Insomnia by Stablergirl
Summary: Jim's dreams push him toward his fate.
Categories: Jim and Pam, Episode Related, Alternate Universe Characters: Jim, Jim/Karen, Jim/Pam
Genres: Angst, Dream/Fantasy, Inner Monologue, Romance
Warnings: No Warnings Apply
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 1 Completed: Yes Word count: 5482 Read: 4039 Published: September 24, 2007 Updated: September 24, 2007
Story Notes:

This is an AU and a post-ep for "The Negotiation".  Spoilers up until then.  It's a bit of a strange kind of mood piece, maybe?  Or just...I don't even really know what to call it.  Just give it a chance, and know that I acknowledge the strangeness ;-)  Embrace it, guys.  Go with the flow.  And keep reading because I promise it works itself out in the end.  Disclaimer: Don't own the show or the characters.

THANK YOU to Uncgirl and Brokenloon for suffering through the journey of this story with me.  ::hands them each a beer::

1. All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream... by Stablergirl

All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream... by Stablergirl
Author's Notes:
Enjoy?  Yes.  Enjoy.

Jim was having dreams.

Intense and uncomfortable kinds of nightmares that were pretty unlike anything he’d ever dreamed before. They were brief, unintelligible, thematic, symbolic jumbles that still somehow left him with a sweat slicked forehead and wide, unsure eyes. Like gunshots, they were quick but fatal to his sleep patterns, stealing hours of rest from his body and his mind. It was weird because in his experience, in the past, his nightmares were really obvious. Like showing up for an interview naked, or almost getting eaten by some huge rattle snake or something. But these dreams were not like that. They were bizarre…intangible…confusing.

The sequences of events sometimes changed, the setting shifted, his wardrobe fluctuated between casual and business attire…but then there were some things that were annoyingly the same every time. There were some phrases, and some people, who would just not leave his subconscious alone. No matter how much he ignored them during the day.

Jim was having dreams.

And he really wanted them to stop.

******************************************************************************************

“Hi,” he muttered, slinging his coat over the hook on the coat rack. Pam looked up from reception and smiled.

“Morning.” Her hair was in a ponytail…he tipped his head and grinned at her.

“Nice hair,” he muttered. She nodded, pressing her lips together.

“Thanks.”

His desk chair squeaked when he sat down and the screen saver on his computer glowed at him, one word floating in the black abyss of his monitor, bumping against the corners, trapped.

“EIGHT”

Eight? He glanced at Dwight and frowned, moving his mouse so that his desktop would appear, and it did, just as usual. He shook his head and figured it was some kind of prank that would reveal itself as the day wore on.

His arms slid out of his suit coat easily and he draped it across the back of his chair, standing to make his way to the kitchen for his daily cup of coffee. And god did he need coffee. He’d been so tired lately…so completely just out of it. He reached out for the pot but froze when the sound of…something…floated to his ears. Crying? He tipped his head and listened harder. It sounded like… he thought it sounded like a baby crying. Forgetting the coffee he turned toward the source of the sound and leaned forward, like that might help him hear it better…decipher what the hell was going on…

The door to the break room creaked as he pushed it open and the crying got louder…more emphatic…he felt himself start to panic…he felt like something had gone really, really wrong . He stepped into the room and froze again when he noticed Pam standing by the vending machines.

“Hi,” he muttered, his brow furrowing and his eyes flitting from corner to corner, trying to find the baby that was still crying somewhere in this room. She crossed her arms over her chest, and he noticed that she was wearing the sweater her mother had knitted for her. He opened his mouth to ask her whose baby was crying…what the hell was going on…but she interrupted him.

“Jim?” she murmured. He took a few panicked breaths and nodded.

“Yeah, what?” he asked, too distracted to really register the emotionless look on her face. She responded in a flat tone that somehow floated above the sound of the baby crying and reached his ears like an echo…like a shout through a tunnel. She said: “Don’t fear the reaper.”

He woke up.

 

****************************************************************************************

“What is your problem lately?”

He picked his head up and looked at her with a spoon full of frosted flakes half-way to his mouth.

“Huh?” he asked.

“Jim, I asked you a question like twenty times and you’ve just been sitting there like a coma patient. What is the deal with you? Do you know how often you’ve done this in the past few days?” Her hair was still damp from her shower and her pumps were hanging from her fingers like pistols, but he was more intimidated by the look in her eyes. A pissed off Karen was a force to be reckoned with. His shoulders slumped.

