One hand came to her chest, and the other planted firmly on the mattress beside her as Michelle woke. Her breaths were heavy, mouth slightly agape. She gasped, desperately trying to take in the air around her. This was the seventh time since the day of the CTU bombing that she’d abruptly woken from a horrific nightmare in the middle of her slumber. The third of which involved her not feeling able to breathe for several minutes after waking. Sometimes she’d go a few nights sleeping solidly, but then out of the blue, just as she’d start to think she was moving on, Michelle would find herself in the same position she is now. Alone, panting, slightly sweaty, and in a strange mental state of distinguishing what was and wasn’t real.
At first it was simply reliving the event in graphic detail. Walking past the dismembered and disfigured bodies of the coworkers she’d slowly become acquainted with since coming to the CTU Los Angeles office. Then they became stranger, intermingling with events and occurrences of the day that had passed. For the few open casket funerals that had been held, most of the bodies were in too much of a mangled state to allow that, sometimes the bloodied corpses in Michelle’s dreams would be replaced with their peaceful, flower garnished counterparts. It was eerily strange, and only seemed to add a level of realism, cementing the death of that person in her mind. As if the visual elements of her dreams weren’t bad enough, the vividly loud cries of pain would come through too. Voices she’d only ever heard on the phone, calmly, simply explaining protocols and procedures were cursing, screaming, begging for help.
She’d tried to take her mind off it.
She’d tried reading that new book which had been collecting dust on her shelf before bed.
She’d tried drinking chamomile tea or cutting out her afternoon coffee.
She’d tried playing a relaxing CD.
But ‘taking her mind off it’ had been no easy task. Not only was her work ‘schedule’, if one could call her almost randomly timed shifts at CTU a ‘schedule’, now constantly being interrupted by the funerals of the deceased, but work itself was a reminder of what had happened. The dilapidated floors, occasionally swinging and fizzling light fixtures, the jungle of wires hanging until the crew could neatly tuck them into the walls, floor, and ceiling again, the stench of bleach used in an attempt to rid the place of the smell of burnt metal and flesh. Every one of her senses was being nudged to think of the travesties that had occurred.
And to make things worse, despite feeling so bone-tired, Michelle could never will herself to fall back into a deep sleep after she woke. Normally she’d writhe around until letting out a frustrated groan when the birds started to chirp or her alarm started to buzz. It was quickly morphing into her personal hell.
—
The screen in front of her began to blur, background noise becoming more and more muffled.
“Michelle?”
Everything felt slow and sluggish.
“Michelle?”
The corners of her vision were darkening, before everything suddenly came back in full force, a warm, firm sensation on her shoulder.
“Michelle!”
Tony stood over her, confused, hands on his hips. Confusion faded to concern, his lips forming a slight pout, knitted brows separating. At a smaller distance he could see that the lack of response and incorrect filing she’d been doing all morning were simply by-products of the pronounced bags under her red-rimmed eyes. Motioning with his head, he pulled her into an empty conference room.
“Are you okay?”
She shrugged. “Yeah, just tired, why?”
“Michelle…” His voice softened. “You realise you’ve forgotten to set up a firewall for nearly every document you were responsible for encrypting this morning?”
Her bottom lip found itself between her teeth. “Sorry…it won’t happen again.”
Tony shook his head. “No, that’s not what I came here to talk about. I came here to ask you what’s been going on.”
Looking down at the floor, she cleared her throat. “It’s nothing, just, um…I’ve been getting some nightmares, that’s all.”
The concern on his face grew. “Let me guess, they started after the bombing?”
Pressing her lips into a thin line, she nodded. “Yeah…”
“I used to get them a lot after the Marines, they can be pretty bad, I know. I’ve had a few recently too.”
They made eye contact, Michelle now feeling more inclined to share the details. “When they happen to you, do you ever find that you can’t breathe when you wake up? Like you’re gasping for air but you still feel like you’re…”
“Suffocating?”
