Manning Thorsen believes in (othala) wrote in repose, @ 2016-07-08 05:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | *log, iris morgenstern, manning thorsen |
Log: Iris and Manning Part I
Who: Iris and Manning
What: Iris has some nightmares
Where: Manning's home
When: Fuzzy time-line ish. After this and this but before this sequence of events.
Warnings/Rating: Triggery Iris stuff. Non-sexual nakedness.
It had been a quiet few days. Since her second visit to the police station, things had been… if not good, at least calm. They'd spent most of that first day with cartoons and sugary cereal, TJ and the dogs staying closeby, even Gertrude curling up on her lap and accepting warmth and petting in exchange for purrs. It had been almost peaceful, and that feeling had continued on, lingering within the walls of the house. She checked the forum sometimes, but Sam and Cris were still on their vacation, and she didn't talk with anyone else, not really. She and Manning went to see Joey a few times, but the lawyer hadn't called her yet, and everything else began to seem less… fraught. It was almost the same sort of quiet as before anyone from her family had arrived in town, and she found herself relaxing. Mostly she baked and watched TJ and did things around the house that were relaxingly domestic. She felt the constant blanket of anxiety begin to ease, her shoulders lowering from their familiar residence near her ears. She ate more, smiled more.
Several days of quiet meant that the dreams took her off-guard when they started up again. Nightmares were a common companion to her nights, but they always somehow managed to be unexpected, and all the worse because of it.
She woke less than an hour after drifting off to sleep, pajamas and sheets and blankets wrapped around her, feeling like restraints, feeling like they were holding her down, the heat of everything prickling sweat along her skin, breath stuck in her throat as she gave a strangled cry. It was enough to pull her back into consciousness, thrashing, trying to escape what was pressing her down, holding her prisoner.
Normally a fairly deep sleeper - once he was down, he was down and not coming up until his body willed wakefulness again - he slept lighter whenever he had a child in the house. Once it had been society's expectation that a wet nurse would take care of a crying child at night, or even the mother, but those days were gladly past as they should have been long ago.
It was the cry that woke him. It wasn't TJ's, which left only one other option as he stared up at his ceiling. Iris. With a grunt, he rose, tugged on the pants that he kept hanging off the corner of his bed for those late night visits that TJ sometimes made. Ris poked his head up from the foot of the bed - Njos was sleeping, as he usually did, with his daughter, and Manning held a hand out, palm flat. Settle, was the unspoken command. With a sigh, the dog did - head settling on his paws, his dark eyes watching his owner - as he cracked open the door and headed down the hallway.
He knocked once, lightly, hard enough to be heard inside the room but not hard enough to wake TJ or Njos before he cracked the door. "Iris?" A whisper.
Her heart was pounding loud enough to be thunder in her ears, drowning out almost everything else, making her almost miss the soft tap of Manning's knock at the door. She cringed away, both mentally and physically, guilt suffocating her like another blanket. She tried not to even move around much in the middle of the night for fear of waking him, but her nightmares didn't give a damn. She usually was able to keep her bad dreams clenched behind her teeth, silent when she woke. But now that wasn't an option. She could only hope that she hadn't woken TJ as well as him - waking him was bad enough.
She knew that he got up early for work, starting his rounds of local farmers early in the day when it was convenient for them. Knew that he worked all day and then came home to do even more. Cooking, caring for his daughter, more things for the veterinary business. She'd tried to help once she noticed, doing her best to take care of more things around the house while he was at work, but it didn't mean he should be woken by her own problems in the middle of the night.
"Fine…" she managed, trying to make her shaking voice carry to him on the other side of the door while at the same time not disturbing the quiet any more than she already had. "I'm sorry that I woke you… everything's fine…" She didn't sound fine, wavering a bit, but she tried.
Everything's fine. Like she hadn't just cried out. Fine, like he didn't know that was a word to placate when everything was not fine. But, he knew better than to say anything, to call her on her contradiction and stepped inside the dark room. He avoided the dresser - it wasn't his room but it was his house, and he knew where everything was - and stepped up to the side of the bed.
He knelt down, carpet under his knees and reached out to find the bulge of her knee under the covers. "You want to talk about it or get back to sleep?" He asked as he fought back the urge to yawn. Find out first, then maybe sleep. Getting back to sleep would be great - after making sure she'd be okay until the morning.
