Work Text:
Linda lay awake in bed, looking up at the ceiling and listening to her husband's breaths next to her as he slept. She was glad he was sleeping; he needed the rest. He looked comfortable too now, resting lightly on his stomach, face tilted towards her, and relaxed. No anxiety or worry lining it. No, it was her turn to hold those expressions in the dark. These last few weeks had held... a lot for her to process.
A small movement in her peripheral vision caught her eye. Glancing over, she saw the crease forming between his brows again, something disturbing him as he slept. Sighing softly, she reached over, placing a hand on his shoulder. Nightmares as of late hadn’t been uncommon, which was why she worried about him resting. She couldn’t blame him though, could she, after everything? Normally, a gentle touch to his arm or back would be enough to settle him and he could relax again. It wasn’t working this time, in fact, it seemed to have made it worse. He pulled away from the touch, looking panicked.
Linda sat up, frowning. They were getting worse again, it seemed. This was how he’d reacted the first couple of times this had happened, but he’d started to calm down a little easier after a while. She had hoped he was recovering relatively quickly, but whatever progress he’d made seemed to be disappearing rapidly.
It took her a couple of tries to stop him writhing and crying out, but he finally jolted awake and sat up, golden eyes darting around in the dark.
“Linda?” he asked quickly. She reached over, taking his hand and placing her other one on his back. This was something she was used to, the way he’d ask to make sure she was there.
“Mhm, you’re alright. It’s just me. You’re at home and you’re safe,” she assured quietly, brushing her thumb over the back of his hand. He usually awoke disoriented when they were this bad, and she knew to gently remind him of his surroundings. Slowly, his breathing started to calm down, less panicked and hurried. He reached over, his free hand cupping his wife’s cheek, almost testing she was real. Linda gave him a soft smile, leaning into the touch and just giving him time.
“I didn’t mean to wake you up, I’m sorry,” he said, after another couple of moments. Linda actually let out a small laugh, playfully batting his hand away.
“Henry Stein, what did I tell you about apologizing to me?”
Henry couldn’t help but smile. Whether it was at her little remark, only half a joke, or merely at her own smile, he didn’t know.
“Ah- don’t?” He tried with a sheepish chuckle. “I know, I know. I’m s-” he cut himself off pointedly. Linda really did laugh this time, shaking her head and leaning back.
“You’re insufferable,” she teased, leaning back up against the bed frame. Henry smiled and followed suit. They may both have been exhausted, but this was one of the things he knew they had both missed the most. These little moments they had together every now and again. Calm or gently teasing, the latter usually coming from Linda, he had just missed spending time with his wife.
Silence fell for a little while, though neither of them moved to go back to sleep. That was common after this. Henry didn’t want to go back to sleep and revisit whatever had been playing through his mind, and Linda wasn’t going to go back to sleep until he did. They’d had the conversation enough times, with Henry trying to convince her he was alright and to go back to sleep, and Linda refusing. They usually ended up just lapsing into silence until one of them broke it. Often that person would be Henry, saying he was going to try and rest again, if only to get Linda to do the same.
This time, however, it was her that spoke up.
“Which was it this time?” she asked quietly. “The war or the studio?” Henry sighed quietly, looking away. He hated that question, but he never said anything about it. She had asked once, curious and wanting to help him more in any way he could, and he understood that. But once it became a regular thing, he realized it reminded him often of whatever he was thinking of, and he’d fall right back into memories.
“Studio,” he responded softly after a moment, tracing a finger over one of the black lines of ink still present under his skin. As much as he’d wished them to, they weren’t going away. He had changed there, and, as he was reminded far too often by that change, ink was permanent.
Linda didn’t like them. She hadn’t said that, but Henry could tell. Every time she’d look at him, he could see her eyes darting around his face, dancing to touch on each little line until they settled on his eyes. It seemed they were a reminder to her of what Henry had to go through while she wasn’t there. They were her reminder, the same way Henry’s nightmares were his.
Not saying anything, Linda nodded a little. Henry kept talking after a moment though. “Lin, can I ask you a question?” She looked over at him, curious and nodding again.
“Of course you can.”
“Why did you believe me?”
Pausing, Linda’s eyebrows furrowed as she thought. That wasn’t the question she’d expected. Not that she’d had one in mind, but this wasn’t the sort of thing she expected to be talking about at this time. There were a number of reasons, where would she even start? When Henry had returned with the living versions of his creations and looking half like one himself, she had accepted his story almost without question. It may not have been her working with Joey Drew daily, but she wasn't going to say there was anything he was incapable of. Except for real kindness and empathy, perhaps.
“Because you had no reason to lie,” she said simply. “Besides, I could see enough reason to believe you right in front of me. I saw the toons you brought with you, I saw- I saw what happened to you… It wasn’t like I was going to put it past Joey to do this to you either. I never did trust that man.” She sighed quietly, shaking her head.
Henry remained silent for a long time, processing what she’d said. Yes, it made sense, there was enough physical proof, he supposed, but that was what was different about Linda. She saw that and was able to accept this as reality. Things had changed and she was glad to change with them. She didn’t spend hours trying to get him to explain how it worked and what had happened, she didn’t ask him to recount his story straightaway, focusing on making sure everyone was as okay as they could be at that point. He appreciated her more than she could know. And she had helped them more than any of them, Henry or the toons, could ever explain.
“I’m glad I was able to come home to you after that,” he whispered truthfully. She’d been one of the few things that kept him going during that time. The idea that he might be able to come home to her, as well as the desire to protect the toons, and of course sheer stubbornness, had been what made it possible for him to come out of this… well, not unscathed but alive. He was alive. And that was all that mattered to Linda.
The worry that had overtaken her when he was gone for so long was unspeakable. There was no explanation that made sense for what had happened. Except for the one he provided her when he came back. In true Henry fashion, one of the first things he’d done was apologize. For what, she didn’t know and didn’t care. He was alive.
Linda frowned softly. “Of course you were. Like I’d have told you that you weren’t welcome after a traumatic event… Henry-”
He cut her off there. “I know, my love. I know. All I meant was it’s another thing I have to be grateful for,” he told her with a warm smile. “I love you, Linda. I hope you know that.” He opened his arms a little, the gesture an offer to hold her. One she gratefully accepted, leaning her head carefully up against his chest as he gently wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.
“Of course I do. And I love you even more,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Now, get some more rest.”
Henry silently agreed, letting his eyes flutter shut as well, his steady breaths and heartbeat creating the melody that ensured, for once, Linda fell asleep shortly before Henry. The toons still slept soundly a room away, oblivious to the last half hour. Somehow that was comforting; they were safe now. Whatever odd little family they’d become, not one of the toons, Henry, nor Linda could say a word against it, and none of them would want to.
"Family isn't always blood, it's the people in your life who want you in theirs: the ones who accept you for who you are, the ones who would do anything to see you smile and who love you no matter what.” Maya Angelou.