She nodded again.
“I had a friend who was discharged around the same time as me who used to get those. We were roommates for a while, so I used to help him through them too. His PTSD therapist called them nocturnal panic attacks, I think. I mean I’m no doctor…but it would make sense if you were experiencing that.” His voice trailed off. After a beat, he spoke again. “Look Michelle, I know we haven’t been going out for long, I’m not trying to be too forward, but…” Tony exhaled. “Do you want me to spend the night? Just so if you get one you’re not, you know, alone?”
When she didn’t respond immediately, Tony took his chance to apologise incessantly, but to his surprise, Michelle looked back up at him, an appreciative smile creeping across her face. “I’d like that, actually.”
He returned her smile, relieved.
—
When they settled into her bed that night, both of them tried to stick to their sides, making it clear that this wasn’t a part of their developing relationship but simply for emotional support. It wasn’t that either of them weren’t hoping their relationship wouldn’t evolve to this point, it was more that they were scared to rush into things, wanting to make the giddy, dating stage last.
But tragedy has a tendency to make people look at life with excessive appreciation, with a desperate sense of urgency.
Michelle woke with a gasp, a sharp tickle shooting down her oesophagus as the dry air particles made contact with her throat. Almost instinctively, Tony sat up to find her hunched forward, choking. Trying to keep his own cool, he began to reassure her. When she looked up, there was panic in her eyes, only made worse by instability of her breaths.
“Just breathe, you’ll be okay, Michelle. You’re with me, everything’s okay. But right now, I need you to breathe.” His voice was calm and sympathetic, the worry he felt for her concealed. He was tentative about touching her, not wanting to startle her with sudden movements, not wanting to let her feel isolated either. “Put your head between your knees, it’ll help.”
She followed his instructions, her body shaking as she did so. Hugging her knees to her chest, Michelle dipped her head downwards. Cautiously, he placed a hand across the plane of her back. “Okay, now I know you don’t always like listening to me, but right now, I’m telling you you’re not allowed to breathe faster than I am, okay?” He emphasised the rhythm of his much calmer inhales and exhales, trying to will her to follow suit.
As he continued to reassure and advise her, slowly but surely, Michelle’s breaths began to even out, following his counting pattern, they lost their throaty quality, and started to sound less, well, panicked.
Eventually, Michelle lifted her head to face him. The darkness and depth of Tony’s eyes was highlighted by the dim city lights entering her room from the outside. He took her wrists in his, making patterns with his thumbs. “Okay?”
“Yeah...” Her voice was hoarse. “Thank you, Tony.”
“Of course.” Releasing her wrists, they laid down again. He wanted to hold Michelle, just reassure her of his presence, however he didn’t want to push any boundaries. But just as he debated putting an arm around her, Tony felt a comforting heat nestle into his side. Michelle had curled up, compactly fitting herself next to him. Tony used his arm to pull her closer, continuing to make patterns on her skin.
Before he could think about falling back asleep, she spoke quietly yet glumly. “Thirty people…” She took a big breath. “I’ve seen all thirty of the people who died in my dreams now.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry.”
She squirmed against him. “Don’t be. You’re not the one who set off those bombs.”
Tony supposed she was right, but that wouldn’t stop him from wishing she didn’t have to feel this way.
—
Paula’s funeral had been one of the last for them to attend. It wasn’t particularly different to any of the others, but given that her death was not a direct result from the bombing, but rather a cruel sacrifice made shortly after, there was a certain level of extra sadness being attained. Michelle had wandered from the small function room where the reception was being held to the balcony. There she found Tony, looking over the exciting view of the funeral home carpark, beer in hand.
“You okay?”
He jumped a little before turning and relaxing his posture. “Yeah. Just needed some air.”
Michelle’s face crinkled at the weakness in his voice. She walked closer and hugged him. He held her tightly, the coolness of the beer bottle pressing into her back. “Her death really got to you, huh?” The whisper was hard to hear over the wind.