She didn't expect the door to open. The door never opened. And not just here - the door never opened after she had a nightmare. She held vague, time-fuzzy memories of early childhood, a bar of hallway light bisected by the backlit form of her mother, soft voice telling her that she was okay, that everything was fine, that it was just a dream. And since then… no one had come in to check when the dreams shoved her into terrified waking. To see the solid shape of him (too dark in the room for details) crossing toward her was a surprise. And one that should have made her heart pound even harder for the fear of someone there in her room.
But it didn't. The pound of heartbeat continued to slow as he knelt down, her eyes accustomed to the dark enough for her to pick out features - the wet glint of eyes, dark shadow of mouth, a gleam where his shoulder should be that betrayed the fact that he wasn't wearing a shirt.
For one almost-hysterical moment, she wondered if he had any real pajamas at all. Didn't he get cold in the night? She wore her long-sleeved, long-pants flannel pajamas even in the summer, most often accompanied by at least one, if not two, pairs of socks. But she'd encountered him twice now when sane people should be asleep, and both times he'd been without a shirt. She wondered when his birthday was - would he want pajamas?
Her distracted thoughts came back around at his question, and she wasn't so far in her own head that she couldn't hear the exhaustion in his voice. That guilt needled its way into her again, a sharp strike through her stomach, and she shook her head, rasp of hair against pillowcase. "No, just sleep. Really. Everything's fine. Please…"
If she would have asked - he would have told her that no, he didn't get cold in the middle of the night. That this was more than he usually wore when he slept - and the pants only came on for her and TJ. (But maybe not always her, a little, not so sleepy voice supplied in the back of his mind. Not after what Cris had told him. If only she'd -) He cut that thought off, head bobbing in acceptance of her words. The middle of the night wasn't time to push, regardless of the warble in her voice.
"Alright." A little squeeze, careful - she bruised so easily, and he stood again. "It's okay if everything isn't fine," he said quietly before bending over and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Get some sleep. I'll stay in the chair." If it'd been TJ, he would have climbed into bed until sleep claimed her again, but the bed (with Iris in it) offered too much temptation for him to get under the covers. (For now, that little voice clarified.)
The chair would be fine. Mouth stretching into a yawn as he stood, he shuffled his way into the wicker rocking chair in the corner. "Good night," he said as soon as he could without yawning again.
His hand was heavy on her knee, seeming warm even through the layers of pajamas and covers, even though she had a moment to disbelieve she could actually feel the heat of it. It made her blink into the darkness, eyes wide like that would allow her to see better, understand that warmth. The little squeeze didn't help any, and it didn't help when the touch disappeared again either. Wide eyes became a frown as she watched the shadow shape of him move away from the door, farther into the room.
The wicker rocking chair creaked when he sat down, little pops of the cane as his weight settled. Face turned toward that corner, Iris blinked some more as the sounds finally sunk in and she realized what he was doing. "You…" Her whisper was soft breath in the dark, confused. "It's fine… everything's alright. You don't…" She could feel her face flush in the dark, confusion shifting into guilty embarrassment. "It was just a dream…" Echo of her mother's voice. "It's fine. You don't have to stay." Especially not in the chair. She winced at the thought of him spending the night there, the way he would wake up with muscles twisted and knotted in the morning, pain when he needed to be able to work.
He heard it when confusion shifted into embarrassment, as it so often did with her. He gave a little shake of his head, the ends of his hair rasping over his bare shoulders. "Just until you get back to sleep," he clarified. Spending the night in the chair was no more desired by him than it was by her to have him there.
"A dream that makes you cry out," he pointed out. Dreams didn't do that, not unless they were the really good ones that left the dreamer sweaty and aroused. And those cries sounded entirely different than the one that Iris had issued that woke him; and she neither smelled of sweat, nor was her voice laden with arousal. "Iris," soft, warm, more throaty than he intended. He swallowed and tried again. "I don't mind."
Her teeth sunk into her lower lip as she frowned, certain that there should be something she could say that convince him that it was alright for him to go back to his bed. Though... maybe if he only stayed a little while. Until she got back to sleep? Her head moved just a little on the pillow as she nodded. "Alright. Just until then." She hoped it would be obvious enough so that he wouldn't spend any more time torturing himself in the rocking chair than he had to.
She started to settle again, to try to smooth the covers over her and almost frustrated with the way the fabric of the sheets tried to cling to her pajamas, still twisting everything just enough out of place for it to be a nuisance. But she went still at the quiet comment from him. "They happen..." There was an edge of defensiveness to her voice, though she was still quiet in the darkness. "They always will. It's fine." But the finewire of steel only lasted for those few words before she was shrinking again, softer. The sound of his voice snagged her attention, and she stared unseeing in his direction, wishing she could see his expression.
