vulnerable around you. You’ll take care of her no matter what.

You find someone you can be your honest self with, and suddenly your roles are reversed. Funny how that works sometimes.

Maybe that’s why the first night felt so weird. Failed robbery attempt aside, there was something off kilter about that night you spent together, and you were never able to figure out what it was. It’s not like the sex was bad or anything - it was great, actually - but she was the one in charge and you were the desperate, lonely, drunk loser who just wanted to feel wanted. You weren’t sure about the roles you played in each other’s lives just yet and the both of you did what you were used to doing because that’s all you knew, and maybe it felt off that night because that was the very first time you realized you were doing shit wrong this whole time - or maybe it was the very first time you realized you were doing shit with the wrong people. 

It took some time, but you finally got it right, and now being in a relationship is legitimately enjoyable - not just physically, but mentally and emotionally too. This is going to sound super cheesy, but there’s a connection you feel with her that you’ve never felt with anyone else. You know each other insanely well, in every possible way there is to know someone, and sex is just one of the many ways to express that. It’s not just about getting some or satisfying your needs; it’s another way to express how much she means to you and how much you appreciate that she trusts you. It’s a whole new level of intimacy, and it’s scary as shit, but at the same time you can’t see yourself being this intimate with anyone else. It’s new and exciting, and you can’t help but look forward to where it’s going to take you.

God, you have it so fucking bad. You were never like this before. Since when were you such a sap for shit like this? She’s got you wrapped around her goddamn finger.

“You okay?” You struggle to catch your breath as you reach out to brush the hair away from her face.

“You need to stop asking me that.” She laughs before pulling you down for a kiss. Her chest is heaving and her face is flushed with exertion. “You do it every time.”

You’re blinking incredulously, caught off guard by her words. “I don’t ask every time.”

“You definitely do.” She confirms with a tired smile. “I’m not made of glass, Dom. I’m fine.” She pauses for a second. “Okay, well…I can’t feel anything below my waist, but that’s a good thing.”

You shake your head before rolling off of her and settling into the mattress. She scoots closer to you and places a hand near the back of your head, affectionately rubbing the skin behind your ear with her thumb. She closes her eyes and hums as you curl an arm around her shoulders and pull her closer.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Her words are slow and slurred with exhaustion.

You place a kiss to her forehead. “Tell away.”

She hums again before nestling closer to you. “The sex is great and all, but this is my favourite part.”

You’re not really sure why, but you can feel your pulse accelerating. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” She drops her hand to the scar on your chest, lazily tracing it with her fingers. “I just like being close to you.”

You weren’t expecting that, so you respond the only way you know how: Spluttering with nervous laughter. “Never pegged you for the affectionate type.”

“Oh, you can peg me whenever you damn feel like it-”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Jesus, Darlene-”

“-but seriously speaking,” She sighs with relief as she fits her head into your neck. “This…just feels really nice. I always thought pillow talk was lame, but then you come along and change everything.” There’s a short pause. “You changed a lot for me, actually.”

It feels like there’s something blooming in your chest cavity. You swear the room just got brighter. 

If you wanted to list everything she changed for you, you’d be here forever, so you respond with a kiss and a simple:

“You changed a lot for me too.”

Your fights aren’t always simple disagreements and playful bickering. Sometimes it gets serious - like, really serious.

It’s kind of inevitable given how different you can be. It’s weird because in many ways you’re the same, but in many other ways you’re complete opposites. Your differences compliment each other most of the time, but every now and then they’ll clash, and when they do it’s almost always disastrous.

You mentioned before that communication isn’t really your strong suit, and it shows when you fight like this. You sink into old habits as a means of distracting yourself, which only increases the tension between you.

She’s been trying to call you all day, but of course you’re not going to pick up. Why would you? You’re not going to give her the satisfaction. When she resorts to texting, you don’t even give her the courtesy of leaving her on read; you turn off your phone after the fifth text so you can go back to pretending you’re busier than you actually are.