“She was just a kid…” Tony’s voice broke. “She wasn’t supposed to die like that, I-I just can’t help but feel it’s my fault somehow.”
“No…no…it’s not your fault, Tony.” Her voice was whole-hearted, as she realised how much he’d been blaming himself.
He started to shake, fighting back tears. “I should have done more, should have convinced George to get her to the hospital first. I’m the one that brought her to CTU in the first place. She was so excited to work here, oh god…”
“It was the right thing, as hard as that sounds. She saved us all, it wasn’t for nothing.”
Tony dropped his weight against her a little, causing Michelle to stumble as he finally broke down in her arms.
She quietly hushed him, told him to let it out, that she was there, and nothing else mattered.
—
They’d both fallen asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillows, Michelle praying that her fatigue would lull her into a sleep deep enough that she wouldn’t dream. But to her surprise, she woke up in the middle of the night, and not by her own accord this time. Tony was panting loudly, resting on one elbow, using the other hand to run his hand through his hair agitatedly. Moisture had welled at the corners of his eyes.
“I-it was Paula…then, then it was you.” He mumbled, looking immediately calmer when he faced her.
Michelle tried to picture what he had just seen. Through the frightening cleverness of the human brain, the image of Paula, bloodied and dying on the gurney had shifted into Michelle. She laid a hand on his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart. “I’m right here. I’m okay.”
After a moment of him gazing into her eyes, almost to assure himself of her presence, they both settled back into bed, Tony’s arms gripping her waist tightly.
“Sorry…I’m supposed to be here helping you sleep and instead you got me waking you up.”
He felt Michelle shake her head. “It’s fine, I understand.”
A kiss found itself at the top of her head, and she smiled.
She’d never woken up screaming before. Out of breath, yes. Huffing and puffing, yes. Gasping and choking, yes. But never had Michelle been so upset by a nightmare that she’d woken up vocally crying out her terror. The haunting visions from the CTU bombing had since faded, leaving her and Tony with reasonably peaceful sleep patterns. However, after the time spent at the Chandler Plaza Hotel, Michelle’s mind had easily found a new replacement to torment her with.
The sterile smells of bleach, overwhelming cries of confusion and agony, white sheets coating abscessed bodies. She walked through the lobby, dodging blood droplets on the floor, handing out tissues and paper towels left and right, feeling shunned by the people who knew of her immunity, their eyes boring into her. Helplessness and guilt consumed her that day, only slightly lessened by her idea to administer the suicide capsules. As sick as it sounded, she knew that allowing people a painless death had been what she felt, was her only success that day.
Michelle slumped forward, sobbing loudly into her hands. A shriek still escaped her every now and then. Despite many of the people at the hotel being strangers, there was a different, more painful level of grief that she felt. Unlike the bombing, where in a flash she’d come face-to-face with coworkers who were already dead, she’d had to watch, for the most part until the capsules arrived, the excruciating stages of the disease devouring each victim from start to finish. And somehow it was seeing this entire process that was causing her heart to feel so heavy, causing her stomach to feel so queasy.
Tears continued to fall for a while. It wasn’t a panic attack this time, yet Michelle performed the same actions as if Tony were there. Hugging her knees to her chest, creating crescent moons in her arms with her finger nails, she tried to shut out everything around her. All she really needed was to feel him hold her, run his hands through her hair, to breathe in his scent. But alas, he was alone in a prison cell, and she was alone in their bed, which seemed more expansive now than ever. She made do with clinging to the memory of his voice, of his comforting words, trying her damn hardest to imagine he was saying them in her ear.
Eventually, Michelle pulled the covers over her and repositioned her body in the centre of the bed, trying to distract herself from the stillness of the room which only served to remind her of her loneliness.