“I don’t know…a lot?” he guessed unhappily. She visibly softened at his defeated tone of voice.

“Yeah…” she murmured. “A lot.” Sitting down in the chair across from him, she reached a hand across the expanse of kitchen table to touch his forearm gently. “What’s up?” she asked, concerned because it was not like Jim to zone out and ignore anybody…not even his girlfriend. He shook his head down at the gray colored milk in his bowl.

“I don’t know, I’ve been…I just haven’t been sleeping well,” he explained, his throat raw with a lack of rest and his hand letting his spoon drop back into the cereal, tiredly abandoning it’s journey to his mouth. “I’m really sorry,” he whispered sincerely, and it was like he felt it deep and low in his intestines. He thought maybe he would throw up. “What did you ask me?” She sighed and sat back in her chair, releasing her hold on his arm.

“I asked if you want to ride together to work, or if you want to take your own car. But I think maybe I should drive…you look…just…I’ll drive,” she decided firmly, and he just nodded because he didn’t really care.

***************************************************************************************

Jim trailed behind Karen when the elevator reached their floor and he trudged into the office after her. He was eerily reminded of his dream the night before when he noticed that Pam had her hair in a ponytail.

“Morning,” he croaked, hanging his coat on the rack and deftly avoiding Pam’s gaze. He saw her tilt her head at him in his periphery and ignored it.

“Hey Jim,” she muttered quietly. He half expected his computer to be on…half expected to see a screen saver bouncing weirdly in front of him…half expected to hear someone crying in the break room…but none of that happened.

The four sales calls he made before lunch were glaringly unsuccessful.

He needed to wake up.

******************************************************************************************

The smell of coffee was like salvation. He breathed it in.

“Welcome to Starbucks. Can I get something started for you today?” The girl was short and blonde. She seemed happy to be making his coffee, and that only added to his euphoria at finally getting something inside of him that would push him forward through the day. He was just so tired lately…so totally…

“Yeah can I just get a venti Americano?” he ordered, forcing his voice past the frog in his throat. She smiled and said sure and didn’t ask him to pay, but for some reason that didn’t really faze him.

His drink was ready fast, and he took it from her hands and muttered “thanks” as an afterthought. He blew his own cool breath onto the steam rising from the cardboard cup and inhaled the heady aroma. This was going to be so good… Dipping his head down to take a sip, he paused when he heard the sound… strangely familiar…strikingly out of place. He turned his head and listened harder.

It was a baby crying, and the sound came at him like a call to arms.

He dropped the coffee, ignoring the way that it splashed around his feet and stained his jeans. He began to weave through the tables of the coffee shop, searching for the source, feeling a deep need to make it stop. He got to the back corner and paused in confusion when he saw Pam.

But he wasn’t surprised.

“Where is the crying coming from?” he asked her, his voice pinched and his brow furrowed. She stared at him, her legs crossed casually and a mug in her hands. She took a slow sip before opening her mouth to reply.

“Jim,” she began, and he started to shake his head because the answer she was going to give him was not going to help…somehow he knew that. She said: “Don’t fear the reaper.”

He woke up.

*****************************************************************************************

He stared at the newspaper stretched out in front of him on one of the many tables in the break room and read the headline.

Protesters Recall War Anniversaries in Washington D.C.

It was the sixteenth time he’d read it, and the sixteenth time that the headline was as far as he’d gotten. He ran a hand down his face and sighed. This was getting ridiculous. Two hours of sleep a night was not enough for him… hell, seven hours probably wouldn’t be enough, at this point. He pressed his fingers into the corners of his eyes and squinted hard, hoping it would jar the hazy tiredness from his vision. He refocused and tried to concentrate.

Protesters Recall War Anniversaries in Washington D.C.

He glanced at the small print below the headline and rolled his eyes. Seventeen times, now.

“Hey.” He looked up, slow and irritated that he was being interrupted. Other people were getting on his nerves a lot faster these days… especially Pam. He raised his eyebrows in response. “How’re you doing?” she asked casually, but he couldn’t help thinking there was something hidden underneath the question. He closed the paper and folded it up.