Time flies when you’re desperate to avoid your problems. Before you know it, it’s quarter to one in the morning, and you’re still holed up in your dim office with a stack of folders and a computer screen filled to the brim with reports and articles. You scrounged up every excuse you could find to stay here, but you’re only human, and you can feel fatigue settling in. Your eyelids are heavy and your head hurts from looking at evidence all day. Your limbs feel like they’re made of lead.

You need to go home.

The apartment is doused in darkness when you step inside, which isn’t surprising given how late it is. You quietly undress for bed and slip between the sheets, making sure to stay as close to the edge as comfortably possible. You can’t see her, but you know she’s there.

The plan is to catch a few hours of sleep, and then you’ll head back to work first thing in the morning. If you time it right, you can probably pop out before she notices. She wouldn’t even know you were here in the first place.

But, as usual, she throws a wrench into your plans and forces you to improvise.

There’s a sudden increase of warmth against your back; she just shimmied all the way to your side of the bed so she can slip an arm around you and bury her face into the spot between your shoulder blades. You sigh and open your mouth to tell her to go back to her side of the bed, but she speaks up first.

“Don’t do that to me again.” Her voice is quiet and shaky. She sniffles and holds you tighter. “Please.”

Your rib cage feels like it was just split open. The ache squeezing your heart and lungs is almost suffocating. You hate, hate, hate it when she cries - especially when you’re the reason why. How many times have you expressed that you wanted to protect her? How many times have you wished you could reach into the sky and rearrange the stars and planets so you can stop the universe from creating things that could cause her pain?

You roll around to face her and cup her tear streaked face in your hands. She chokes on a sob as you try your best to wipe her tears away. God, this hurts so fucking much.

“I’m sorry.” You kiss her on the forehead. She’s still crying, which means your rib cage is still cracked open.

She sniffles again. “I was worried about you.”

“That’s my fault.” You kiss her on the cheek. “I should’ve told you I was working late.” You shake your head and backtrack. “No, I should’ve just come home on time. I didn’t need to work late. I just…” You sigh and shrug your shoulders. “I dunno. I don’t have an excuse. I was just pissed off and I should’ve handled it better.”

You can barely see her under the dim light coming in from the windows above the bed, but it’s enough to see the hurt in her expression. The ache inside of you crescendoes when she shakes her head and feebly tries to swallow another sob.

“You have every right to be pissed off.” She sucks in a deep breath in an attempt to pacify herself. “It’s what I get for being such a stupid fucking-”

“Hey.” You brush more tears away. “You do not, by any circumstances whatsoever, deserve to be treated the way I treated you today.”

“But-”

“Darlene.” You look her straight in the eye. “You made some mistakes, but that still doesn’t mean you deserve the silent treatment.” You sigh. “I didn’t spend six months in Europe just so I could relapse and fall back into old habits. I have to do better.”

“This isn’t your fault, though.” She protests through a round of fresh tears.

“Part of it is. I still shouldn’t have done that to you.” You lean in to press your forehead against hers. “I promised that I’d never hurt you on purpose, and that’s exactly what I did today. I should’ve told you I needed space to cool off instead of giving you the silent treatment.” You slowly suck in a breath. “I’m sorry, Darlene. That’s never happening again.”

She sniffles. “I just…I need to stop being such a fuck up, but I don’t know how. What if I was just meant to be this way forever?“

If only you can get her to see herself the way you see her. She’s not perfect and she won’t ever be, but that doesn’t depreciate her in any way. It doesn’t make her less of anything to you. You love her despite her imperfections, even if some of them caused you pain in the past. 

Actually, now that you think about it, it’s what she’s doing about her flaws that really amplifies your love for her. How many people can admit they fucked up? How many people vow to rectify those fuck ups? And out of those people, how many of them actually stick to their word and do something about it? Yeah, not many. Humans are irritatingly prideful by nature; no one likes to think they’re wrong about something or that someone out there knows more than them. Even you don’t like it sometimes. It stings to have your flaws openly criticized. It’s humiliating. You get it, you really do.