—
Michelle winced when she saw him through the smudged glass. The buzzcut was still so jarring for her to look at. His face too, was pained as she sat in the chair and picked up the phone. It was getting late, she wouldn’t have much time left to speak to him, but at least they were mostly alone, save for the guards, and another visitor-inmate pair much further down.
“Hey…” The worry only grew as she drew nearer.
“Hey.” She smiled, weakly.
“You haven’t been sleeping, have you?” Straight to the point. There was no purpose in idly chatting about things that didn’t matter when clearly there were larger issues which did.
Shyly, she looked away, the harshness of the lighting only emphasising the darkened circles beneath her eyes. They were also bloodshot, as though she’d been crying relentlessly. That too, he knew was true.
“Michelle…it’s the nightmares, isn’t it? They’ve come back?”
She met his eyes again. “N-not from the bombing, from the hotel now.” Her breath was shaky on the exhale. “I saw a lot of people die that day.”
Aside from the turmoil they’d suffered when she’d been captured by Saunders, Tony hadn’t even begun to imagine the horrors that she’d seen. After all, the most he ever saw was a few of the corpses, and that was via a computer screen.
“You need to go see a therapist, you can’t push it down, it’ll eat at you forever.” His tone was concerned.
Instantly, she shook her head. “No, there’s no time. CTU is so understaffed right now, I’m basically doing your job and mine until Division sends in replacements. I’ve barely got enough time to see you.” She glanced at the clock.
“Don’t waste your time here then, you need to go, Michelle.”
Michelle shrugged. “What’s the point? It won’t stop me from getting them-“
“You don’t know that!”
“It’s fine!” She composed herself. “It’s fine, really, don’t worry about me.”
He rolled his eyes. “Worrying about you is all I’ve got, alright? Now if you don’t want to talk to a therapist, fine, I won’t fight you on that, but talk to me at least.”
Her face screwed up in confusion. “What?”
Tony’s voice hardened. “You and I both know that making small talk here isn’t going to do anything for us. I want you to talk to me, about what you saw, about your dreams, about everything. Please.”
She readjusted herself, leaning closer to the glass. “Okay…” Her voice crackled through the receiver. Closing her eyes, she recalled the last few weeks. “When I finally got home that day, I just cried and cried for hours. Everything just kept replaying over and over again. Th-there were so many kids there too, I couldn’t stop seeing their little faces. The screams, the screams, Tony. Once the capsules came in, things were mostly okay. But before that? It was one person after another, every few minutes. There was s-so much blood, all over them. It wasn’t like the bombing where I felt bad because it was people I knew, this time I just felt so bad and so wrong, that these people were suffering and I couldn’t do anything about it.” The next part came out as a mumble, her bottom lip pursed. “All I’ve ever wanted to do with this job is help people, and I couldn’t.”
He gave her a sympathetic look. “You know you did the best you could, don’t you dare start blaming yourself for what that bastard did.” She looked away again. “Speaking of…did he or his men ever hurt you? Or touch you? Or do any-”
Michelle shook her head. “No, no, in fact I’m pretty sure his strict orders were for them not to go near me. Saunders knew I would take any opportunity to escape, and well…he was right.”
Tony gave a soft chuckle, remembering the mix of emotions that had arisen when she’d called to tell him she’d escaped.
“Now what about the dreams? Are you just waking up or having panic attacks again too?”
Michelle chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I haven’t actually had a lot of panic attacks, although I’m a lot better at dealing with them, thanks to you.” He laughed through his nose. “But most of the time I wake up just feeling so empty and horrible. Or sometimes that thing happens where the people in my dreams get replaced with people we know, so I wake up terrified. I’m mainly just shaking and screaming, wishing you were there.” Her voice croaked a little.
“I wish I was, baby, I wish I was.”
Suddenly, she began to cry. Quickly she wiped away the tears, but to no avail.
“What is it?”
Her palm made a thump as it came flush with the glass. She had her head down, the hand holding the phone jittering.
