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Summary
For a moment they just sat, holding the painful memory between the two of them. Baran breathed slow and purposeful, measured, practiced. Trinity felt a swell of pride. She was always impressed at her partner's ability to sit with her trauma, to keep the panic from taking the ground out from under her. Trinity was constantly taking notes.
After a moment of composing herself, Baran turned fully to face Trinity, bringing her legs up onto the couch pretzel-style to mirror Trinity's posture. She lifted a hand to cup the younger woman's cheek, gently brushing a thumb over her cheekbone.
"Sheereen-am, why are you awake? Did you have a nightmare? A flashback?"
OR
Trinity and Baran can't sleep. Together they process some trauma.