“Fine.” And that was the only answer he was going to give her. He wasn’t going to ask how she was, he wasn’t going to comment on Dwight’s latest bout of crazy, he wasn’t going to make small talk. He just wanted to be alone. She stood in front of the candy machine and debated her choices and he stared down at his cuticles, blinking and ignoring his desire to just lay his head down on the table in front of him. The silence lingered between them until she finally made a selection and it clattered to the bottom of the machine. She reached in to grab her chips and then turned toward him with a deep breath that he imagined was meant to give her courage.

“It’s just that you don’t seem…”

“Leave me alone, Pam. Can you do that? Is that something that you think you can handle?” he asked, his voice strangely quiet despite the angry tone of his words. She reeled back as if he’d hit her and he watched as water filled her eyes and she chewed on her lower lip, nodding because he was sure she probably didn’t have the strength to speak. He felt instantly contrite. He tried to show her that with the look on his face…tried to express it with his eyes, but she turned from him before he really had a chance to take his words back. She left the room with her head tipped down low and her arms wrapped protectively around her waist.

He opened his paper back up and stared down at it.

Protesters Recall War Anniversaries in Washington D.C.

Eighteen times.

******************************************************************************************

“Hey,” she said, her voice hanging in the silence of the night like a UFO…hovering…paralyzing. He turned his head away from the view out the living room window and glanced at her.

“Hey,” he parroted, feeling the coolness of the 3 AM air wrapping its icy hands around him through the panes of glass that he was leaning against. She stopped in the doorway and didn’t come further into the room. He was glad.

“Why are you up?” she asked, tiredness laced through her words, her face twisted with that sleepy confusion that he used to find adorable. He shrugged heavy shoulders.

“Can’t sleep.” The explanation was brief and probably not enough, but she simply stared at him for a moment and then nodded, stared at him for a moment and then retreated back into her bedroom to sleep while he stood watch at the window…while he waited for something to happen.

He ignored his thoughts of Pam and how she probably wasn’t sleeping either…how she probably still felt the sting of how he’d spoken to her in the break room…how she probably could take this insomnia of his in her hands and push it out of his life if he would let her…

He ignored his thoughts of Pam.

He got back in bed with Karen and finally fell asleep.

******************************************************************************************

He was in his childhood house. He was standing in the kitchen and waiting for something…he thought he was waiting for something.

The door opened and Pam walked in holding a cup carrier full of non-descript gas station coffee cups. She grinned at him and held it out in offering.

“Wanna give me a hand?” she asked. He stared at her silently until she gently placed the coffee in his arms. “Hold this, I have another one,” she murmured, turning back and going outside. He stared down at the coffee, thinking it looked so dark and perfect and thinking that it smelled amazing. He set it on the counter and reached out toward one, but was interrupted when Pam re-entered the kitchen with another carrier, just as she’d promised. His brow furrowed.

“Why did you buy eight cups of coffee?” he questioned incredulously. She set the cups down and looked up at him in confusion, as if it made no sense for him to be asking.

And somewhere a baby started to cry.

For some reason he expected her to go to it…to comfort it…to calm it. Instead she began pouring milk into the coffee, and he sighed.

“Pam?” he prompted. She hummed and he sighed again. “There’s a baby crying,” he told her. She nodded.

“I know,” she replied calmly, still fixing the drinks with packets of sugar.

“Shouldn’t someone go…” he began, turning toward the stairs where it seemed to be coming from. She paused mid-motion and looked over at him.

“Yes, Jim. Someone should.” The words hit him hard and he felt his pulse quicken. He turned toward the stairs and began to jog in the general direction of the cries when her words stopped him in place. She said: “Don’t fear the reaper.”

He woke up.

******************************************************************************************

Come on baby…Don’t fear the reaper…come on baby…don’t fear the reaper…

He waited until it faded into silence and then he hit repeat.

All our times have come. Here but now they’re gone. Seasons don’t fear the reaper, nor do the wind, the sun or the rain. We can be like they are. Come on baby…

Don’t fear the reaper.

“Wow, Jim…do you maybe want to think about expanding your horizons beyond Blue Oyster Cult?” Karen’s voice jolted him into an upright position and he hit pause. The music halted abruptly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. She tilted her head at him.

“What‘s the obsession about?” she asked, but lately these questions came with a hint of tiredness…a hint of disinterest and impatience. His strangeness was starting to wear on her, he could tell. He would have to admit things to her…he would have to tell her the truth.

“I um…I don’t know, I keep having these dreams,” he confessed. She sat down next to him on the sofa and propped her elbows on her knees.