“There was a baby…” Michelle barely whispered.
Tony couldn’t stop the tears rolling down his face either, opting now to place his hand over hers, pretending to feel its warmth through the thick obstacle.
“A little girl, not even a year old I think.” She inhaled sharply. “She died in her mother’s arms long before I even thought about the capsules. And every time I walked past them, the mother hadn’t even moved. It was hours later that she died, Tony. She died cradling her dead daughter.”
“Michelle that’s…that’s horrible, I’m so sorry.” He tried to be strong for her, but failed.
The glass squeaked as she tried to press her hand closer to his, and he to hers. Her breaths became laboured, quickening their pace. Tony realised what was happening and knew he had to at least stop this if he didn’t want to go back to his cell feeling completely useless and powerless.
“Oh God, I can’t do this, not here, please” She sounded exasperated.
“You won’t, Michelle, just breathe, okay? I’m here, I’m here.”
They each cried into the phone, Tony desperately trying to abate her panic attack, until the guard apologetically but firmly placed his hand on her shoulder.
“I love you, okay? I love you so much, baby…” He continued to reassure her even while she was practically dragged away.
Tony screamed through the glass, rapping with his hand, their mutually tearful eyes not breaking contact, as she left.
Sliding the hand down, he sobbed raggedly into the table, wishing that she didn’t have to suffer alone.
—
When he’d finally come home from prison, both of them had slept better than they’d ever thought was possible for the first month or so. Each night they’d sleep gripping each other fervidly, not caring what bizarre, neck-and-back-straining position they’d end up in come morning.
But of course all good things must come to an end.
Tony’s job search had quickly become fruitless with even simple retail jobs turning him down for his criminal record. After all, the trial had been highly publicised, so nobody really wanted it known that Tony Almeida was working at their business. And as for going back to CTU? Even with a shining record? Forget it. With a lack of purpose, although initially nice to spend time at home, he’d soon grown restless. Frustrated. But hey, he was a free man, so what right did he have to complain?
Michelle could tell Tony was upset. He’d stonewall and insist he was okay, but she could see the signs. She wanted him to talk, wanted him to complain, so she could tell him that it was okay, that she understood his frustration. But he didn’t, and at some point, it was too much of a struggle to push the issue.
He’d woken her one night, not consciously, disturbing her sleep was the last thing he wanted to do, not after what she’d been through. Tony was grumbling, almost growling in his sleep. Facing away from her, he seemed to be squeezing his body into an angry ball, as if to protect himself. She wondered if this was how he’d slept in prison, constantly on alert, never letting his guard down.
Michelle ran a hand down his arm from shoulder to wrist. He only tensed under her touch, causing her to purse her lips. “It’s just me, it’s just me.” She didn’t know if it was subconscious, but he grunted dismissively. Feeling defeated, Michelle turned back to her side of the bed, falling asleep.
She was surprised when he managed to wake up in the morning shortly after she did. Normally Michelle would kiss him goodbye in bed when she left for work. Tony poured them both coffee with a muffled greeting.
“What were you dreaming about last night?”
“Nothing.” It came out sharper than intended. “Don’t worry about it.” He looked away, speaking less hostilely now.
“So I had to pour my heart out to you through a glass window in public, every time I had a flashback, but you can just brush me off in our own home? What happened to talking openly about what we’ve been through?” She crossed her arms.
He didn’t respond to that.
Michelle gave him a peeved, yet concerned look, clearing her plate, and leaving for work without saying another word.
—
Tony’s insistence on not discussing prison or the dreams that had followed only served to make his sleep more disruptive. Michelle woke one night to the sound of light commotion. Instinctively, she leaned over to touch him on the other side of the bed, but her eyes shot open when her hand found slightly warm, wrinkled cotton instead. Getting up quickly, she followed the noise to the kitchen. He stood with his back to her, fists clenched, swearing and mumbling angrily under his breath.