But you can’t grow if you don’t have something to grow from. Progress can’t be made if you don’t think there’s any progress to make, and you can’t fix a problem if you don’t acknowledge there’s a problem in the first place. It’s part of life. It’s part of growing up, and she’s done so much of that lately. In fact, she’s done so much growing that you’re genuinely flabbergasted she can’t see it. If you weren’t there to witness it all, you’d think that the person who seduced you to get to your safe all those months ago and the person currently nestled against you with her tears soaking your shirt are completely different people.

And in many ways, they are different people. The person she was then isn’t who she is now - but those two people are also her. She is every single version of herself that ever existed. The person she is right now is an amalgamation of all the different versions of her that existed before, and even though you aren’t familiar with all of them just yet, you love them anyway. You love every single piece of who she is, even the pieces that are broken and misshapen. Even the ones she doesn’t like to touch or acknowledge. 

Sometimes you wish you could gather them up in your hands and hold them for her. You want to keep her together on days when she’s falling apart. You want nothing more than to keep her intact when she feels another piece breaking away from her. You want to put every single fragment back together and make something even more beautiful out of it - but you know that isn’t your job. Only she can decide what to do with them, but until she figures it out, you’re going to grasp at every possible opportunity to let her know that you see her - all of her, and you love her exactly for who she is, and you will love her no matter who she becomes in the future. You want her to know that there’s someone out there who loves her when she can’t love herself. Hell, you’ll still let her know even after she figures it out. You’ll never stop wanting to let her know.

Geez Louise, you really have it bad, don’t you?

Fuck yeah, you do - and why shouldn’t you be? You should be thanking your goddamn lucky stars that the feeling is mutual, because out of the billions of people she could’ve chosen to be with, she chose you. You, the idiot who can barely string two words together when you’re in a non-work social setting. You, the pathetic excuse for a human being who still can’t bring it upon yourself to tidy up your stupid apartment every once in awhile. You, the dumbass who can never remember your girlfriend’s favourite pizza toppings even though you’ve eaten pizza together a million times since you came back from Europe. You, yes, you - the one person who doesn’t deserve to be chosen, yet here you are. You are one lucky asshole.

If she stopped loving you right this instant and left for good, you’d still love her anyway. You love her for nothing in return. That’s how you know that what you feel for her is real…sort of. Maybe you’re just thinking like this because it’s been ages since you were in a serious relationship. Maybe you’re still stuck in the honeymoon phase. Maybe you’re just a sucker for girls who have pretty eyes, a talent for coding malware, and look better in your clothes than you do.

See? You’re doing it again. 

The gaslighting.

Stop that.

Didn’t she ask you a question?

“You’re not.” You reassure her with another kiss to the forehead. “You’ve been working so hard on getting better, and it’s not hard to see all the progress you made. I’m proud of you, Darlene.”

Her hair tickles your skin as she shakes her head. “It doesn’t feel like I’m making progress.”

“You are.” You kiss her forehead again. “You’re getting better every day. Maybe you can’t see it right now, but I do. I’ll help you see it so you can do it for yourself someday.”

She finally smiles. It’s a small smile, but it’s a smile nonetheless, and that mends a tiny bit of your fractured rib cage.

“I missed you.” Her voice is hoarse from all the crying. You’ve never really been missed like this before. The first time you felt it was the first conversation you had after landing in Budapest; she cried during that call too, and that hurt three times more than the hurt you’re feeling now.

“I missed you too.” You lean in to kiss her again. “I guess we still have a lot of growing to do.”

“Yeah, I guess.” She chuckles. “But…at least we can grow together now, right?”

As disastrous as these serious fights can be, you’re relieved to know that they never last forever. Your differences eventually make amends, and sometimes it takes awhile for that to happen, but it always does. 

“Right.”  

You kiss her again.

She snickers, and you pull away from your laptop so you can stare at her. “What?”

