fundamentally

Effie

It was getting worse, not better. John was nervous during the day and he had changed his routine so that he never went past that alley, never went to anywhere threatening. He'd found ways around all the obstacles, going well out of hi way to keep himself 'safe'. But he thought of Lindsey and the man's words, how he'd learned that even the most friendly looking people could be monsters. John lost his trust for the world bit by bit.

But at night- at night things had progressed in a different way. No longer did he dream of being passively disemboweled. No, now he was fighting. Now he was going out in his dreams seeking out danger and fighting head on. He flailed in his sleep, jerking and twitching and it only grew more violent with every passing night.

He was't safe from himself and Effie even less so. Tonight he'd fought valiantly in his sleep, but there was a pain in his arm that was bad enough to rouse him. He blinked and looked and surely enough he had finally loosed his fury on the woman he loved and she lay bleeding from a stray elbow.

"Oh my god," he said, immediately springing to care for her.

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She hadn't been fully asleep, she couldn't be with John in the state he's been in. She can sense it now, the moment when the dreams start. The way his breathing changes, the tiny sounds he makes, and they keep her sleeping lightly because she knows what could come next. It's all so painfully familiar to her she feels like she's living time backwards somehow. Like she's managed to drag John into her world instead of finding a new one with him. She hates every second of it. Hates what it's doing to him. To them.

The blow is unexpected, as sharp and sudden as it is. Certainly not the first time she's been left battered by someone else's nightmares but the pain is intense and immediate and she's backing away before she even has time to think. A hand to her face and the other held up to guard against anything else that could happen.

"SHIT. John. John are you awake? Wake up now!"

"I'm awake. I'm awake now," he assures her, his chest heaving. He reaches past her and turns the light on and then blanches.

"Oh, no...you're bleeding," he says, blanching and sick at he sight of what he's done. He simply cannot take the sight of blood. It's too red, too wet...and the smell hits him, coppery and rich, and his stomach rolls.

The sudden brightness dazes her, makes her shut her eyes until she can get accustomed to it and so she doesn't immediately see his reaction. She's too busy trying to figure out what she needs to do next. There's a box of tissues on the nightstand so she grabs for it, clumsily knocking it onto the bed before she manages to get any tissues out, then holds them to her face. She can't tell where the blood is coming from but she can taste it so she figures it is probably just a split lit. Maybe her nose. Nothing serious.

"It's ok, John. Really. Just give me a second and it will be alright." When she finally opens her eyes she can see how horrified he looks. Pale and sick and it makes her want to reach out to him but there's blood on her hand and she knows that will only make everything worse. Distraction is what he needs now. "Sweetie, could you get me a washcloth? A cool one?"

He springs out of bed, trembling and sick. But getting a cloth is something to focus on- she's so smart- and the process of finding one, wetting it, and wringing it out helps him come back to himself. By the time he returns he's only shaking a little.

"You're a mess," he says apologetically. "Here. Here, have this. Take this and...and I'll go get another..."

She takes the cloth from him and tries to keep his eyes focused on something besides the blood on her hand. First thing she needs to do is clean that off if she's planning on keeping him from spiraling any further than he already has.

"It's not that bad," she says as she puts the ruined tissues aside and exchanges them for the comforting coolness of the damp towel. "Honestly. It just caught me by surprise. It will stop soon."

Or at least she hopes it will. Not only because it really does hurt quite a bit but because this situation is delicate enough already without her bleeding all over their sheets.

"I was having the most awful dream," he admits. Then he sighs softly and sits on the edge of the bed, avoiding looking at her out of guilt and disgust. The blood makes his stomach ache, a phantom pain in a wound mostly healed.

"I think I'm going mental, Effie darling. I can't...I can't sleep. I can't put this behind me. And it's only getting worse."

He sighs again.

"Perhaps we should stop staying the night until I get myself sorted out. This isn't safe for you."

That gets a short, sharp laugh out of her with no humor in it at all as she gets up to go look for the little bottle of what's left of their collection of pain pills. She's in no mood for the throbbing that's already started and from experience it's only going to get worse.