“Tony?”
No response. She called out his name a few times, but he still hadn’t turned to face her.
“Tony…you’re scaring me, what’s wrong?” Her voice trembled as she spoke.
His stance was tense, as though prepared for confrontation. Michelle was afraid to go near him, wondering if he’d take a swing at her in defence. To make matters worse, the knife block on the counter was within grabbing distance for him. Tentatively, she stepped forward, continuing to call his name sweetly, reassuringly. Eventually, he whipped his head around. Tony’s eyes were half-shut, the sclera glassy. Sleepwalking. He was sleepwalking. Stumbling, he walked towards her. His right fist unfurled, and Michelle grabbed it, carefully leading him back to the bedroom.
Somehow, to her relief, Tony was obeying her instructions and managed to lie back down. He let out a few last grumbles, before establishing a gentle snore.
She didn’t sleep the rest of the night, opting to watch him, gently caressing his side when he’d contract and mutter in his sleep.
In the morning, she’d tried to address the issue with more voracity, more insistence that this was going to evolve into something bigger, that this was something that shouldn’t be left unresolved.
But like every other time before, he’d dismissed her.
He grabbed a beer while they were watching TV one night. She raised an eyebrow.
“What’s the occasion?” Michelle deadpanned. It wasn’t a particularly interesting Tuesday that would warrant a celebratory drink.
“Nightcap. Hoping this will get me through so I don’t wake you, or start wandering around the house. Only other thing I can think of to fix it would be handcuffs, not that I have a problem with that before bed,” he shot her a coy smile, “but I don’t see myself sleeping well if I’m all shackled. Besides…” Tony shuddered. “I think I’ve been restrained enough for a while.”
Hesitantly, she nodded.
It had worked initially, the one beer before bed taking them both back to peaceful sleep. She’d continued to worry though, but if he was less grumpy, then so be it. But eventually the job applications decreased and the beers before bed increased, him insisting that their sedative effect was being nullified with tolerance. “Not like I’m going to work anyway.” He’d say. The drinking was slowly becoming a normality for him, as was a lack of intimacy, of affection, of communication even. Essential parts of their relationships were disappearing. He was disappearing.
It was one night in particular that pushed Michelle to her breaking point. While she’d denied she was even near that point, her brain found a way to tell her otherwise.
The dream was the same, Michelle aimlessly pacing through the hotel, feeling trapped and ashamed. Then she came to Gael in the basement, except it wasn’t Gael, it was Tony that she saw covered in boils, grimacing. She screamed upon seeing his face, immediately running over to him. But right as she went to touch him, suddenly she was standing over the woman cradling her dead child, listlessly wiping blood away. Michelle felt as though she were suffocating. Everywhere she looked, people infected with the virus were swarming her…
She sat up quickly, the mattress creaking in protest as she screeched. Immediately, Michelle started to cough, still feeling claustrophobic and trapped somehow. She whimpered, trying desperately to control her breathing, but remnant visions still clouded her mind, only prompting her to cry out louder, almost manically at this point. There was physical pain in her chest, and a lurching sensation in her abdomen. When the sensation began to rise, her eyes widened. Desperately throwing the covers off her, Michelle made it in record time to the ensuite. She dry-heaved, spitting up a small amount of bile, which combined with her tears falling into the toilet bowl.
Michelle staggered, her vision dizzy as she stood. Unfortunately, the erratic rate of her breathing hadn’t subsided. Nearly feeling herself slip on the tiles, she leaned onto the sink, gripping the edge of the countertop with her fingers. She clawed with her nails, listening to the scratching noise that arose. After what had to be a good twenty minutes, she finally felt she had enough alertness and stability to support herself. Her eyes were blurry with tears when she looked up. Wiping them with her knuckles, she frowned at her miserable, exhausted reflection. There were sweat stains on her light-grey t-shirt, the excess moisture also causing her hair to stick to her face. Her skin had an ugly, sickly undertone. Grabbing a glass from the counter, she filled it, and sipped on the water slowly, its coolness soothing the burn in her throat from the stomach acid. Finally, she brushed her teeth, leaving a much more pleasant minty aftertaste behind.
