Thomgelica One-shots because not enough people write about them.

Actions Speak Louder Than Words

Angelica looked troubled in her sleep, Thomas wasn't exactly sure why. He did know that there were things about Angelica that he would never learn. She was a private person, incredibly so, and maybe that's what drew Thomas to Angelica.

She was somebody that continuously surprised him, always kept him on his toes, and he enjoyed it. The banter, the debates, and the talks in the late of the night that Thomas pretended to forget about when the sun rose.

Angelica never ceased to amaze and surprise him.

But this, the crease of her forehead, the whimpers that fall from her lips, and the thrashing in her sleep surprised him the most. He'd never seen her like this, so absolutely distressed and afraid. It frightened him, had a strange sensation of panic shooting up his spine.

He crossed the room towards her, abandoning the glasses of water he was collecting. Kneeling down in front of her, he reached out a hand but quickly pulled it back. Was it okay to touch people when they were freaking out in their sleep the way Angelica was?

He didn't know, not that he had any time to figure it out though, because her movements were getting more frantic, and the tears were starting to fall. So Thomas did the only thing he could think of, he ran his fingers through her hair, which was straight at the moment making the task incredibly easier.

Not that he wouldn't have figured out a way to soothe her with curly hair, Thomas would do anything for her really.

Angelica calmed down, the tears subsided, and her breaths evened out into a peaceful sort of rhythm. He removed his fingers from her hair, careful not to tangle his fingers in her silky locks. Rising from his kneeling position he grabbed a blanket that was neatly resting on the arm of his couch.

Thomas laid the blanket over her, fussing with it, making sure it covered her from chest to toes completely.

Stepping back, he smiled at her. She looked peaceful now, the wrinkle in her forehead gone, the distress written on her face turned into something serene.

When morning came and the sun filtered into the living room Thomas didn't mention the nightmare, nor did he mention the way he had comforted her, and he didn't ask any questions. Instead, he made breakfast for the both of them, ignoring the way Angelica seemed to tiptoe around him until she realized he would not be bringing up the events from last night.

And they ate breakfast together, all the while a fuzzy feeling settling in Thomas's chest whenever Angelica smiled.

...

The knocking at Thomas's door was unnecessarily loud in his opinion, his apartment was small, and any noise echoed through it. He heard everything. It certainly didn't help that he had a headache and every noise was ten times louder and ten times more painful.

The urge to wrap a pillow around his head and block out the noise was tempting but still, he made his way to the door. It was an ungodly hour, the night creeping into dawn, so whoever was pounding at his door had to have a good reason.

He opened the door with more force than strictly necessary, his eyes narrowed, which also was not helping his headache. But then his face dropped because he saw who was at the door, and for her, he'd power through a headache, he'd power through a gunshot wound actually. Especially when she looked the way she did.

Her lip was busted, a trail of blood caking her bottom lip down to her chin. Her eyes were bloodshot and watery, the beginnings of a bruise forming on her left eye. She was shivering too, dressed in a tank top and tights on a December night in New York, it was no wonder why.

Before he could say anything Angelica spoke. "Sorry, you look like you're busy, I'll-I'll just go."

She turned to leave, her hands shaking at her sides, Thomas noticed. He reached out for her, lightly taking hold of her arm. Angelica tensed at the contact, a shiver that was not caused by the weather running through her before she realized it was only Thomas.