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Phil woke up in a chokehold.
It wasn’t the first time it had happened. Or even the third. In truth, Phil had grown depressingly used to being yanked out of sleep by his husband’s PTSD. It had been six months since Nero had been killed, and yet most nights, Chris’ brain sent him right back to the Romulan’s ship.
Still, violent episodes were uncommon for Chris. His typical nightmares usually woke Phil with either screams or sobs. Sometimes Phil was able to soothe Chris back to sleep, other nights they continued until Chris woke on his own. But when Chris found himself in a half-awake PTSD nightmare, Phil usually had to force him to wake him up. That tended to be deeply unpleasant for both of them, so Phil saved it only as a last resort.
“Chris,” he tried. The hold wasn’t too tight, luckily for Phil, but it still wasn’t easy for him to get words out. “It’s Phil. Please let me go.”
But the arm around Phil’s neck only tightened. Despite Chris’ impaired strength, his body still knew the best way to implement a chokehold and he did it well. “Fuck you,” Chris snarled. “I’m not letting you hurt me again.”
Phil sighed internally. With a trained hand, he grabbed Chris’ arm and pulled himself free of the hold. Then, he slipped out of bed, hoping that putting distance between them might help to break Chris out of his panic. His hand found the light controls on the wall and he slid the dimmer switch about a third of the way up.
But Chris, still lost in his head, tried to pursue Phil, forgetting that he couldn’t stand on his own. He tumbled forward, off the mattress, and Phil was too far away to catch him. Chris yelped as he landed in a tangled heap on the floor.
“Shit,” Phil muttered. His heart pounded and all he wanted to do was rush over to Chris and cradle him in his arms, but he forced himself to slow his approach. “Chris?”
Some of the fog in Chris’ eyes seemed to clear as he raised his head. “Phil?” he murmured.
Phil crouched down to Chris' level. “Yes, love, it’s Phil. You’re safe.” Chris blinked a few times and looked around. “We’re at home in San Francisco. You had a nightmare and fell out of bed.”
Chris turned to look at the bed behind him, then nodded slowly. He ran a shaking hand over the edge of the mattress and looked back at Phil. “I hurt you?”
Phil knelt by Chris’ side and swallowed hard. “No,” he lied.
Chris’ face crumpled. Phil had never been a good liar. “I'm sorry.” Phil could see in his posture that he was already starting to spiral from anger and shame. He always did after a bad episode.
“I know you didn’t mean to.” Phil reached for Chris’ hand. “It’s not your fault.”
Chris pulled his hand away and turned away from Phil. The low light reflected tears gathering in his eyes as he swallowed hard. “You should go.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going anywhere. Except to bed.” He reached out for Chris’ hand again and this time, his husband didn’t withdraw. “Come on, love.”
Chris’ body was as limp as a ragdoll as Phil helped him back into their bed. Phil arranged Chris’ limbs in a comfortable position and then pulled the comforter over him. He crossed the room to turn off the lights and then climbed beside Chris on the bed.
For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was of Phil and Chris’ breathing. Phil could almost hear Chris’ thoughts of guilt and self-loathing. He always breathed the same way when he was trying not to cry.
Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “You know that, right?”
He could feel Chris’ body stiffen. After another long moment, he broke the silence. “I don’t,” he admitted. “I don’t know if I believe in myself anymore.”
It was Phil’s turn to swallow down tears now. He wanted to scream at the universe for being so damn unfair. Instead, he reached his hand across the mattress and found Chris’ in the dark. “That’s okay.” He fought to keep his voice steady. “I’ll believe for you.”
“How can you say that?” Chris’ hand was cold and limp. “What if I don’t get better?”
“Then I’ll still be here,” Phil replied. “I’m not going anywhere, love.”