Walking back into the bedroom, she rubbed her eyes a little. She stopped at the threshold, squinting at Tony, who apparently hadn’t moved. Come to think of it, he’d barely stirred when she’d woken up. Michelle had been howling louder than she even thought possible right next to him, and he hadn’t reacted. A pang of worry struck her, now wondering if he was even conscious. If he’d actually drank so much throughout the day that he’d not fallen asleep but actually passed out. Picking up one of the pillows that had fallen in her escapade to the bathroom, she threw it at him. Immediately, he snorted, readjusted his sleeping position, and exhaled. She could see his body moving up and down, indicating to her relief, but also her anger, that he was perfectly okay. Michelle had just experienced quite possibly the worst panic attack of her life, and he’d slept through the whole thing. She’d gone through seven months of doing it alone, she was more than capable of calming herself down, it wasn’t like she depended on Tony for that kind of thing anymore. But to discover that alcohol had consumed him so much that he wouldn’t even respond to her cries anymore was different. At this moment, she truly felt she’d lost him.
Huffing and wiping a leftover tear, she grabbed a suitcase from the wardrobe, not caring how much noise she was making anymore. After all, he apparently wouldn’t pay it any mind. Michelle filled it haphazardly with her belongings, grabbing anything in sight around the house that she might need. There was no note, no explanation. She was leaving, and that was final. When she drove off, heading for her brother’s, she continued to convince herself that she was doing the right thing. Michelle ignored the part of her brain that was telling her she was just tired and angry, and that they could just talk it out in the morning. But she’d committed to the act now, she would not give him the satisfaction of coming back.
When Michelle finally settled up in Danny’s spare bedroom, she started to weep, softly.
—
Tony spluttered when he woke up, feeling something cold and wet on his face. It had gotten into his eyes, in his mouth, and up his nose a little. A droplet ran down into his ear, causing him to shiver. Blinking, his hazy vision began to clear. Jen was standing over him, a bewildered, yet clearly annoyed expression on her face. There was a cup in her hand.
“What the hell, Jen?…” He murmured.
“You were screaming like a fucking crazy person!” She banged the glass down loudly, causing him to wince. “Scared the crap out of me!” Looking closer, Jen realised his expression was sad, as well as unsettled. She softened her voice a little, now feeling guilty at how she’d decided to wake him. “You okay?”
He sighed, using the sheet to wipe his face. “I’m fine, not the first time it’s happened, won’t be the last. Sorry.”
Jen gave him a suspicious look, lying next to him, almost afraid at how blasé he was being. He was staring at the ceiling, she was on her side, facing away. After a beat, he spoke stoically. “I’ve seen some messed up stuff…it, uh, doesn’t tend to leave you.”
“That sounds kinda shitty…” Was all she could offer. She felt sorry for him, but their relationship wasn’t really about comfort and love. It was about not judging each other for being up at ridiculous hours of the night, drinking beer, bitching about life, occasionally having sex with each other. They were roommates with benefits, essentially.
At that moment, Tony realised how much he missed Michelle. Having spent the months following the divorce bitter and passive-aggressive, with Jen being there to egg him on, he allowed himself to truly miss her now. All he wanted at this moment was to hug her to him, just to know she was there, that everything was okay.
—
Michelle pressed her lips into a thin line, deep in thought, as Tony gingerly sat on one side of the queen bed in her apartment.
“What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “N-nothing. I just realised the last time we slept in the same bed was the uh, the night I left you.” Her voice trailed off quickly.
“Oh…I guess it was.”