She doesn’t even look up to acknowledge you; her eyes are glued to her phone. “Nothing.”

Your suspicions are immediately raised. You leave your desk and stride to the bed, clambering in next to her so you can peer over her shoulder - but she’s faster than you, and she tucks her phone into her chest just as you lean in.

“Wow.” She scoffs as you roll your eyes. “Invasion of privacy, much? Y’know, for someone who gets paid to enforce rules for a living, you’re not very good at following them yourself.” She disapprovingly clicks her tongue. “You pigs are all the same, thinking you’re above the law and shit.”

You heave a sigh. “What are you up to, Darlene? Please don’t tell me you’re doing anything illegal.”

“Define illegal.”

Now you’re really suspicious. “Okay, hand it over.”

She laughs and leans away just as you reach for her phone. “Chill the fuck out, dude. It’s not gonna get me thrown in jail or anything.” She pauses for a second. “Well…okay, that’s a lie, but no one cares enough to rat me out. Plus, the NYPD doesn’t really give a shit about cyber crimes. I’m pretty sure you’re the only cop in the country who actually cares about hackers breaking the law.”

Your eyes widen just by a fraction. “What the hell are you doing? I swear, if you got me indirectly involved in some-”

“Oh my God, fine.” It’s her turn to heave a sigh. She raises her phone to your eye level, and you furrow your brow when you see an ordinary messaging app. Nothing suspicious…yet.

“You were…” You blink incredulously. “Talking to friends?”

“Not my friends.” She corrects you. “They’re Britt’s friends.”

“Who’s Britt?”

“Dunno.” She shrugs. “Some chick who has the easiest password in the world.”

Now you’re even more confused. “You hacked into someone’s messaging app just so you can talk to their friends?”

“You’re finally catching on. Look at you go.” Her tone is so blatantly condescending that if you didn’t know her so well you would’ve retorted with a nasty word or two. “It’s just a little harmless fun, Dom. Nothing more to it.”

You shake your head before squinting at her phone screen. ‘Britt’ is talking about someone’s upcoming bachelorette party; ‘she’ made an excuse not to show up (Yeast infection…seriously?) before dropping a rumour about the groom-to-be having an affair with the bride-to-be’s brother. 

“Darlene,” You groan as she laughs. “You’re messing with peoples’ lives here. This isn’t funny.”

“What? I’m just stirring the pot a little.” She shrugs before flipping to another app; it looks like it’s for dating. “Wait ‘til you hear about what else I do on this thing.”

“Do I really want to know?”

“Probably not, but I’m gonna tell you anyway.” She shows you a very, very angry message from someone who goes by the online persona of blondwonderboy69. “When I have nothing better to do, I troll bros on dating apps. If they’re total dickheads - which they are, 99.9 percent of the time - I mess with them a little.” She throws you a grin. “The last guy who crossed me had two boxes of glow-in-the-dark butt plugs waiting for him in the mail. I think his name was Brock, or maybe Brennan…or something else that’s equally douchey.”

Okay, that doesn’t sound as bad as interfering with strangers’ group chats, but… “This isn’t right, Darlene. You have to stop this now.”

She throws her head back and groans. “C’mon, it’s not that serious.”

“The group chat is definitely serious.” You shoot back. “You could ruin someone’s relationship - multiple relationships.” You cross your arms to show her that you’re serious. “You’re better than this and you know it.”

She huffs in frustration. “Can I keep the dating app? At least those assholes deserve it.”

She isn’t wrong. “Seriously, Darlene, you shouldn’t be doing either of them.” You sigh again. “How long have you been doing this and why am I only finding out now?”

“Are we really having an interrogation right now?” She gawks.

“Answer me.”

“Longer than I’ve known you, and because I knew you’d get pissy about it.” She scoffs. “Since when did you get a transfer to the FBI’s No Fun Division?” She snorts. “Wait, don’t answer that question; I just remembered that you were the one who founded it.”

You want to raise your voice, but you know you shouldn’t. It’s…very difficult not to yell at her sometimes, but you know her well enough to understand that there’s a reason for the things she does.