In the next moment, she felt warm again, heat on her face when she realized that in her mind she was making him sound... no. She didn't even finish the thought, shifting again in bed and trying to find a comfortable position, running through the beginning of a relaxation exercise that would hopefully help her fall asleep again. And it was a moment before her voice, even softer and sleepy again now that the panic of nightmares was fading, whispered: "Okay."
And while she was self-conscious about him being there in the room, she did fall back asleep.
Had she been able to see him, she would have seen his brows furrowing at the insistence that they always happened. He was no stranger to nightmares, not his own, not his loved ones', not his children's night terrors, but that didn't mean that he would prefer them for anyone.
For him, they often had to run their course until he'd dealt with what bothered him, or it lost its power over his sleeping world. Perhaps it would be the same for her. Whether it was or not, he remained as he said he would until her breath evened out and slowed in her sleep. Quietly, he crossed the room, feet silent on the carpet, and left the door cracked behind him so the latch wouldn't wake her. Yawning again, he headed for his own room and bed, thumbs already hooking on the elastic waist of his pants as he crossed the threshold.
Even with the calm days, her body and mind were still exhausted enough that once her body allowed itself to relax it didn't take long at all for her to slip back into sleep. But, like they had only been paused when she last woke, her nightmares were waiting there for her when she slipped back into dreaming.
It was the mob. The same way the egg hunt had started, with sounds in the distance of hunters. So many people, some of them calling out her name in familiar voices. Those who knew her well and knew what she'd done, come to take payment from her, in whatever form that would be. They were on her almost instantly, before she even had a chance to run away, hands like claws that ripped into her body, tearing painful pieces of her away, but there was always more they could take. A never-ending supply of pain they could inflict as a trade-off for all she'd caused. In her dream, she didn't weaken, didn't feel the desired grey of oblivion creep up on her. No, it was lucidly sharp through every cutting, clawing tear.
In her bed, her sleeping body was frozen, unable to lash out even, muscles lax as her mind whirled with the nightmare. Whimpers grated in the back of her throat, choked off with every phantom hand at her neck.
Back in his own room, stripped of the pants that he'd put on to check on Iris, Manning was sleeping without fit until he heard Ris whine. He came back awake with a start, every sense on alert, but there was nothing in the room to make the dog whine. Checking the clock (face turned around to face the wall) - it was barely an hour later. Grabbing his pants and tugging them on between steps from the bed to the door, he emerged from the room groggy.
In the hallway, the whimpers were clearer, and Ris pushed out from between his legs to go to Iris' room. With a sigh, Manning followed at a slightly slower pace. Fine his ass. Ris nosed the door open and headed in a few seconds before Manning made it there and by the time he did, the dog was already on the bed and licking Iris' face. A sight that might have made him laugh if it wasn't happening in the middle of the night. It still got a chortle though and a "Ris!" A short, sharp whisper, with no command to get down. Not yet.
The wet pressure on her face wasn't anything that her dreaming mind could translate, nothing that could be pulled in to add to the horror of the crowd. The shock of it unlocked her body, allowing one arm to flail limply towards her face while her mind groped its unsteady way back to consciousness. Sleep-drunk hand smacked the furred body over her, and a stronger sound was yanked out of her. Surprise and that same confusion, startled to find something there, and it was ingrained habit that made her freeze in the next second.
She held herself tensely still, eyes coming open and staring into the space of the room above her, still not knowing what it was that was there, but knowing enough to know that it was big. And that set her heart up into her throat, one of those same choked-off whimpers caught in her throat. At the next wet swipe, her distress came leaking out in a louder whimper.
Her whimper was met with a whine from Ris, and a louder whisper from Manning. "Iris, it's just Ris. Just me and Ris." No monster, unless you counted the big, furry dog with a tendency to lick a threat - and at the moment, she was more in danger of being licked into submission and drowned in dog drool. "Shh, Ris, enough," he added, trying not to laugh from Ris' attempts to help. One hand reached out again, finding her calf beneath the padding of comforter and sheet and the thick flannel pajama's that she wore.
His free hand went for Ris' collar, two fingers sinking between nylon and fur to pull the dog back a little, give Iris some breathing room until her body unlocked from its panicked state.
