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Rose woke up with a start.
Consciousness chased away the vestiges of her dream, but as she blinked in the darkness, she felt an eerie shiver travel down her spine, as though there was a disturbance in the room that hadn't been there when she'd gone to sleep.
She tilted her head slowly, trying to minimize her movements when she caught a glimpse of a shadow by the window. Her heart instantly leapt in her chest even as she tried to control the pace of her breathing. She couldn't panic; she couldn't alert the presence that she was awake.
With slow movements, Rose reached for the taser she had slipped underneath her pillow when the figure moved.
Rose let out a shriek and threw a pillow toward the shadow, already scrambling to the other side of the king-sized bed. She didn't get very far when a bright light blinded her, and she heard his voice a second before she felt his grip.
"Rose! Rose, it's just me! It's Peter."
She blinked in the sudden light, the dark spots fading until she could see his tense face. She let out a gust of air, sagging in relief.
"Jesus fuck, Peter," she croaked, her voice weak from sleep and residual fear. Her body was still settling down from the fight or flight response. "You scared the shit out of me."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." He let go of her arms, dropping down to the side of her bed. He swallowed thickly before meeting her gaze again. "Are you ok?"
Now that she was getting her bearings and her heart was no longer bracing to leap out of her chest, Rose was able to look at Peter better. In the dim light of the bedside lamp, he looked unnaturally pale, the dark smudges under his eyes making him look gaunt.
She felt an ache in her chest at the sight, every instinct in her wanting to reach out and smooth away the crease between his brows. To slide her her thumbs on either corner of his lips and pull upward. It was a move she'd pulled on him a couple of times when they were living together in DC, when she could tell he was worried about her.
There were a rough few days when the weight of her grief threatened to sink her, and the only thing anchoring her to reality was him. But even after the funerals and after she'd shed all the tears she had in her body, he hovered, eyes always attentive.
"I'm fine," she told him once, when she could feel his eyes practically boring holes into her temple. She glanced up from her book and smiled at him.
"I know," he replied, shrugging nonchalantly, turning his sights back to the TV where a basketball game was playing. "Just felt like looking at you."
She snorted, putting her book aside and settling herself on his lap. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her hips. She took his face in her hands, tilting her own up to look him square in the eyes.
"Hmm then why do you look so serious?"
She scraped her fingers through his hair before sliding them gently down his jaw. She squinted her eyes and, with exaggerated effort, pulled up the corners of his lip with her thumb.
That had elicited a bark of laughter out of him and a warm flutter of affection in her stomach. She never particularly had a type, but as she looked into his warm brown eyes, at his sweet boyish smile, she thought that maybe her type was simply Peter Sutherland.
But that had been another lifetime ago.
Rose pushed aside the memory, pressing against the ache in her chest.
"Yeah, I'm fine," she uttered softly. "Are you?"
He nodded but said nothing else, his eyes tracing the lines of her face.
Well, it looked as though he was going to make her interrogate him. She didn't mind that Peter was in her room; in fact, she was relieved and comforted by his presence. She didn't have the desire nor will to dissect how much he could still affect her, how much safer she felt when she was with him than when she was without. It didn't make any sense since the only time she'd been around Peter, it's been in the middle of a life-threatening mission; it was certainly something she would have to broach with her therapist.
Or maybe the answer was simple and it was the fact that no one had ever fought for Rose the way Peter has. She knew in her bones that he would do absolutely anything to keep her from harm's way. He did commit treason for her after all.
But regardless of how she felt about him in her room, there was still the matter of why he was there. They had agreed to the separate hotel rooms with the adjoining door earlier that night, so what had led him here, to her room? She highly doubted he was looking for a booty call.
"Peter, not that I mind you being here, but…why are you here?"
He looked down at his lap again, his body shifting with a deep inhale. He rubbed a hand across his face. "Couldn't sleep."
Yeah, I gathered that, she wanted to say, but she held back the sarcastic retort. She couldn't bring herself to be wry with him when he was so ostensibly in distress.
Instead, she reached out and gently turned his head to face her. Tilting her head, she quietly implored him. "Tell me."
After a long pause, during which he seemed to drink her in, he spoke in a rasp. "You were gone. I lost you again, this time for good." He blinked a few times, as though still trying to wake himself from a living nightmare, and slumped closer to her. "You were gone, Rose. I held you, and I could feel your life—" he cut himself off, clenching his eyes closed before opening them to find her throat.
He reached up, his fingertips settling on the hollow base of her throat, before sliding them upward. His hand was cold against her warm skin, but she held still, savoring his touch. Her pulse fluttered, but this time, she didn't feel a shred of fear. It felt like an eternity before his fingertips rested on her carotid artery.
His voice dropped into a whisper, and Rose watched as the exhaustion began to take hold of his body.
"When I woke up, I had to make sure," he said, his throat bobbing. "I needed to know you were ok."
Rose felt hot prickles of tears threatening to spill out.
Ever since they'd been unceremoniously reunited a week prior, Rose could tell something had shifted in him. He was not the same man that she had left behind in New York. That man had been weary, bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders, but still resilient enough to face his fate head-on.
But the man before her was a shadow of the Peter she once knew. She could see threads of him, but something had happened in their time apart to have pulled him at the seams. His reaction to seeing her was less than favorable as he had stood in stunned silence for a long moment, looking at her as though he'd seen a ghost. But as sudden as a volcanic eruption, he had exploded, turning toward Mosely and Catherine.
She had never seen him seethe as he had that night. "What the fuck is she doing here? What the fuck are you two up to?"
"Watch your tone, Peter," Catherine had warned in that infuriatingly droll tone she used.
