This Way Comes [Emma]

[Cian Lawrence]

Cian was exhausted all over in every possible sense of the word. His body was heavy and sluggish and his thoughts were muddled. He wanted so terribly to sleep that he thought he might cry from it. In fact, he was very really near tears. But he could not get himself to drop off. And he had tried everything. Liquor, counting sheet, humming under his breath, deep breathing; everything.

And yet it was 3:39 in the morning and here he was, writing symphonies on the ceiling with desperation caught in his throat like a sob. Swallowing over that thickly, he turned to glance at Emma. She had turned and shifted in her sleep so that her back was to him. Licking his lips softly, he carefully maneuvered himself to be sitting up, looking over Emma. He brushed at her hair gently, with the hand that was supporting his weight, before sliding out from under the covers.

Bare feet shuffled over the carpeting as he made his way to the living room. Sighing, he sat heavily and tipped forward, knees spread and head cradled in his hands. He hated feeling like this. "Jay-sus," he muttered through lips broken from how often he'd been biting on them lately. It was nearly as bad as it was when Azrael was inside him, corrupting his thoughts. Grunting softly, his fingers tightened in his hair, tugging on it slightly. He needed to get a handle on this. He was back, he was with his family; he didn't want to waste anymore time on the issue.

Sighing, Cian straightened up and tilted his head back, resting it onto the back of the couch. Hitching his shoulders, he rubbed at his eyes. With a last ditch hum or a sigh, he swung himself around to be lying on the couch. Maybe he just needed a change of environment. Even as he was just closing his eyes he knew that it would prove useless.

[Emma Lawrence]

Wide Eyed

Ever since he'd gotten back, he hadn't been the same. This was, of course, expected--who wouldn't be jumbled and...not normal...after coming back from what was supposed to be eternal damnation? Even his insomnia had gotten worse. On regular nights, he'd be up for a while after she'd fallen asleep and then follow afterwards. Now he wouldn't sleep at all. Like he was sick. Like his mind was incapable of shutting off.

Emma had purposely avoided moments of weakness for his own sake. He didn't speak, he barely made eye contact. Something was off on the inside. Because of his fragility, she walked on eggshells around him, making her own nerves stony and immobile. He had to be relieved to be back, at least, but... Nothing gave off indicating so.

Tonight, she'd gone to bed a little late, offering to stay awake with him. After a shaky, few-worded refusal from Cian, she'd given in. Now it was some time in the early morning. Outside was still pitch black, traffic dimmed, still. And his side of the bed was cold. Reaching over in the hopes of grabbing his hand, she found crumpled sheets and a pillow that hadn't been lived on in quite some time. Concerned, Emma sat up and reached to put her glasses on. Then she turned out the covers and went to find him.

There wasn't much of a search required. She discovered him lying on the couch, one irritant short of crying. What could have been bothering him?

She sat near his legs, just on the edge of the seat, drawing her hand over his cheek. "Hey," she whispered, her voice like white noise against the silence. She didn't want to ask what was wrong right away, knowing that she was scared of the answer. Instead, she said, "You're worrying me." Not that he wasn't intuitive enough even in his vegetable-like state to realize this.

His eyes were cloudy, filled with thought. Was he wondering why he was back? how he was back? What, what was going on in that brain of his that she was so glad to have as hers again?

[Cian Lawrence]

Not noticing her entrance, Cian jumped at Emma's touch, jerked away in surprise. Once he registered who it was though, he immediately sunk into her touch, reveling in the soft familiarity. God, Emma's touch... He could remember actually dreaming about it. Over and over; nothing more than the simple stroke of her palm running over his stubbled jaw. But, Mary and Joseph, it was nothing compared to the real thing.

"You're worrying me." He knew that. He knew that and he hated it more than anything. He had tried so hard to keep it all inside, keep it from her so that she didn't have to bear the burden of this with him. "I know," he whispered. "I know, I'm sorry."

Sighing, he scrubbed a hand over his face. "I just... I don't feel like meself. I s'ppose that's to be expected what with the journey to hell and back an' all but..." He frowned and swallowed audibly. "I don't very much like it. S'givin' me a hard time is all. Adjustin' to everything again and all..."

Realizing the strain of whine that was woven through that explanation, he shook his head. "I don't mean to sound...ungrateful," he murmured, eyes on the floor. "I'm... I'm so goddamn happy to be back, Emma. Y' have to know t'at."

And he was. It baffled his mind to a point where he couldn't even begin to consider why or how or any of that. It was on too grand a scale for him.