The relief at hearing Manning's voice, at the identification of one of the dogs, caught her breath in her throat. Her next inhale was broken and choppy, a sob that didn't quite voice itself. Awake enough now that she could move a little more, she turned her face to the side, away from the door and away from him, as if that angle could hide her from him. "I'm sorry…" Whispers that trembled, she shook her head.
The moment Ris was off the bed, she sat up, starting to turn away even more, planning to curl up, pull in on herself as she hid, presenting a smaller target and not letting him see whatever her face must look like in the shadowed room. But before she could, his hand was on her leg, weighting her down, keeping her anchored out of that curled-tight posture. It also kept her from turning away, looking up at him instead with wide, wet eyes. "...I'm sorry…"
That tone - and seeing her eyes glint in the darkness, knowing they must be wide for him to be able to make out even that much - made it much easier for him not to laugh. "Shh, it's all right. Another bad dream?" She might say she was fine again, but he knew it was not fine and that she wasn't okay. His hand drifted up to her knee before he sat down on the edge, Ris' head against his thigh. The dog might be off the bed, but he wasn't going far and he had a feeling that Ris wouldn't be going back to his bedroom with him tonight. Not with Iris in this state.
Swallowing down the urge to yawn, he leaned a little closer, hand transferring from her knee to the bed - next to her opposite hip. "You want to talk about it? Or try to get some more sleep?"
Ris was off the bed, but the dog didn't go far. Just far enough to allow Manning to sit.
"They're just dreams..." It started as a protest - just a dream, it was okay, he didn't have to do anything - but became more about her trying to convince herself. Her mother's voice through her own lips. Just a dream. No need to make such a big deal about it. And a shift in her thoughts - Just a dream, no need to get angry about it. No need to take anything that would make the world go cotton-fuzz of chemical sleep. A hitch in her throat at that thought... getting too upset, being given something to calm her. Something more than the medication she took every day. Something stronger. Something that Manning hadn't done, not yet, but so many others had.
"Just sleep. It's fine. I'm sorry I was loud, I... don't need to talk about it. It wasn't anything." He was so close though, closer than he had been even though he wasn't touching her anymore. His weight on the mattress created a valley that gravity wanted to pull her toward, a listing of her balance in his direction. She thought briefly of sitting with him on the steps to her apartment, thought of his arm around her. Thought of how maybe that would help the nightmares go away in the same way it had helped to ground her after that first interview with the police. And maybe she did lean toward him just a little bit more (just a little), but she stopped herself before she moved too close. "It's okay..."
He knew, in a distant, opaque sort of way, that others had drugged Iris to calm her down. It was nothing he'd done before - there had been years before without medications to calm anyone down and it seemed to him that if they'd survived that long without them, they should be used sparingly now. And he'd never had to resort to chemical means to get her to calm down.
He did, however, notice that slight lean of her body, the way her slighter weight shifted on the bed. It wasn't a question by any normal sense, but for her it was and he went without a word, sliding forward, twisting, until they were hip to hip and his arm slid around her flannel-covered shoulders, hand on her ribs and urging her into his side. "Nightmares. They're nightmares," he said quietly. If she didn't want to talk about them, he wouldn't force her, but he didn't want to hear her mother's words out of her mouth, dismissive and belittling. "C'mon. I'll stay here until you fall asleep again. I'll leave Ris though, to keep guard." A little hint of a smile, an uptick in his words that suggested light and warmth.
Iris wouldn't deny that she needed the help that medication gave her, but it was prescribed by a doctor that she'd finally come to trust. There were no injections, no unnamed pills slipped to her with a glass of water and a stern look and comment. When she took something, it was her own choice, supported by someone who cared about her health. In the dark and shadow of midnight nightmares, she was glad to not have a 'solution' pressed upon her with no option to say no.
She hadn't registered the fact that she was leaning toward him, hadn't thought it through or done it on purpose - at least not at first. But then he was the one moving, sliding closer to her, and he was warm. So warm. Even without a shirt, and she wasn't even sure how that was possible. But warm and solid, and he was drawing her closer and she didn't fight it, not at all, finding herself up leaning against his side. There was more of that scent of him than there was when his heavy work shirts covered him, and it was barely a decision for her to close her eyes and breathe in. "Just dreams..." It was a whisper that slipped out from her, one she couldn't stop.
Being able to lean against his side, she found it more calming and more comforting than she'd even expected, and she went more relaxed against him, heavier. "You don't need to. It's fine..." Eyes blinking open again for a moment, she stared at the attentive shape of the dog sitting next to the bed, watching them in the dim light. "It's fine. I promise..." She didn't know if it was a promise she could keep - sometimes her dreams would keep her awake all night until she just gave up and stayed up to see the sun rise. But she could try.