“Yeah I know,” she told him quietly.

“You do?” he asked, sounding surprised and something else that felt like defensive. She leveled him with her gaze, raising her eyebrow in skepticism.

“We sleep in the same bed, Jim. You wake up every night gasping for air. You thought I wouldn’t notice that?” He shook his head and ran a hand over his forehead.

“You never said anything,” he finally forced out as a response. She shifted beside him and cleared her throat.

“Neither did you,” she countered, and he thought she had a point. “So what are these dreams about…or do I even want to know?” He heard the single syllable of Pam’s name unspoken beneath Karen’s words and he hated that he was so predictable.

“No it’s just…I can never get my coffee,” he offered, knowing that he was cheating her…lying to her…knowing that this was all going to come crashing down around him in a matter of days because he knew exactly what these dreams meant. She pursed her lips.

“Ok,” she mumbled, giving up instead of getting angry, and retreating to the kitchen as he hit play on his ipod.

Baby take my hand…Don’t fear the reaper. We’ll be able to fly…Don’t fear the reaper.

Baby I’m your man…

******************************************************************************************

“Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam.”

He cleared his throat because for some reason it was getting more and more difficult for him to speak to her. There was a pause.

“Jim?” she wondered, and he found it painful that she knew him just from the sound of his cough.

“Yeah, hey,” he forced out. Should a simple phone call be this hard? He wanted everything about what they were to disappear, and what they were was somehow built upon the foundation of the words Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam, and what those words represented. Maybe if she never answered another phone he would be able to sleep at night. He took a deep breath and went on. “Listen Karen’s on her way and said she would tell Michael, but I thought I should call in to um…” he drifted into silence. He could hear her breathing.

“Jim?” she prompted for the second time.

“I can’t come in today. I’m not feeling well,” he told her forcefully, for some reason feeling the need to defend himself as he admitted that he was human. He waited for a reaction…for a mumbled wish that he feel better, or an understanding sigh…something classically Pam. Instead there was nothing but empty space between them. When she finally spoke he almost wished she hadn’t because her words were devoid of emotion and utterly unconcerned.

“Ok. Thank you,” she said. Ok, he thought…thank you. Because this was what he wanted…this was what he’d asked her to do. Leave him alone. Part of him hated how good she was at following directions.

“Sure,” he muttered. “Bye.” And they both disconnected.

Jim went back to bed and drifted off to sleep.

******************************************************************************************

“Wow,” he breathed, standing there on the sidewalk with his arms crossed protectively over his chest. The fire was bright…hot…big and all consuming. The building creaked and groaned because of it. Pam crossed her arms beside him, unintentionally mirroring his pose.

“I know,” she agreed. They watched it burn for a while until she took a sip from a cardboard cup that he hadn’t noticed her holding.

“What is that?” he asked, sort of amused. She glanced at him and grinned.

“Coffee, I got it from the EMT’s.” Her voice was smooth with the explanation and he accepted it even though in the back of his mind he was a little confused… EMT’s? Had something happened to her? Had she gotten hurt when he wasn’t looking?

“Wanna give me a sip of that?” he wondered warmly, his eyes on the blaze and the way that the firemen were spraying long trails of water to no avail. She turned to look at him in surprise.

“Aren’t you going in?” she asked, pointing toward the building. He scoffed.

“In there? Why would I go in there, Pam. Do you WANT me to get burned?” His eyes twinkled playfully because he was sure this was a joke…a prank…some kind of punch line that he just hadn’t realized yet. She shook her head at him angrily…panicked…and he felt his pulse quicken in response.

“Jim, you’re already in there…”

Ok now he was sure it was a joke. He shifted on his feet and turned so he was facing her completely.

“Pam I’m standing right here, what the hell are you…”

“Listen,” she interrupted, the instruction hushed and harsh. He froze and listened hard…straining his ears to hear something. Then finally it drifted toward him over the rush of the flames and the hiss of the hoses.

A baby was crying.

He turned back to the building and felt the blood freeze in his veins. Then her words pushed his feet into action because he knew that she was right…he was burning…he’d been burned. She said: “Don’t fear the reaper.”

He woke up.

