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She had come home from the relentlessly overlit boredom that had been the catacombs, but Abbie couldn't escape the thoughts that she had been forced to deal with there. As if the last three years of her life as a Witness hadn't forced the same things of her, over and over again.
But the corners of her mind, rigidly kept in the dark before, were now lit up like the wasteland that had been her dwelling place for ten months.
Harsh, unforgiving light pulled everything forward, every day and every night. Every betrayal, every doubt, every loss.
From time to time, she had sat down behind a boulder in the catacombs. It wasn't exactly dark, but it wasn't directly lit up either. She had sat there, hugging her knees, and closed her eyes the hardest she could. For some seconds, she saw dark spots before her eyes. It was almost like darkness. Sometimes, she held her breath. She could almost fool herself into believing it was dark, if only for some blissful moments.
Her mind couldn't be kept in the dark. Whenever she tried to hold her breath and see how soon darkness could overcome her, Crane's voice was always there. Soothing her. Telling her that she was his brave Lieutenant and definitely not mad. Not mad.
You are not going crazy, Lieutenant.
His voice was warm and understanding. His voice was mischievous and challenging. His voice was angry and ready to go into debate over the matter.
He was always on her side, even when she wasn't. His voice had kept her mind in her body, much as her voice had led his spirit back to his body. She tried to tell him, but the right words failed her.
Back in her own world, not even real darkness offered the respite she had hoped for. Not even in the darkest hour in the middle of the night.
Her fingers wouldn't be still. Her thoughts wouldn't stop. She could sit in front of the chess board alone and nearly feel faint, as dark spots and that damn symbol from the catacombs danced in front of her eyes. She had forgot to breathe again.
Not mad, not mad, not mad.
Sooner or later, during these one sided sessions, Crane would join her. Often, he would just survey the board and start playing with her. Sometimes he just sat down with her in the silence and semi-darkness. And sometimes, to her dread, he would ask questions.
"What is that gesture you are making with your hand, Lieutenant?"
The question was asked in a low, calm voice. He had prepared it, she knew he had.
How long had he understood? How much?
She thought about saying some lie, knowing he'd let it rest for now. Knowing it would hurt him that she lied. Knowing that he wouldn't give up and would get it out of her, sooner or later.
It was as if she suddenly couldn't speak at all, be it truth or lie. Had she altogether forgot how to draw breath?
His hand landed on her left one; the one that wasn't drawing the symbol on the table. It felt like a shock - so real, still the shock of it being real - and her body instinctively drew breath.
And then the sob came.
"Lieutenant..."
His voice was as warm as she had imagined it in the catacombs. Only real, real, real.
"Crane..." she tried to say, her breaths being too fast and shallow. "Crane..." She fought so hard to hold back the tears. It wasn't working. Her right hand grabbed his.
"Crane... I'm going crazy..." she finally managed to say, despair written all over her face as tears began to roll from her eyes.
He didn't contradict her, didn't say anything in fact. He merely lifted her off her chair and placed her on his lap. And she finally sobbed her heart out against his heart. She finally accepted that reality and need, and nobody but him could guide her to it. Her breath went from frantic to even, her tears eventually dried on his night shirt.
There, in his embrace and with her face buried in his chest, if was finally dark. She could hide, protected by him. His large hands were stroking her back soothingly before he spoke.
"Where ever you are going, you are not going alone this time."
And so he sang to her in the dark, in a low baryton until she slept in his arms.