Just dreams didn't leave a person crying out and whimpering in bed, but given her insistence, he didn't point that out again. Now wasn't the time. "I know I don't need to, but I want to," he murmured, the sound rumbling around in his chest as she relaxed more against him. He'd stay - just for a little bit, enough to help her get back to sleep before he returned to his own bed.
"It'll make me feel better," he added, truthfully. "I'll go if you want me to." But only if she wanted him to. Otherwise - she felt far too good against his side, sleep warmed and relaxed, the scent of the shampoo she used clinging to the light strands of her hair. "I don't mind," he murmured.
They were sitting up, not even resting back against the headboard of the bed, but Iris could feel herself starting to drift off again. While the nightmares kept pulling her out of sleep, it was still the middle of the night, still at the point in her sleep cycle that being awake was a groggy sort of struggle. And curling into Manning's body was just too easy, especially when she was too tired to be as embarrassed about it as she should have been.
"You don't have to. Go or stay." Her words had slipped down into sleepy murmurs, her face turning toward his chest. "Whatever you want…" She wasn't thinking about what she was saying. Her heart had stopped racing moments earlier and now she was just tired again. Tired and quickly dropping off again, limp and loose and staying upright only because of his body's support.
"All right," he quietly agreed. Staying it was, as her body grew heavier against his own. Without saying anything, he tilted both of them back against her pillow - his head against the headboard, hers against his shoulder. The bed was comfortable, and it might have lured him back to sleep if it hadn't been eager to return to his own. "Just until you go back to sleep," he murmured, softer now, not wanting to stir her out of the sleep she seemed to be sliding back into.
His free hand slipped down, fingers pushing through the thick fur covering Ris' head - a movement that could keep him awake as she drifted off. Once he was sure she was out, he very carefully extracted his arm from her, fingers curving around the back of her skull to lower her head to her pillow. "Stay," he said quietly to Ris, the dog settling down on the floor next to them, alert, dark eyes on the bed where Iris was while Manning slipped out of the room and down the hallway to his own room, fingers crossed that Iris would have calm sleep for the rest of the night.
"Mm." The sound was a vague affirmative, a soft vibration against his chest before her next breath. Just that and not much else, and then she was asleep.
She stayed still, sleep pulling her ever farther downward, while Manning was still in the room. She didn't stir when he moved, when she was eased down to the mattress, head placed carefully on the pillow. She didn't wake at all at the sound of his soft whisper to Ris, and only moved just enough to curl closer to where Manning's warmth lingered in the covers. The time passed quietly, the slow slip in the middle of the night, and things were silent in the house for hopeful degrees of the minute hand.
But it was the sort of night where the peace wouldn't last, and after a bit, Iris stirred under the covers with a frown and a soft sound. It was enough to bring Ris' head up, but after a moment when nothing happened, he relaxed again. But then, it happened again - a sleepy jerk of movement, another sound, negative in every way. And another - this one sounding hurt. Injured. Quiet enough not to reach Manning's room, but each sound was a little more desperate than the last, until finally the dream was enough to create a soft 'no...'. And then, pleading, 'please, no...'
And while it wasn't quite loud enough to reach Manning's ears, where he'd fallen into his own sleep, it was loud enough to reach Ris' ears. Sitting up, he gave a low rumbling bark, a preamble for more if she continued - and that woke him. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he blinked sleepily up at the dark ceiling and groaned. It wasn't Njos, who barked in sets of three, and even if Ris had done the same, they had different tones, enough for Manning to tell the difference.
Ignoring the alarm clock and too tired to remember his pants, he went straight for Iris, nothing else said as he stepped over her furry guardian, pulled her blankets back, yawned, looped one arm behind her back and the other under her knees and lifted her free. If her dreams were going to be this bad - well - better that she be closer.
By the time Manning reached her door, Iris was tossing more, Ris watching her intently as the sounds from her throat continued to form themselves into words. Ris' bark hadn't woken her, trapped in a dream that was worse than the previous ones. In her mind, it was no longer the mob hunting her, no longer the main in the trailer. It was a more familiar face from her past. But rolled together with the night of the egg hunt, he was hunting not only her, but Sam.