*************************************************************************************

This time when he sat up in bed, breath gushing from his mouth and sweat dripping down his back, Karen sat up, too. When her fingers brushed his arm he pulled away from her and covered his face with his hands. She heaved a sigh.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she assessed quietly, and he thought she was so very right. He turned and swung his feet over the side of the bed, feeling the ground beneath him and letting it reassure him that this was what was real. She didn't reach out to him again, and he was glad. He could hear her breathing.

“Yeah,” he finally agreed, his throat coated with something like regret. She was quiet for a moment, and when she finally spoke he grimaced at the iciness of her voice.

“Look, if this is about Pam…” the name fell from her lips with a quiet kind of disdain. He thought she said it out loud this time because she was tired of the name being too sacred to utter in his presence. “…then you need to just…”

It was like an unpleasant taste stopped her words so that she had to swallow and try again. It was like no matter how softly she spoke, she still couldn't get the edge out of her tone. It was like the tension in her voice was tightening beyond her will into smaller, harsher coils. It was like she was angry, and he didn‘t blame her.

She pushed on: “I‘m trying to be understanding, ok? But you have to go figure this out. Because I can’t help you.” Her words were clipped and sharp like nails being pounded into a wall. He felt the air get cold around him. “You don’t want me to help you,” she clarified, her eyes on his t-shirt covered back and his slumped shoulders…her eyes on the way that his head was hanging, beaten and quiet, his chin against his chest.

He stood up and walked away.

******************************************************************************************

The air was cold against his skin, but he liked it. It woke some part of him up.

It helped him realize.

His thoughts matched the rhythm of his footsteps against the pavement. Each step distanced him from the person he pretended he was when he was sleeping in Karen’s bed…Each step settled him back into the person he knew he was deep down. The person he’d always been.

He felt the yin and yang of anger and desperation land solid beneath his feet.

He couldn’t ignore her anymore.

He needed an explanation.

He needed her to explain.

*************************************************************************************

 

Pounding on her door was the only thing that felt right. Part of him wanted to just stand there and pound until his fist turned bloody and raw…pound until he remembered that he had bones and blood and that he could be broken… He didn’t even care that she had a doorbell. Pounding on her door was the only thing that felt right.

It finally fell open beneath his hand and he pulled his clenched fingers back against him so that he wouldn’t accidentally strike the concern from her face. She frowned.

“Jim, what’s the matter…” she breathed, panic rising into her voice somewhere in between each word and the unsettled look of him making her forget that she was supposed to be leaving him alone. He shook his head at her.

“Why did you do that?” he mumbled, reaching up to wipe at the fog in his eyes. “Why would you do that?” She tipped her head at him.

“Do what, Jim? I…don’t…” she pushed the door open further and motioned that he should come inside, taking in the way that he was still in flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt…the way that he was awake instead of asleep. “Why don’t I start a pot of coffee and…”

“No,” he interrupted forcefully, so forcefully that she took a step away from him in surprise…or fear. He deflated in front of her and stared down at his sneakers. “No coffee, I just…” he bit the inside of his cheek because emotions were tingling the cells of his body and he wanted them gone…he did not want to break in front of her…but somehow lately it seemed inevitable.

She reached out to him and he was glad, accepting her hand against his shoulder because he was too raw to tell himself he didn‘t need it...because it calmed him, and he couldn't ignore that.

“Please come inside,” she breathed. He nodded, his eyes still cast down and his teeth still piercing his cheek. She guided him into her living room and closed the door behind them, easing him down onto the sofa before pulling her hand away. He missed the warmth of her touch and he shook his head against that feeling. She knelt down in front of him so that she could see his face, and she sat there staring for a while…quietly watching him struggle…silently wanting to do something. Finally she spoke.

“You seem tired,” she whispered, and the kindness of her words…the lack of accusation in them…the way that they were so true pulled tears into his eyes and he bent down, shielding himself, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands because there was no strength left in him. Not even the strength to push her away. She was moved to reach up and run her fingers through his hair, her hand shaking slightly because she had never really touched him this way before, and he sighed because he needed her too much. Her brow furrowed in concern and she pulled away. “Jim, why are you…What is this?” she asked, her confusion and unease leaking from her tone of voice.

