Feelings, memories...slowly, ever so slowly it's returning and I was afraid of losing it all over again. I could lose her again, and I've been so stupid as to abuse what time I have with her by not doing so at all.

Gods, I'm a real fucking idiot, and of course, it took me nearly dying and her having a nightmare for me to see it. I'm an idiot and a coward, and an idiot.

I pull her closer and whisper to her that everything's going to be okay and that she's out of that darkness and pain, but I repeat the words for myself. A reminder that I'm still alive, and I'm heading into a fight where I could lose everything, so I should treasure what I have in case it's gone.

I hold her until her sobs allow her to take some decent breaths and her body stops shaking. Then I let myself settle against the wall and repeat the words to myself until I believe them - until it's engrained so deeply into my skull that I could never forget them again.

When the minutes drag on and my eyes start to droop again, I loosen my arms around her to let her go, but she ends up putting her legs over my hips and curling into me with her hands still gripping my shirt and her head on my shoulder. A part of my heart and the small part of me that's still inside breaks at the feel and sight of her being so vulnerable, so small. I've only ever known her as strong, and to have seen her so weak after we got her out, having to see how thin she was, and how much work she had to put in to gain even a little bit of muscle...it hurt. It hurt me to see her that way, and I know I should've been there more often even when my own heart couldn't take it - especially then - but I wasn't.

I won't do that anymore. No matter how much I want to avoid her eyes because I don't want to see the difference between who she was and who she now is, I won't - I can't.

I still believe that the Clarice I knew is still in there somewhere. I still believe that there's a way to get that piece of her back, and I'll be damned if I'll let that hope go because of my own hurting heart. She'll always be strong - she's strong now, it's just harder to see, but I see it. I'll always see it. That much I know.

"I'm sorry," I whisper into the night.

"For what?" My arm pulls her tighter against me at the sound of her hoarse voice. I would keep her right where she is for the rest of our lives if it meant she were safe. No more demons or evil War Lords or fussy Courts or nagging friends. Just us.

"For everything. For what you've been through and everything you've seen. I'm sorry for what happened in those cells, and I'm sorry for what you've had to see after Thralia burned and for tonight. You shouldn't have to see those things."

She snuggles closer, using her arm to wipe at her running nose. "You don't have to apologize. None of it was your fault."

"Maybe not, but I'm still sorry."

We sit in silence for a few moments before she speaks again. "Well, technically, you scaring the shit out of me today was your fault. All you had to do was move out of the way."

A small smile tugs at my lips. "I'm sorry. Next time I'll jump right into your arms."

I can feel her cheek move upward in a smile against my chest. "Good. Then I forgive you. You and your brainless head." The insult is a rather love tap compared to what they used to be, but it makes me huff a laugh anyway.

Only Clarice would crack a joke right now.

I haven't noticed, but at some point, my fingers started to run themselves up and down her forearm. She's relaxed further into me too. I can feel sleep covering us like a blanket once more as I let my hand drift up toward the elemental mark on her wrist and trace the lines of the waterdrop. I slide my fingers around to her palm, but I stop when she winces and her hand flinches.

"Clarice?"

"It's nothing," she says, tucking her hands to her chest.

"Clare, let me see them." She resists my small tug on her wrists at first, but then she lets out a sigh and holds them out. I gently pry her fingers apart until her palm is open. My breath hitches at the sight of all the burns, jagged cuts, and dried blood covering both hands. "Clare, why didn't you say anything?"

"I forgot about them. I've been a little distracted."

"Oh, Clarice. We should find something to clean them with."

I go to sit up but she pushes her weight into me, keeping my back against the wall. "No. I don't...we'll clean them in the morning."

"They're likely infected, Clare. We should clean them now," I protest, already looking around for something to do so with.

"No, please. I don't want to go anywhere. I want to stay right here. Please." As if to further make her point she settles her head in the crook of my shoulder and her own beneath my arm. The protective part of me is screaming to carry her to the stool in the corner and force her to let me clean the cuts, but the other part of me - the part of me that misses the feel of her warmth and gentle body, tells me to stay.

I settle on a compromise and lean back against the wall. She sighs in relief, but morning won't come quickly enough to prevent an infection Willa will have my head for not addressing the second I found the wounds. It takes little effort to ask the wind to lift and bring me a cloth from the shelf, a bowl of water with it. She whines as I dip the cloth in the water and lift her hand to gently clean it, but she'll be thanking me later. Infections are a bitch and a half.

The burns and cuts must be from the vines she summoned today, the ones that ended up saving my life. She had to have been pulling them so hard and so fast if raw skin and scabs were all they left of her hand. I try to be careful, but she still winces. Makes me wish that elementals came with healing abilities too. Then I could just heal this up and not worry about having to tear another cloth after both hands are clean enough to my liking, and then wrap them just to make sure they're covered.

Siscilla would probably screech at my poor effort, but they look better than they were before, blood and clearly not tended to by Kat. Clarice must've hidden them too while she bathed, otherwise, the ferocious redhead would've dragged Willa in here to have them healed.

I send the dirty cloth and bowl back to the shelf. Clarice is already half asleep and barely stirs when I reposition her arm so it doesn't drive into my ribs. I could probably take us both to the bed with ease, but if I'm being honest, I really don't want to move either. I want to freeze time and never wake once I've fallen asleep.

Sooner rather than later, I find myself putting my chin atop her head and tucking both of her small hands into one of my own and against my heart. One little lilting voice of gold and the heat from her hands and the burns siphon into mine. It's the smallest, barely audible of sounds, but I catch her gasp of relief when it's gone.

"Thank you." Her voice is nothing more than the faintest whisper, and yet I hear it as clear as birdsong in the morning.

A second later her breathing evens out and her body grows heavy. She's asleep before I can tell her what my heart so badly wants to say, and then I'm gathering her warmth and letting my own eyes close.

I don't remember when I fell asleep, only that I did, and at some point one of her hands slipped beneath my shirt and placed itself over the fading scar. She didn't have any nightmares the rest of the night, and I had better sleep than I'd had in months against the bathroom wall.