"No... Ian..." The words came clearer though she was still asleep, just before Manning pulled the covers back, and when he did, with his touch (careful though it was) she flailed out at him, sleep heavy arm and kick of leg. She wasn't coordinated enough to make real contact, and not strong enough to do enough damage for any lucky slap of her hand. "No!" Still asleep, her body tried to get away as a sudden sob caught in her throat. "Not Sam... please."
Before he lifted her from the bed - she was going to startle, especially if she was already flailing - he said her name, loudly, ignoring the name that had fallen from her lips. She wasn't calling him that, but if he was involved, it was only further evidence that she wasn't only dreaming.
"No..." One last protest and flail before Manning's loud statement of her name, wakefulness coming on sudden and accompanied by a gasp. Her entire body jerked as she woke, a strangled little cry of surprise escaping. "No!" Awake but not quite aware, she pushed at him for just a second before freezing, completely still to the point of not even breathing, eyes wide and the thundering of her heart able to be felt from outside her chest, through her back.
Though she was trying to stay still, to not breathe, her lungs began to protest after a short moment, and reluctant breaths started to sneak through, quiet choking sounds as she tried to stay silent. She couldn't identify where she was, what was going on, the dream clinging to her mind so that the arms holding her could have been anyone. And though it was so obvious how frightened she was, any fight had been lost after those first few seconds.
He was right on one point, but the push she had given hadn't been expected and the attempt was stronger than he would have expected out of her normally. Good to know that she had some strength in those bird-thin arms of hers.
But her eyes went wide and then came that noise - higher than he would have liked - of her sucking in breaths through a tight throat and tighter chest. "Iris." Again. But there was no question of who that voice belonged to and he waited for some of that terror to eke from her muscles before his arm moved out from under her legs and around her back - where he could feel her heartbeat with both hands. A hug, comfort offered, no questions. He'd get her up in a minute.
The second time he said her name, she was awake enough to place the voice - familiar in a good way, instead of the one that haunted her dreams - and with the identification of who was right there, the tense fear rushed out of her body, leaving shocky relief in its wake. She wasn't being lifted then, but gathered close, the rest of the room and house slotting into place in her awareness, revealing where she was, that she'd been pulled from the dream into something safe. That no one else was there, either hurting or being hurt.
She stopped fighting against him, instead crumpling in on herself as the shaking started, tears that couldn't quite escape her throat. She still gasped for breath, but it at least came now instead of being trapped in her lungs by stubborn force. She went easily where his arms guided, tucked small to start, but then reaching out (so careful, but needing more) to wrap her own arms around him, clinging while she cried quietly and her body shook with tremors.
It took too long - longer than it should have - for her to calm again. But eventually she did, going silent and still against his chest. Another few minutes passed, but she eventually became aware that the chest she was huddled against, wrapped around, was bare and now damp with her tears. Trying to pretend like she hadn't just cried all over him, she slowly drew her arms back and started to lean away. "I'm sorry…" It was dark, but she still didn't attempt to look at him, gaze averted into the shadows. "I'm so sorry…"
If it was too long in her mind - it wasn't in his. However long she needed was fine and he stood there, his arms around her, hers finally around him, until the tears stopped. "Stop, it's fine," he murmured as she began to draw away. Tears weren't going to hurt him and he had a three year old - much worse had been done to him in TJ's earlier years - not to mention all the things he'd had on him from the line of children before her.
"It's fine," he repeated as his hands came up, thumbs stroking away the wetness on her cheeks. "I promise they won't melt me." he added with a grin in the dark. Now, he could ask her if she wanted to sleep somewhere else - but he knew what the answer would likely be. More objections about how they were only dreams, she was fine, etc and he knew better. "C'mon," was all he said as he gathered her back up again, one arm behind her back, the other behind her knees, fingers tight against her skin so she wouldn't fall, and up she went against his bare, now damp chest. "This is the only way either one of us is going to get any more sleep tonight."
Yeah, he was fairly sure of that as he carried her out of the room and down the hallway, Ris trailing a few feet behind.
She shook her head at his first reassurance, knowing that he could say it was fine, but knowing that waking him up yet again wasn't. Being such trouble wasn't. Bringing this into his home wasn't. The shake of her head was sharp, angry at herself as she started to reach up to wipe at her face, but his hands were there first, tilting her face, swiping over her cheeks. She froze, eyes angling up even though he was still just a dim shape in the dark, startled at the sudden and easy intimacy of that contact. Her breath caught in a different way for that moment.