"So you think I should leave you here to deal with this on your own, do you? That's your idea for how to keep me safe?" Her tone is gentle, even if the words aren't. "I'm not going anywhere, John. Believe me when I tell you've I've had a lot worse than this and it doesn't scare me. But we have to find a way to help you and I wish I knew where to start but I don't. Not really."

John sighs softly and his head falls. He can't look at her and it's shame more than the sight of blood that averts his eyes.

"I should see a doctor. A proper doctor. A psychiatrist, mm? I think that maybe the incident...oh, Effie, I can't stop thinking about it. Every day, I go over it and over it. I can't stop," he said, deeply disturbed by the whole business. He's on the verge of tears, that much is clear in the way his voice breaks, an octave higher than it should be.

The sound of his voice breaks her heart into tiny pieces but she can't go to him. Not yet. Not until she looks in the mirror to check and make sure the bleeding has stopped. It's clear he can't look at her right now the way she is and one of them has to be calm and in control here.

Some swelling, but she can use a cold compress later. For the moment the wet cloth is enough to clean herself up and she does it as quickly and efficiently as possible then she's moving toward him. Getting down on her knees in front of him so he has to see her. Kissing his hand.

"If you think that a doctor can help you, then that's what you should do. Whatever you need."

She clean then, a bit worse for wear but he can look at her without his stomach turning. John takes her face in both hands, gentle as if she were a newborn kitten, and he bends down to kiss her forehead.

"You are my rock, Effie darling. I don't know what I would do without you. I would certainly not have fared as well as I have without you. I never want to hurt you, though. I'll...I'll find someone in the morning. I'll find a therapist and see to getting past this," he promises. He's resolute about it now. He's been waffling on the idea for all this time, believing it to be a good idea and then second guessing himself and talking himself out of it. Effie's blood is the tipping point, though. THis cannot happen again. It simply cannot.

"I know you will." She rubs her cheek against his hand, finding the contact soothing even with her face still throbbing. The pills will take a few minutes to kick in but she hopes he can't tell she's in pain. It's the last thing they need right now.

Opening her eyes she looks up at him and smiles softly. Hoping that having made his decision about getting help means he's coming out the other side of the panic. She's still exhausted and she can tell from his face that he is too, but neither of them will be getting any more rest if she can't get him settled. "Do you think maybe you want to take something to help you sleep? Or you could just talk to me, you know I'll always be here to listen."

"I'd rather just hold you...and maybe talk of, erm, something else? I don't want to think on it anymore tonight," he says softly, tentatively reaching out to stroke the softness of her cheek with the back of his knuckle.

"Not that I don't want to talk about it. Just not tonight, mm? I feel like it's consuming me and I'd truly like, what I'd really like if I could have anything, is I'd like to have some peace from it. and you...you're so lovely. You're so strong and you've been so bloody good at soothing me through all this. You shouldn't have to deal with another man haunted by demons, Effie darling. And I realize that mine are nothing like...like Haymitch's. Or yours. Even yours. And...and I realize this isn't the...the trauma Olympics...but it's still..."

He stops then and huffs a sardonic laugh.

"I likely need to explain Olympics, don't I? You've no idea what I'm talking about. Come back to bed and I'll tell you of the games in my own world, hmm?"

It's hard for her to hear him talk that way, not just about Haymitch but about her. There is no comparison and no need for any and she wishes John could see that. She deserves whatever ghosts haunt her and Haymitch...

"There is no blood on your hands, John. You're a sweet, gentle man and you don't deserve any of this. That's all that matters."

She leans into his touch then, wondering suddenly if he would be open to being distracted in other ways. They are both exhausted, but maybe not too exhausted to enjoy each other for a bit. Sliding her hands slowly up his thighs she licks her lips and lets a bit of heat show in her eyes. Nothing he can't ignore if he chooses to, but at least the opening is there. "And yes. You can tell me about anything you'd like. You know I'm always interested."

John considers himself a smart man, but he's not too terribly skilled at understanding when he's bing played. He was with his boyfriend seven years and only recently understood he was often manipulated. He just doesn't think that way, he doesn't do it himself, and he doesn't expect it. And so he reads nothing into her obvious flirtation other than she's interested. Caring. That she loves him. Surely there's nothing more to it than that.

"Come to bed," he says, covering her hands with his own...then pulling them to his groin. "Let me kiss it better..."

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Effie

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