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Your eyelids fluttered as you awoke in the middle of the night to soft sobs coming from your husband. His back was turned to you as the both of you laid in bed, which was different from the cuddling position you two had fallen asleep in.
Most days he didn’t want you to see him in this pitiful state— that wasn’t what he was taught a man should do. Crying wasn’t a thing in the world he was raised into. He didn’t want an ounce of your pity. Tonight felt different. He wasn’t hiding away in the closet or the bathroom like usual after one of his nightmares. This was thought about.
You turned over, tapping his shoulder to let him know you’re awake. His eyes fell to you in miles of relief. He needed you. He needed your comfort. Your sweet nothings. He immediately cuddled your body up close to his, putting you onto his lap and digging his face into your chest. Not as a sign of lust, no, need of consolation.
This was the first time you’ve seen him cry like this. He always hid his breakdowns from you in fear you’d see him as a weak man. Sobs escaped his lips as neither of you exchanged a word. You placed a soft palm on the back of his head, gently rubbing back and forth. Your chest quickly began to get damp in his tears. You didn’t mind.
“I’m here,” Your voice came soft and soothing as he continued to hug onto you like a teddy bear and cry into your chest like a kid. “You’re okay. Whatever happened in your dream isn’t present.” You rested your cheek on the top of his head as his tears neither slowed down or quickened.
“I never fucking wanted to.” He choked in between sobs, referring to the flashback made into a nightmare in his head. You sigh. You knew what this was about.
Shepherd assigned him and his company to play two face on the 141. It broke him to complete the plan— the true betrayal part after befriending them and coming quite close. He was eager to complete this mission beforehand in hopes to receive good praise and experience. Oh, how it broke him to have to go through with it after becoming brothers with some of the task force members.
“You’re a good person.” You kissed the top of his head. “You didn’t know how good of a group of people these men were. You didn’t have a choice but to continue on with the plan.” He lifts his head after you say this.
His face was tired. Not visibly demented, but his eyes spoke a thousand words telling a story of a man who just wanted the guilt
to stop haunting him in the nights he was supposed to be at rest. Not only that — but the guilt of waking you up in the middle of the night and toppling all of his mental issues onto you.
It wasn’t greed in your opinion. All he wanted was your sweet nothings. To feel confirmation that he wasn’t the bad guy despite what they’re all saying about him. He prays. He holds the door open for people. He says his “please”s and “thank you”s. He holds respect to the ranks both below and above him.
So why does he not value the knowledge of knowing he has some good in him? Does other people’s false judgement of him cloud his self value over? Your inquisitive eyes study his dark and tired ones. All you wished for him was security. To know he’s a good person.
“I fucked them over, (name). I fucked them over after all they did was be brothers to me.” His eyes welled up in tears again as your hands palmed his cheeks, your thumbs rubbing away older tears.
“You did, yes, but you did it under the orders of a higher authority.” You watch as his eyes become indifferent. He wanted to believe you, he knew you were right. But he didn’t want to be tricked into belief just to be commanded to do something that further proves his suspicions.
“I still did it.” He says exhaustedly. Not to spite you, or make you stop comforting him, but he didn’t want to believe he was a good person after having to fight his old comrades.
Since Shepherd had contacted him, betrayal was inevitable for him as if it were fate. It took the unfortunate shape of a dagger and it dug deeper into his chest than it did to the good men he betrayed. Each time he tried to remove it, he bled out. He couldn’t do it himself.
“Did you do it by choice after working alongside them?” You ask rhetorically, softly, and carefully.
“No.” He says as almost immediately. You nodded and removed your hands from his face.
“Then it’s settled. You didn’t do it by choice; it’s not your fault.” You put a finger over his mouth, leaving no room for him to argue back. He slumped down into the bed.
You scooted over, laying by his side as he wraps a heavy arm around you. Relief was shared between the both of you. Graves looked over at you and studied your face as you began to relax back down.
“I couldn’t imagine my life without you.” He says softly, admiring you ever so gratefully. There wasn’t a smile on his face or a smirk, a look of aloofness instead vacated it. It was a statement. He really couldn’t; he loved you to bits and pieces.
“I know.” You chuckle, kissing his chest as he too chuckled at your joke. His tears were long gone and instead replaced by adoration.
It was an excellent thing your heart fits right in the palm of his hand.