Of The Wolves And The Orphans

Interpretation Of Dreams

Finally the last of my slew of updates! Currently working on the next chapter, so I'll post that asap.

The song for this chapter is Crazy by Gnarls Barkley. It's literally perfect for Keira.

You are all great and PLEASE vote and review, it means so much 

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I jolt awake. I feel myself shaking. At first I think someone poured a bucket of ice over my head, but as the terror of the dream fades and reality seeps in, I realize it's just my cold sweat. Slowly I sit up and suppress a groan as raw irritation shoots across my ribs.

I pull up my shirt up and use my fingers to probe the pink scar on my abdomen. The bullet wound healed well. It was just a crease, the bullet entered me fully, but I was extremely lucky. It only hit the meaty part of my abdomen so I'm not required to have as long of healing time. It must have been rubbed sore from my thrashing. If medical knew it was still hurting this much I would be taken right out of the field.

Right then I sense a presence to my right. I let my shirt fall and lean down as if about to go back to sleep. In a movement so fast it is only possible from hours upon weeks upon months of training, I grab my gun from under my pillow, cock it, and point it straight at my target.

Zeke... who else did I expect. "You look really creepy, just so you know," I say to him. He doesn't respond from his chair in the corner. I drop my gun on the bed sheets. "Was watching me sleep entertaining?"

He laughs. It doesn't sound humorous, I can detect an edge. "I would consider it more instructive than anything. I never knew you spoke fluent Russian."

So I talk in my sleep. This will make our little sleepovers awkward. "I picked it up," I respond vaguely with a shrug as swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up. "I'm getting a drink." Getting water serves two purposes, one is I am actually thirsty and sweaty, two is I really would love to leave Zeke's unnerving stare.

I pad to the kitchen and stand on my tip toes to fetch a glass from the cabinet. When I turn around Zeke is leaning against the fridge. I blow out my breath in annoyance and march to the tap, intent on ignoring him.

"We need to talk about this, Keira." His voice is quiet, he doesn't want to wake Nathan.

"Why? I'm coping." I watch the water bubble slightly as it pours into the glass.

"For how long? You're not getting enough sleep. You're not... healthy." I look over my shoulder at him. His eyes area mixture guarded concern and piercing suspicion.

With a sigh, I rub my forehead with the heel of my palm and try to get my jumbled thoughts coherent enough to give him the answer he needs. "I don't think you understand. There was a time I didn't trust anyone. I spent my days for nothing. I was lost, I had no purpose. Now I'm here at S.H.I.E.L.D. and I have a team. I have a mentor. I trust you and Nathan. That's much more then I had a year ago. So no, I'm not healthy, but neither are you, and neither is anyone in this screwed up job." I set down the glass, suddenly feeling sick. He has no idea how unhealthy I am. Every night my dreams are filled with blood and murder. When I decided to keep this to myself, I thought maybe it would get better on its own, but I was wrong. If anything, they are becoming clearer. Every night, a new detail I didn't remember before is added to the long list of brutal crimes I dream I did.

"If you don't mind, Zeke, I'm going to go back to bed," I whisper, dumping out the untouched water and slipping past him. He lets me go, only following me with his eyes. My answer was enough to stall his questions, but not for much longer. He'll have to report it if he thinks I'm getting worse. He'll have to say one on his team is compromised. I need to get a handle on my shit before that happens.