“I need to…” he whispered, pausing to clear his throat, a new habit of his…one of many new habits resulting from his lack of sleep. “Why did you tell Roy that we…” his words were clipped like Karen’s had been and he recognized his own anger, “I just don‘t…I don‘t understand why you did that.” He looked up at her, and suddenly there…then…his unconcerned façade of the past few weeks drained from his body like his energy, his mask of disinterest landed like broken glass at her feet, and he felt the way that he’d been telling himself that he didn’t care about her drift away like the echo that it had been in the first place. When he spoke again his words were soft…honest…pleadingly desperate. “I don’t understand why you would tell him that if it didn’t mean…something…” he confessed quietly, his eyes piercing hers in the shadows, “Why would you tell Roy when you‘ve been acting like it was just…” and the dampness of his tears clenched its fist around his throat so that he fell silent, but it didn’t matter because she didn’t need him to go on. She sat back in sudden understanding.

“I had to,” she promised.

“Why?” he asked, and it was maybe the most terrifying word he’d ever uttered.

“Because…it meant everything…” she confessed, her words an assurance by default because he could tell that they were simply meant to be the truth. “It changed everything,” she whispered. He blinked heavy lids at her so that he could more clearly see her honesty laid out before him. “You changed me,” and those three words had the richness of intention behind them. With this she meant to reassure him, to ease his pain, and he felt his emotions sizzle in his chest.

He shook his head because he wasn’t sure he believed her…he wasn’t sure he could stand to believe her after all of the months of angst they had put themselves through. But even as he shook his head her face was calm, sincere, open and honest and he felt his frustration and anger puddle at her feet because there wasn’t any room anymore…there wasn’t any energy. She had just given him back a piece of himself, and there wasn’t room for the shadows he’d used to replace it. She didn’t demand a response from him, and he thought it was because the way that he‘d been haunted by her was enough…the way that he had punished himself was enough...his complete exhaustion was enough. He heard her breathing.

The silence settled into something comfortable between them and he felt their connection as if he had never pulled it taut and sliced it down the middle. He let his head fall forward into his hands and he sighed, knowing that now she would wait for him to speak, because her presence spoke for her…the way that she knelt before him spoke for her. She waited to hear him.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted, his voice broken and barely audible. She nodded at him solemnly and he wondered if she realized that he couldn’t sleep at all…that he hadn‘t slept in days.

“Why?” she asked, knowing that it was her turn to gently prod for explanations.

“I kept…” he let out a single chuckle that was lacking in humor and full of self-deprecation, “I kept dreaming about you…and you kept telling me to wake up…” He shook his head as his own exhausted tears made him breathless. “You kept telling me not to be afraid.” She listened to him calmly. Still…motionless in her desire to understand him, to allow him these emotions that had been bottled up for so long. She tilted her head and listened to him calmly. “I’m sorry. For just…everything,” he forced out, “and I’m so…tired.” He picked his head up and met her gaze again, feeling all at once overwhelmed by the lack of judgment and anger on her face. She didn’t blame him or hate him or want him to change. She didn‘t blame him, like he didn’t blame her. “I couldn’t sleep,” he repeated quietly, “because I needed your help.” Her eyes filled with tears and she nodded, chewing on her lower lip to keep her own emotions from spilling out onto him. He was tired…

“Why don‘t you um…” she muttered, shaking herself from the haze of his confessions, “I’ll get you a blanket,” she decided quietly, pushing herself up and retreating to another room where he could hear her opening cupboards. He figured that she meant for him to lay himself down…she meant for him to sleep, and he looked down at the sofa beneath him, at how it was so much less than Karen’s bed but still so much more of what he needed, and as he stretched out upon it he didn’t ignore the meaning…he didn’t ignore the way that the cushions cradled him less because they were cushions and more because they were Pam’s. He thought it. He knew it. He accepted it because it was the truth, because he didn’t have a choice.

His eyes slid closed before she returned and when he heard her approach he meant to open them…he meant to look up at her and thank her, or apologize again, but his muscles were tired with relief, so he simply laid there, blindly trusting her to just know, the way that he knew. He felt her drape a blanket across him and place a pillow beneath him, and it was as if she wanted to press her soul against him...and he accepted it in quiet defeat.

He listened to her footsteps on the hardwood floor. He heard the creak of her bed and the sound of her settling into it was like a lullaby, and the hushed warmth of her home was like a promise, and he believed it like the gospel...

And he slept without dreams.

End Notes:

 

Just fyi, no the dreams are not all about Blue Oyster Cult.  And yes the song needs more cowbell.  That's all I'll say about it.  Also the chapter title comes from a poem by Edgar Allan Poe.  "A Dream Within a Dream."  Go read it.  It rocks.

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