But then he was moving, gathering and lifting her, and she lifted one hand quickly, reaching up to cling to his shoulder, up toward the back of his neck. She gave a quiet sound of surprise, not expecting him to lift her (having still been trapped in sleep when he'd gathered her close the first time). "What-?" Her feet dangled loosely as they moved, and there was such a long list of arguments in her mind about why he shouldn't be carrying her someplace that she couldn't pick just one reason to give, her words tripping themselves.
"Where are…" Her question stopped at his words, as he moved into the hallway, and her first thought was that he was taking her to the couch, farther away from both his and TJ's rooms. Her next thought was that the couch would still be too close - that he was going to insist on her going back to the apartment above the bakery. And so: "I can go. I'll go. You don't have to… carry me." She didn't want to be dumped out on the porch; her shoes were by the door, if he set her down, she could put them on and walk. Ris followed along, like he was going to make sure that his master got rid of the trouble, made it so that the house was peaceful again. That, added on everything else, made the tears press hot at her eyes again. "I can walk. You just had to say something. I'm… not good at realizing…" When it was time for her to go. That was the end of her thought, but her throat hurt with the words, tension and upset and pain in the words. The hand that was holding onto him moved, pushing at his chest, the rest of her body trying to twist just enough to get him to set her down. "Put me down… I know the way."
Too tired to really notice her rising distress, his tone was far too warm for someone about to dump her on the couch, or worse, the porch. "Do you?" She had to know which room was his, of course, but to his knowledge, she'd never been inside as if there were some invisible force field that always kept her on the side of propriety and the doorway.
He did, however, notice that her hand was pushing at him, not holding tight as it had been and on the threshold of his bedroom, he set her down, hands set mildly on her hips, her back to his chest. Continuing on was an option, but if she truly wanted down - he wouldn't stop her. Nor would he refrain from bumping into her back - carefully, urging her forward bodily. "Go where? Back to sleep? Yes." The last word hissed out of him, not sinister but pleased, as his arm stretched over her shoulder and he pointed to his own mussed bed. Plenty big enough for the two of them, though he had every intention of keeping her close so they might both get a good night's sleep. "Right there."
Her feet touched down and it took a moment for her to be certain of her balance, but in that moment, his hands moved to hold her. She often felt small next to him, but never more than when she noticed the small comparisons - this time, the way his hands fit around the sharp curves of her hipbones. She could feel the warmth of his palms, but also the way his fingers pressed close to each other, low on her stomach. It made her swallow hard as she did her best to distract herself from counting every separate fingertip's press.
She turned around to face him, somehow still thinking he wanted her to go, even though he hadn't made a move toward living room or front door, confused by creeping exhaustion and the fact that he was blocking the doorway. It didn't help that he was right there, the height difference causing her to need to look up to see him. His arm was still pointed toward his own bed, her shoulder brushing it as she turned, frown on her face. "Yes, that's your bed." She felt like there was something that both of them were missing - maybe something different for each of them, the late hour muddling their minds. But it was his bed, and she would let him sleep in it... if he would just let her get by so that she could leave him in peace.
But her worry, her thoughts, were all derailed as she looked at him in the slightly brighter light of the hallway. It wasn't much, but it was enough... to see that he wasn't wearing anything. More than just the shirtlessness that she'd already been distracted by, there was no horizon of elastic at his hips, no soft plaid of pajama pants. Only the reflection of soft light on skin, shadows that did little for modesty.
"Oh!" It was more shocked breath than word, and she shut her eyes quickly as she turned away again, his chest against her back, feeling the heat of her blush burn every other concern away. "You..." Nightmares almost forgotten at the remembered image of him, mind quiet enough to hear that so-quiet traitor in her thoughts say that she needed to turn around and look again. "Your pajamas..." she finally managed.
"Yes." Another low hiss of sound. It was his bed. A bed he wanted to get back into and sleep in until morning's light. "You sleep better if someone's with you," he said simply and once her back was to him, once she wasn't protesting anymore, he bent down and picked her up again because she wasn't moving forward either and they were so close. So close to sleep and comfort- "My bed's bigger." Not that they were going to be making use of all the space.
"I don't wear them." Nothing at all about it - everyone had their preferences for sleep and he preferred to be as naked as the day he was born. The pants he'd worn earlier were still by the side of the bed in case TJ needed him, but like they were missing from his hips, he was also missing the way she was blushing about his current state, with the warmth of her in his arms no greater an indicator.