But Rose had the same questions herself.
It wasn't as though she had set out to see Peter. The only reason she was at that hotel was because she was scheduled to attend a conference for AdVerse. She had been stunned to see Mosely and Catherine on the other side of the door and an immediate sense of dread filled her before she caught sight of Peter.
She remembered their last conversation, how she'd been unable to speak, let alone grant his ridiculous request to forget he ever existed. Even so, she had no intention of seeking him out. She had no intention of making his life harder than it already was.
Then a glance at Mosely and Catherine assuaged some of the mystery, when she realized that they had orchestrated this elaborate reunion instead of doing the decent thing, and keeping her and Peter apprised of their plans.
But still, she hadn't been prepared for the shock of his outburst; she could scarcely utter a word. It was only when Peter looked dangerously close to knocking both of his superior officers on their asses that Rose found her voice.
"Peter!"
She rushed toward him and grabbed his arm, tugging him toward her while her heart stayed lodged in her throat. Like a flame doused, Peter instantly dropped his combat stance and whirled around to face her. The fervent anger in his eyes caused her to flinch and drop his arm. His eyes softened just a touch, but it had been jarring to see him so volatile.
The man before him looked familiar yet she could hardly recognize him. What happened to you, Peter? she had thought. Is this my fault?
She hadn't allowed herself to ruminate on that grim thought and had instead focused her attention on doing what she did best: getting answers.
Now, as she looked at his broken expression, Rose kept the tears at bay and held the hand that rested against her throat, letting her skin warm him. With her other hand, she tilted his head up to meet her eyes again. She leaned in close, letting her breath wash over him, letting him feel her heat with her thrumming pulse.
"I'm ok," she said softly, her voice cracking. "I'm here. We're here. Together."
On the last word, it was as though all the air left him, and he fully sagged into her. His forehead knocked lightly against hers, his eyes clenched shut.
"Rose."
There was so much anguish in that single word, in that single utterance, Rose felt as though she, too, could collapse under the weight of it. But she didn't.
She held him firmly against her, ready to take on his weight. That familiar fierce protectiveness washed over, and her mind raced as she worked out everything she had learned in the past week, everything she had planned with the team…and her own personal agenda.
She didn't have all the facts, but she had already figured it was going to be up to her and Peter to get him out of this entanglement. And she was done, done letting Peter be Night Action's mule.
But it was still two in the morning, and Peter looked as though he hadn't slept since New York.
"Do you want to stay here tonight?"
"I shouldn't," he said, but still made no move to pull away.
"Peter, you need to sleep. And you might actually get some if you know I'm here, safe with you."
He didn't reply for a long moment, simply remained leaning against her that Rose wondered if he'd already dozed off right there. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, he nodded against her.
She gently guided him to lean on her as she tugged on the blanket, laying it over them. Peter settled his arm around her, making sure to shift on the side of the bed that was closest to the door. She couldn't help the tender smile against his hair. Peter may have been scarred and maimed by his experiences, but that part of him hadn't changed. The part of him that would always instinctively move to protect her, like a muscle memory.
As though proving her point even further, Peter moved to straighten up. "I should do another sweep of our rooms be—"
She gripped his shoulders, exasperated even as her heart swelled with affection. "Did you already do a sweep when you woke up?"
His brows knitted. "Of course."
"And everything looked ok?"
"Yeah."
"Great, then you've done your Boy Scout duties successfully. Now, will you please just sleep with me? You're making me look desperate."
He cracked a smile, his eyes softening. Rose felt her breath catch in her throat at the sight. It was the first time he smiled since their reunion, and her chest ached with the realization that she had desperately missed that smile and how boyish he looked. Even with the darker hue under his eyes and tightness in his body she suspected would take time to ease, he was still the loveliest man she had seen.
"Can't have a lady looking desperate, can you?"
That elicited a muffled snort as he leaned them back against the pillows, his head resting on her shoulder.
"You couldn't ever look desperate," he mumbled, and Rose could tell that sleep was finally returning for him.
She dimmed the lamp until the room was dark, but left just enough light that silhouettes couldn't hide in the corners of the room—she didn't want to feel caught off-guard again. She settled against the bed and gently sifted her fingers through Peter's hair, feeling every subtle shift in his composure as his body gradually relaxed into a quiet slumber.
While she had worked to get Peter to rest, Rose's mind still moved as she formulated contingency plans for their mission. She didn't think Moseley and Catherine had ill intent—even though she had felt that way when she was initially ambushed—but she certainly wasn't going to bank on them to have her or Peter's best interest in mind. Rose had always made a point of finding her own way out of problems and this time, she was making sure Peter would make his way out with her.
She looked down at Peter's sleeping face, hoping he would sleep through the night without any more nightmares. She let her thumb gently stroke the circles under his eyes before resting it on his pulse under his jaw. She could feel his breath against her throat, feel his heart beat steadily against her body, but it was the delicate pulse under her thumb that felt stronger and more reassuring.
A grim thought cut through her mind, the thought of that pulse suddenly inert. And just like that she could feel the familiar panic building in her chest. She made herself catch the panic before it could race off to wreak havoc, and closed her eyes. She breathed in through her nose to the count of Peter's pulse before exhaling slowly. She continued the circuit a few times when a particularly loud snore interrupted her count.
She muffled her laughter as Peter's snores quieted to a low, steady rumbling. In its own way, it was oddly soothing and Rose could feel herself drifting off.
Eyes still closed, she pressed her lips against Peter's hair. "We'll be ok," she promised quietly.
And as though he heard her, he tightened his arm around her.