They sat in an awkward silence, until she broke it with a quiet, almost contrite voice. “I never wanted to do that to you. I-I just felt like after what happened that night, when you made me feel like you’d abandoned me, that you didn’t care anymore, I thought I’d lost you completely. And I needed you to understand how I was feeling, I needed you to feel like you lost me, s-so I left.”
His face had dropped, a wave of guilt washing over him, as he finally comprehended her motives. That she hadn’t being spiteful or mean, but rather, simply hurting, and desperate to connect with him. “I’m sorry…I know I’ve said that about thirty times tonight, but I swear to God, I mean it. I never, ever, want you to feel like that again, and I promise I’ll do everything I can to make sure that doesn’t happen.” He walked over to where she stood, sniffling, and enveloped her in his arms. “But let’s just get some sleep now, alright?”
Her head nodded against his chest.
He was jolted awake by her screaming and immediately gave her his full focus.
“I killed you…I killed you….you were dead because of me…I killed you.” She uttered over and over again, between shallow, fluttering breaths.
Tony placed his hand on her shoulder, feeling it quiver against him. “I’m right here, I’m alive, Michelle, okay? I’m here and I’m telling you to breathe. Just breathe, you’ll be okay, sweetheart.” He felt a dart of pain knowing the last time this had happened he hadn’t been there for her. That she’d had to suffer alone, not that she wasn’t strong enough, but this was never about proving anything. It was about being there for her, no matter what. “Head between your knees, that’s it.” Tony encouraged her, using his other hand to rest on her shins. Eventually the panic attack subsided, and before she could even thank him, he’d drawn her into him, resting her head on his chest, brushing a strand of hair away.
Michelle’s voice wavered when she spoke. “I’ve missed this. I’ve missed hearing you telling me to breathe. I swear when you talk to me like that…I just know everything’s going to be fine.”
He looked down at her, smiling. “I could say the same thing about you.” Tony squeezed her waist before speaking in a more serious tone. “You know the first time that happened for me… remember? After Paula’s funeral?”
“Yeah…I do.”
“I realised…that was the moment I fell in love with you. I was so upset from the dream, I thought mainly because of her at the time, but later I realised…it wasn’t just because of that, it was because of you. That dream made me realise how terrified I was of losing you. So when I woke up, and you were there…I realised how much you meant to me, how much it would destroy me if you were gone.”
Tilting her head upward, she offered him a reverent look, before coming higher to give him a gentle kiss. “We’ve really been doing this the whole time, huh? Always waking each other up, then helping each other fall back asleep?”
Tony laughed softly. “Suppose you’re right.”
It was funny they realised, how the timeline of their relationship, from beginning to end to beginning again, could be characterised by the nightmares they were experiencing at every stage, with one traumatic event seamlessly flowing through to replace the next. But it was special too. The nightmares they each suffered had formed an intricate bond between them. When one would suffer, the other would comfort. A balance. Like they were made to be there for each other.
He woke up panting, immediately situating his hands flat against the bed to support himself. There was a ringing in his ears. Whipping his head around, Tony was completely alone in one of the bedrooms at the hideout. He swallowed a few times, attempting to stabilise his breath. His heart battered away in his chest, still feeling like it was a little too arrhythmic after the shot of adrenaline David had given him three days ago now. Three days. Three days since she’d been taken away from him. Leftover spectres flashed in his eyes. Like a child afraid of the dark, Tony squeezed his eyes and shook his head rapidly, trying to convince them to leave.
He tried not to think about how he’d felt her chest and found nothing there.
He tried not to think about how despite the abundance of smoke, he’d sworn he could still smell her perfume.
He tried not to think about how limp she felt in his arms.
He tried not to think about the trickle of blood pouring from her mouth, the way it had mixed in with the ash on her chin.
He tried not to think about how she was well and truly gone.
Feeling his breath sharpen with no sign of evening out, Tony pulled his knees to his chest, letting out a choked sob.
“Just breathe, you’ll be okay…just breathe, you’ll be okay…”