[Emma Lawrence]

Once his accent thickened, she knew whatever was eating away at him was serious. There was no more need to look in his eyes to find the truth. No difference in inflection or tone could have sent the message any clearer. The more he spoke, the more she wanted him to quiet. She knew he was dissheveled, and that was okay. It was where he was right now. They'd get through it eventually.

Shaking her head, she kept a palm over the surface of his cheek. "You don't have to make me know that," she assured him. "I already know. It's all right. You're not feeling anything wrong. You never can." He just needed a place to escape from his own mind for a while.

Coming up with an idea, she proposed, "Do you want me to try to use my Empathy on you? Help you fall asleep?" It worked for Ollie more often than not. And he seemed desperate for some reprieve.

She hated seeing him gnawing at his own feelings. He was uncertain, he was sure. He was solid, he was falling apart. Biting on half of her lip, she brushed a hand over his hair. "I'm not going to leave until I know you're okay," she promised him, leaving no room for protest.

[Cian Lawrence]

He nodded as she assured him and reassured him over again. What he was feeling was okay, it was right because he was feeling it. The problem was, he didn't know what he feeling. Just that it...was there. And it was stronger than his connection to his body. At her suggestion to use her empathy, he shook his head and violently. "No, no." He didn't want her to know the full extent of what he was feeling. Didn't want her to experience that. It was tearing him apart and she didn't need to know what that was like.

"I'm not going to leave until I know you're okay." Cian grinned up at her, genuine, and just caught her hand with hers. "I'm okay," he told her. "I am. It's different this time because... I know nothing's causing this. I know it's just me adjusting and getting used to everything again. I'm not afraid of being...mixed up forever."

And that was true. As oddly as he was feeling now, he wasn't afraid. He wasn't. He knew he could get over this; he would. It would just take some time.

[Emma Lawrence]

She didn't know what it was like to be reborn after being tormented in the worst kind of torture never conceived by mankind--but if all the effects were just having trouble connecting his brain to his body, well. That was better than any permanent mental damage. He could still be dead. Putting this in perspective, Emma smiled as much as she could, adjusting her glasses on her nose before rubbing his side. "Well, even if you are okay," she said, "I want you to sleep. And since that seems to be...evasive," she sighed, "I can either stay here until you do, or we can go back to bed, or...we can do whatever you want." Anything to give his mind a rest. It was clearly being overworked.

Stiff, she pulled her arms over her head and held her breath, stretching out her joints before relaxing them with the release of air. Nagging reminders in the back of her head told her that she was adjusting to this too quickly. She was taking his presence for granted. He didn't have to be alive. But God was kind to her again. Staring at his face, she twisted her mouth, shifted her position, felt a warm tingle start in the pit of her stomach. His ending had come too fast, and...and she had barely even said 'thank you' for getting a second chance.

Parting, reparting, combing, mussing, and just feeling the front of his hair over and over, just to give her some kind of connection to him, Emma chewed on the inside of her cheek. A chuckle froze halfway out, "You weren't supposed to go until I said I was through with you."

[Cian Lawrence]

He hummed at her touch, sinking into it comfortably. "I'd love to sleep as well," he replied. And wouldn't he ever. "Stay here," he mumbled, tugging on her hand a little to pull her forward, against him.

She stretched first though and his hands slid up her torso, resting on her sides. He had dreamed of her touch but also of touching her. She was staring at him then and his mouth quirked into a smile. "What?" he asked, meeting her eyes. Her hands were stroking through and over his hair and, God, did it ever feel good...

"You weren't supposed to go until I said I was through with you." He grinned softly and shifted, fingers flexing over her lower-ribs. "I wasn't quite ready to go either, you know," he reasoned. Lifting her hand from his side, he brought it to his mouth, kissed her palm. "Wasn't through with you, either."

[Emma Lawrence]

He didn't have to ask her twice. Agreeing quickly to the tug, Emma moved to lay on top of him, not letting her head rest on his chest just yet. She wasn't done looking at his face. "As you wish." She pressed slow, numerous kisses onto his lips. With each new one, every time she went to press her mouth over his again, her glasses were shoved a little higher on her nose. They were very shallow, lips-only, but that was all she needed to satisfy her. For once, Emma was content to just kiss. Kiss for eternity.

His fingers splayed out over her ribs, and she hiked up her position in reaction, mouth nearer to his nose. Emma's hands were clasped on either side of his face. "I'm not going without you," she promised, very gradually bending her knees so that she rested on them at either of his sides.

This was...kind of bad. All things considered. Her fire was burning, feeding on any energy she'd gotten from sleeping before. And he was still trying to recover from being in hell. Blaming her insatiable drive to be near him, with him, part of him, Emma sighed, laying her head down on his shoulder, satisfying herself by slowly sucking on his neck.