Work Text:
Things were never quiet with Simon around.
Not that he was always talkative. Sure, he could be, like when she and he were having debates, which could pop up anytime when Simon was feeling defiant, or Athena was feeling stubborn, or there was a new point of philosophical interest that had taken both of their minds. And he was quick to talk anyone down when there was a wrongdoing, or something he disagreed with. But left to his own devices, Simon seemed content to spend hours at a time in relative silence. Sometimes meditating in the dark. Sometimes grooming Taka. Sometimes reading, or spacing out, or relearning the iaido kata that he'd barely been allowed to practice in his time behind bars. But things were never silent even then. Not to Athena, anyway.
Every fiber of his being was full of the same sort of sadness—the same sort of trauma—that had haunted her dreams since that horrible day in court in which he'd given his life in place of hers. She'd been just a child, then, losing the thing that felt closest to family that she had left. She was older now, with better coping mechanisms and a better vocabulary. And he was—
Everything.
Her first crush. Her erstwhile family. Her saviour and that whom she herself had saved. And above all else, he was loud, his heart screaming in ways that only she could hear.
She couldn't be his therapist.
She was too close to the issue, too close to the patient.
To be the one therapizing him would nearly be as bad as him therapizing himself. And while there were coping mechanisms that worked better with a partner, having someone on the outside able to objectively listen was important.
But she could research those who specialized in the sorts of trauma that a wrongly-convicted ex-convict was likely to have. She could reach out to her contacts for advice, and potentially find a few good referrals. And she could help guide him in a healthier direction.
If only Simon would stop screaming for long enough to listen.
Simon would only go to therapy if she did too.
Not as in couples or family therapy—that wasn't what they needed. Not now, anyway. But two sessions, ideally concurrently at the same location, so both could provide irrefutable evidence to the other that they were following through with the agreement.
It had meant extra work, finding an office set up in such a way as to support them and with qualified individuals whose personalities and expertise seemed a decent fit for their needs. But eventually, after what felt like aeons of spending her time around various cases researching various therapists in the greater area, she found one that they both agreed to try.
She hadn't thought she'd needed it.
She'd been through plenty of therapy after her mother died, after all. To help with the grief. To help with speech and expression. To find coping mechanisms that would let her be functional despite her super-sensitive hearing.
It wasn't until a few sessions in, when questions about focussing inward had hit a little too close to home, that she realized that her heart had been screaming all that time, too.
Their first kiss came a few hours after a joint weekly therapy session; one or the other of their therapists reminding them that they had a lot to talk about with each other about the years they'd spent living to protect one another.
They'd both been crying as the conversation continued, topics ranging to the trauma they shared from that first night, to how they both felt so hopelessly out of time, to where their traumas overlapped, and if anything happened to the other....
It had been messy, and probably ill-advised, and another subject that was thoroughly dissected in their therapy sessions for weeks to come.
It was sometime later that they first shared a bed, as they experimented with intimacy on a slower, more controlled scale.
Simon admitted that he was nowhere near ready to sleep with her in the other sense—still trying to untangle feelings of love and devotion, partner and daimyo.
Athena wasn't ready for it either, still afraid of how loud their hearts might be in that situation, let alone her own issues of emotional untangling.
There had been a few more kisses, a few hugs, a few overtures leading toward a path that could lead to something wonderful or be allowed to fail gracefully. But this?
This still felt larger than it had any right to.
Sharing a bed had never come easy for Athena. The presence of someone else had always been overwhelming, making sleep near impossible on any shared hotel bed or when crammed into a room for the very occasional sleepover. But with Simon, somehow things just felt natural.
It was a luxury to be able to run her hand through his hair and help him gently plait it for the night.
It was a joy to feel him bring her hand to his lips, giving it a kiss good night, and murmuring a promise that he'd still be there when she awoke in the morning.
It was something beyond any word she had, witnessing the way he drifted off to sleep, peaceful and blissful, as though her very presence was keeping the nightmares at bay.
It was only when she closed her eyes that she realized: outside of the gentle sound of his breath, and a gentle lilt of contentment, the room was silent.
Perhaps they still had a long way to go to figure out intimacy, and what, precisely, they were seeking from each other. But if it felt this good to be lying side by side, well, Athena could bask in this sort of pleasant silence for as long as it took to puzzle out the rest.