Ris followed him inside and dutifully took up his spot at the foot of the bed, one half of the French doors hanging open as he set her down - mindfully gently, on top of the thick comforter. Another time, when he was more awake and less tired, he would have waited, explained more, walked around the bed to get on it - but he was neither, and so he climbed up on the bed, stepped over her, shoved the comforter and sheets down enough for them to both get under them, and pulled them back up to mid waist. "Get comfortable. You can apologize in the morning after you eat breakfast." Because he didn't miss how much of his hands had spanned her hips, or the way her bones had fit into his palms.
She felt like she should be protesting - his words, the situation, the fact that she was fine. But There was only the blush on her cheeks (down her neck, across her chest, invisible in the light of too-late) and those insidious thoughts (why did they sound like Sam sometimes?) that told her to step close, to look, maybe to touch.
Before she could do anything (thankfully? fortunately?), she was being lifted again and taken across the room. It was maybe less startling than the first time, but still unneeded (in her opinion). Especially when she was suddenly being lowered onto the bed. It was somehow a surprise to her at how comfortable the bed was, perfect mattress, the fluff of comforters around them, the smell of sheets several days out from laundry day, warmth and him. For the first seconds, she wanted to turn her head, bury her face in the pillow while she breathed everything in. And she did - subtly, and not as much as she maybe wanted to - but a little bit.
She was glad for the bit of relaxation that brought, the little bit of peace and easing of dreams' horrors. But it was almost erased when he stepped on the bed itself, stepping over her. She couldn't keep her eyes from following him, very aware (very, especially from her particular angle) that no, he didn't wear pajamas. It was easier once he eased himself under the covers, even though it put him closer to her again. She moved carefully in the sheets, creating a very exact space between them, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, but not so close that there would be much danger of them touching each other in what was left of the night. If she was going to be invading his personal space (his bed), then she wanted to make her impact as small as possible on him.
And so, even with the weight of the covers and exhaustion starting to pull her down, she had to check again. "You're sure... this is okay?" Her voice was already softer though, head on the pillow and hair fanned there just a bit. Eyes blinking slower as she sighed.
Manning gave her just enough time to manage that very exact space between them before he crossed it, rolling up onto his side and tugging her in so close that it wasn't his warmth and hers, but theirs. His fingers inched over her side (over her pajamas though his fingers longed to be under) until it wasn't possible for them to be any closer unless he flipped over and laid her across half his body.
This was doable. It was okay. It was good to have the softer, smaller, comma of her body against his and he didn't stop to think about about it before his nose tucked into her hair and he got to enjoy the scent of her mixed with all the comforts of her in his bed. "Yes," he rumbled, low like gentle thunder as he uncurled a little and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. His leg inched towards hers, ankle finally hooking around until they were touching everywhere from head to heel, as if he could somehow impress the knowledge into her skin that nothing could touch her without going through him first.
"Tell your dreams they can fuck off or go through me first." Either way, he was close enough now to get them stopped before she went frozen and still, before they had a grasp on her that left her gasping and tearful in the night.
And then, because he had to, "You okay like this?"
The sound she made could only be described as a squeak - startled when he suddenly erased that careful space between them. She hadn't thought that he'd want to be right there - so close… And it was so warm being next to him like this. But not too warm - she was rarely too warm. Being made into the little spoon almost instantly calmed her, the tension melting with the warmth between them. And she knew, in that loud, logical part of her mind, that she shouldn't be there. That she was going to cause a problem by being there. But it was late, and she was tired, and the bed was so nice…
And the press of him along her back, head to foot. It seemed comfortable and right to be there. At least it did in the middle of the night. Her body loosened, her mind quieted, and she pressed back just a bit against him. She couldn't remember (though she couldn't ponder it too much as sleep crept in) ever feeling quite like this before. Not with anyone else. His sleepy threat earned an exhale of a laugh, and his question a soft "mm" of agreement.
Sleep - dreamless sleep - was so close. Close enough that she no longer worried about where she was, or thought about how it would be in the morning. Or even the fact that he was pajama-less behind her. Strong arm around her, solid wall of body at her back, his breath soft in her hair, she finally, finally felt herself relax.
She wasn't pushing away, but relaxing, her muscles going lax against his and Manning knew the answer before she gave that little "mm" of agreement. Iris was okay and this was better than good.
And in the morning he'd owe her an apology for dragging her out of bed without asking her permission - he would, but right now he wasn't feeling guilty at all as they settled together. His eyes closed, but he forced them open again, waiting for her breathing to even out, for that slight movement of her inhalations against his chest to show that she was heading comfortably towards sleep before he let them close again and remain that way.