“You’re being testy for no reason. What’s going on?”

She quirks a brow at you. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

You can see her walls going up, and you quickly think of a way to stall them. “You laughed. That’s how I caught you.”

“Okay…” Her brow wrinkles with confusion. “So?”

“That was the first time I heard you laugh all day.” You quietly point out. “That’s why it caught my attention.” The corners of your mouth pull downwards in a small frown. “Something’s up with you, Darlene. I’m worried.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but she quickly closes it. She swallows and shakes her head. “It’s noth-”

“It’s not nothing.” You gently insist. You wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her in for a hug before kissing her forehead. “C’mon. Talk to me.”

She’s quiet. You can feel her hand against your chest; your pulse is drumming against her palm. “It’s just…” Her voice breaks, and you can feel the ache coming. “Today’s my mom’s birthday. Was my mom’s birthday.”

You never met Magda Alderson, and you’re thankful you haven’t, because if you did you’re sure you would’ve done something you’d end up regretting later - or maybe you wouldn’t regret it, because from what she and her brother told you about her, she deserves every single horrible thing in the whole goddamn universe. You’ve seen and heard about a lot of evil shit in this world, but she and her shitty-but-for-a-different-reason husband have proven that there truly is a more of two evils. 

Maybe this is just your privilege showing, but you can’t fathom how someone could willingly abuse anyone, let alone their own children. When you heard what Magda and Edward did, you swore you felt your blood boiling.

“I don’t get why I’m so bummed out.” She shrugs. “She was a grade A bitch and didn’t give two shits about Elliot and me, so why should I care? She’s dead as fuck; her birthday doesn’t even matter anymore. She didn’t even like celebrating her birthday when she was alive. That woman hated everything and everyone.”

You feel like you aren’t qualified enough to give a good answer for this, but you want to try anyway. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being sad about it. You wanted a mom and you never got one. Maybe a part of you is still hurting over that.”

“Well, I don’t need one. Not anymore.” She pouts. “I have you, and I have Elliot. What more do I need?”

“You’re still allowed to be sad over not having a mom even though you don’t need one anymore.” You squeeze her waist. “If you want to stop feeling this way, stop resisting it. You have to stop bottling shit up, Darlene.”

“I’m trying, but you know how hard this shit is.” She heaves a sigh. “I just wish I could just, I dunno…instantly make it go away. I hate all this waiting and working through it shit.”

You chuckle and place a kiss to the top of her head. “It wouldn’t be worth it if you didn’t have to work through it.” 

“Oh, so that’s why things were so shitty between us in the beginning.” She quips, and you roll your eyes.

“Yeah…I guess that’s one example.” You shake your head. “We worked through our shit and now things are good.”

“They’re really good.” She adds, and you chuckle a second time.

“They are.” You agree before kissing her head again. “Things can be good with you too, if you really want them to be.”

“I do. You know I do.” She sighs. “Just…give me time, okay? I’ll work through it. I always do.” She runs a hand through her hair and laughs quietly to herself. “Wasn’t expecting to be psychoanalyzed by my totally trained and competent girlfriend today, but here we are.”

Your cheeks suddenly turn red, and you know she can see because she’s laughing at you. “What?”

“Why are you looking at me like you just shat yourself?” Her expression suddenly changes to something more uneasy, and she scoots a little farther down the mattress from you. “Do you not like me calling you my girlfriend?”

Your face keeps getting redder, which isn’t helping at all. “It’s not like that.”

She reluctantly scoots a little closer. “Then what is it?”

“I, I just…” Your tongue is not cooperating with you.

She laughs again, and your chest twinges. It’s been less than a day, but you’re only realizing now how much you missed hearing it. No wonder you picked up on it right away.

“You totally have a crush on me.” She snickers, and when your face gets even redder she lets out another laugh before coming back to you and throwing her arms around your waist. “You have it so bad, dude. It’s gross.”

You feebly try to push her away. Maybe the space was a good thing after all. “Don’t.”

“Oh, but I am.” She smirks, and you sigh. “You’re head over heels. I’m the girl of your dreams, your other half, your one and only. You loooove-”

“God,” You shake your head. “I can’t believe you're making me regret trying to cheer you up.” 

“You shouldn’t regret it, though.” She brushes your hair aside and presses her lips against your jaw, just below your ear. You really hate how much you love it when she does that, and you also hate that she knows how much you love it. “It helped a lot, and it shows how much you care. If anything, this is more proof I don’t need to be sad about my mom anymore.” When you sigh, she kisses the spot again, and it courses through every inch of you. “I mean it, Dom. You have no fucking idea how happy I am to have you in my life.” 

You can’t help but melt a little. You hold her close and dip your head so you can touch her lips with your own. You can feel the warmth of her hands on your cheeks, and when you feel her lips curve upward in a smile, you break the kiss and quietly laugh to yourself. She can’t help but laugh too, and the sound is so cathartic that you automatically lean in to kiss her again.

She’s right - you are her girlfriend.

And she has no idea how fucking ecstatic you get every time she says that out loud.

You love your job, but let’s face it - you also hate it. You hate it a lot, actually.

It’s hard. It’s very hard. It can be hard walking into that god awful building surrounded by hard proof that this world is full of terrible people who only exist to make other peoples’ lives a living hell. It can be hard - really hard - to look at crime scene photos and listen to recordings of victim testimonies and believe that there’s still good in this world.

But you chose this profession. This is what you signed up for. You wanted to understand why people do the things they do and the FBI seemed like a good place to find the answers to your questions - and in many ways you have some answers, but at the same time you feel like you walk out of that same god awful building every single day with a thousand more questions.

Why do people do the things they do? Why do so many bad people get away with doing bad things? Why do bad things happen to good people even though they try their absolute best to do good things?

Why does the apartment smell like grilled cheese?

“Surprise.” You half-turn and come face to face with your girlfriend, who’s grinning with a plate in both hands. On the plate is a freshly grilled cheese sandwich with a single candle sticking out from the top; its tiny flame shudders as she makes a couple steps closer towards you. 

You probably look like the world’s biggest idiot just standing there with your jaw hanging and your eyes rapidly blinking like someone just shone an industrial grade flashlight directly into your face, but you can’t figure out how to use words. 

“What?” She cocks her head to the side. She takes a second to read your dumbfounded expression, and she laughs. “Oh my God, Dom - don’t tell me you forgot.”

You finally find your voice, but you’re still blinking like an idiot. “Forgot what?”

She shakes her head in disbelief and holds the sandwich a little higher so that it’s at eye level. “Today’s your birthday, dumbass.”

Oh, shit. “Oh, shit.”

She laughs again. “Yep. Totally called it. I was wondering why you had plans to go to work today…but now I know.” 

Have you really been so distracted with work that you forgot it was your birthday? You really need to work on this.

“C’mon.” She nods at the sandwich. “Let’s get some food in you - and don’t say you’ve eaten, ‘cause I know for a fact you didn’t.”

You awkwardly clear your throat and blow out the candle before taking it out of the sandwich and dropping it on an unoccupied section of the plate. You grab one half of the grilled cheese and bite into it.

“Did you use butter?” You scrunch your brow in confusion.

“How the hell were you able to tell?” She blinks at you.

“I can taste it.” You take another bite. “You should’ve used mayo. It’s better.”

“I’m not taking criticism from a person who puts mayo on their grilled cheese.”

You roll your eyes. “Mayonnaise has a higher smoke point.”

“So?” She bites into her half of your birthday sandwich.

“So…that means you can crank up the heat and make the bread crispier without burning it.”

“Don’t care - it’s still gross.” She shakes her head. “Cop, introvert, mayo on grilled cheese, uses IRC like it’s still 2001…how the hell are we together?”

You heave a sigh and roll your eyes again. “I ask myself the same question every day.”

“Really?” You glance at her, and when you spot the soft shock on her face you awkwardly clear your throat and straighten up in your seat to show that you’re serious.

“I didn’t mean that literally.” You place the sandwich back on the plate and pause for a second as you try to figure out how to properly word your next sentence. “But…I’d be lying if I said I never thought about it.”

Her expression relaxes, and you relax too. “Yeah, I get it.” She chuckles to herself before putting her sandwich on the plate and walking to the kitchenette to place the plate on the counter. “Differences aside, it is pretty fucking bonkers considering all the shit we went through before we became a thing.” She sighs. “Sometimes…I dunno, I just…I have a hard time believing any of this is real. Does that sound totally batshit or what?”

“Not at all.” You say as you shuffle after her. This isn’t exactly the kind of conversation you thought you’d be having on your birthday. “I can’t believe it either. Sometimes I think I’ll wake up and I’ll be back at Angela’s apartment bleeding to death on Christmas.”

She chuckles again, but there’s no humour to it - in fact, it’s even more devoid of humour than her previous laugh, which you didn’t think was possible. “Things are just…so good right now, you know? They’re too good. I can’t trust it, and I fucking hate it because I keep wondering when this dream’s gonna end and everything will go down the shitter again, and I don’t want to feel like that anymore. I want to actually enjoy this without worrying about when it’s gonna stop.”

You wish you had something insightful to say, something that could make her instantly snap out of the funk she’s in - but you have nothing because you’re stuck too. You’ve been struggling with the exact same issue since all those months ago when you flew into Budapest on a plane you originally had no plan on boarding. You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, but there’s no shoe, so you’re frozen in this anxious anticipation for no real reason - and after a year of officially being together, you’re only finding out now that she feels the same way too. Are you relieved or sad that you’re not alone in this?

“I don’t trust it either sometimes,” You shrug. “But…I try to anyway. I want to trust it. Maybe if I keep trying I’ll do it eventually.”

It takes a few seconds for her to speak up. She slowly reaches for you, winding her arms around your waist and pulling you closer towards her. “It doesn’t matter that we’re different, right?”

“No,” You reassure her with a hug and a chaste kiss to the top of her head. “It doesn’t. If it did, then we wouldn’t be doing this right now, would we?”

She pulls away just enough so she can look up at you. She’s smiling, but her eyes are glazed over with unshed tears, and you can’t help but ache a little.

“I guess not.” She bites her bottom lip before placing her hands on your cheeks and pulling you in for a kiss. When you break apart, her eyes are still glossy. “But…I think it matters a little.”

“Yeah? Why?”

She presses her cheek against your shoulder. “We work because we are different. Opposites attract is a cliche for a reason.”

You chuckle and drop another kiss to the top of her head. “Can’t argue with that.” You squeeze her waist. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad we’re still here even after all that crazy shit. It led us here, to this - and we should trust this, because it means that all of that shit happened for a reason. This-” You gesture around your crappy apartment and between the both of you. “-all of this, exists because of what we went through. We should be happy.”

Do you even believe what you’re saying? You already know the answer to that, but you want to at least try - if not for yourself, for her. You need to trust this for her so she can learn to trust it too.

You hear her sniffling, and you pull away so you can ask her what’s wrong, but she shakes her head and lets out a quiet laugh as she hastily wipes her tears away. “Jesus, Dom - it’s your fucking birthday. Can we not be so depressing?”

You laugh with her. “Sorry. Never really cared much for my birthday.”

“Well, you should. If things really are better now because of all the shitty things we went through, we need to savour every moment.” She throws you a small smile. “I could do without the whole cop thing, but you’re hot, you’re really good in bed, and you always know what to say to make me feel better…so I guess I can make this one time exception.” She throws her arms around your neck. “Happy Birthday.”

Your cheeks flare up with embarrassment, but you laugh it off and roll your eyes just as she pulls you in for another kiss.

It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes you’re the one who gets night terrors.

You can still feel the knife sliding into your chest cavity. The white hot pain searing your lungs feels so real, like it’s happening all over again. You can almost taste the blood pooling at the back of your mouth.

Your chest is still burning when you bolt up from bed, eyes flashing and forehead slick with sweat. You’re gasping for air and clutching the spot where the hilt of Janice’s knife used to be, but it feels like your lungs aren’t taking anything in. You’re sucking in as much oxygen as you can but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough; you’re getting lightheaded from all the hyperventilating.

“Dom.” She’s sitting up too, reaching out with one hand to gently pry yours off your chest. She flattens her palm against the spot before leaning in to give you a soft kiss on the cheek. “Hey. Look at me.”

The blood is frantically pumping in your ears; you can barely hear her, but you comply anyway. She keeps her hand on your chest and gently cups your cheek with the other. There’s always been an edge to the way she handles things, but she’s so gentle when she’s with you.

“I’m right here.” She reminds you with a whisper before planting another kiss to your cheek. 

You can feel the burning in your chest subsiding. It’s slightly easier to breathe. You can’t really see her because the room is dark but you can feel the pain in her stare. She’s worried about you. She always is when you get like this, and you feel terrible because you hate worrying her. You already worry her enough when you leave for your super dangerous job that requires you to work shitty hours sometimes, and it kills you to know that when you’re out late trying to catch the bad guys, she’s waiting for you at home and wondering if you’ll come back to her in one piece. The least you can do is keep your shit together when you’re here, but you can’t even do that. You’re so pathetic.

“I,” You struggle to speak between gasps. “I-I’m fine-”

“No you’re not.” Her tone is stern.

“I am.” Your spluttering isn’t making you any more convincing. “I…I just need to-”

“Can you just let me help you, please?” There’s an urgency to her words, and you can’t help but feel a little guilty. “Come here.”

You can feel her arms encircling you, pulling you closer, and she sighs into your hair as the both of you lie back down. She places a hand at the back of your head as you press your cheek against her collarbone, and all feels right in the world. The fire in your chest is finally extinguished and you can breathe again. 

“You don’t have to pretend around me, you know.” She murmurs. “You’re not invincible, Dom. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Old habits die hard. You know that better than anyone.

“I can easily say the same thing about you.”

She can’t help but chortle at that, and you can’t help but join her. “Then…” She tightens her arms around you, and you feel safe - so safe. You could fall asleep right then and there if you didn’t want to hear the rest of her sentence. “I guess the both of us have to do better at not pretending when we’re around each other.”

Her brother told you once that she’s his grounding force. She keeps him anchored to reality when he feels like he’s floating too far away, and to anyone else that might sound a little crazy, but to you it makes perfect sense because that’s exactly how she makes you feel. You don’t have hallucinations or episodes where you black out and become another person, but you understand what it’s like to feel disconnected from yourself sometimes. You can’t trust yourself because you still can’t believe that this is real, that things are actually good for once without a looming evil waiting to strike when the moment is right.

But she keeps you centred when you feel like you’re spinning out of control. She puts the brakes on when the world is moving too quickly. When that little voice inside your head tries to speak up and tell you that you don’t deserve to be here and things don’t deserve to be this good, she shows up and instantly douses the noise. In many ways, she’s your anchor too.

“I love you.” You murmur against her skin. “I…just need you to know that.”

She’s quiet, and for a second you think she might have fallen asleep, but then you hear her take a deep breath before nuzzling her cheek against your hair.

“I love you too,” She murmurs back, her voice gravelly and words dragging with fatigue. “And trust me when I say that I mean that with every fibre of my being, but can we please sleep now?”

“Mm, okay, but first-” You pull away from her for a second so you can look up and kiss her on the mouth. The both of you share a small bout of hushed laughter as she pulls you back into her arms, and you drop a kiss to her shoulder before sighing with relief and finally closing your eyes.

Things are good. They’re so good.

Almost too good.

But this is real. 

It has to be.

Right?