The Armor (Prince Harry fanfic #1)

Chapter Nine

At night, like all the other nights, Harry waited for Lucy to sit up in bed, and again, he said that he would help her. He would be better. For a few nights after the mother's death, Lucy hadn't woken up at all during the night, like the death comforted her, something she was used to. No one should be used to death. Lucy greeted death like it was an old friend, welcoming the end of her days, when Harry woke up in cold sweats after dreaming of Lucy covered in blood. She didn't wake up in the night.

Though, this night was different, back to the first days of their lives together, Lucy sat up in the night, her back straight and shoulders up. Her hands pressed to her chest, to feel her heart beat, but she was even and calm. After staring forward for a moment, her eyes went up to the sky, whatever else hid out there. She fell back onto the bed. Harry's eyes focused on her, but he didn't say anything. He had a chance. Go, he told himself.

"Lucy?" he whispered.

Lucy didn't move, in fact, she stopped breathing, freezing in the warm air, caught in the middle of the night of terror. Her back was to him, and eventually, she rolled over, her head pressed against her pillow, matching how he laid on his bed.

"Are you okay?"

She smiled at him, so innocent and kind, unable to act any longer. Harry realized that she must be tired. "I pretend to be." There was her honesty, and it punched him in the gut. "Are you okay?"

"I pretend to be."

She laughed a little, sighing into the air. "At least we try."

Her eyes met his, and Harry felt himself unable to move, paralyzed in her gaze at night. There was light in her eyes, still so bright and powerful, guiding the dark out of the room. At night, her armor was off while she slept. Now, even awake, her armor was off, brighter than the sun she shined, beautiful. The last thing Harry wanted to do was scare her away, have her go back into an abundant abyss of armor.

"Good night, Harry."

"Good night, Lucy."

Harry's eyes closed, falling deep into sleep, going off into his dreams, but Lucy wasn't like that. Even with her eyes closed, she didn't sleep, like always, lying awake to think about her life. Panic gripped her chest, still so calm, still so hard to breathe. She told herself to breathe, to be calm, to get her mind off of her past.

When younger, Lucy had asked herself the question of why? Why her? Why then? Why did this happen? Why them? Why this place? Why that way? Why did it touch her? Why did it all come to an end?

Lucy forced herself into dreams, thinking of happiness that always ended in death. Her dreams never came easily, the opposite of her nightmares. Those came most nights, she assumed; she woke up to the terror, waking up in the deepest holes. Sometimes she didn't even remember; she just felt the pain throb from her scars, like they tore apart, like her body was tore apart again.

The thin blanket was laid across her body, her guard when she wasn't awake. Her sword was always on her body, her tongue, to lash out, to protect. She was a fighter, still alive when others weren't. She was good, better than most, stronger than most.

She sank into the bed, growing comfortable with the situation. No one could hurt her here except for Harry. Harry wouldn't hurt her. He was kind and gentle. There was something special about him, spectacular.

Why did it have to be him?

When Lucy was younger, she did have a crush on him, Prince Harry, Prince Charming, but the days came where reality hurt, stinging, ripping through her body. She grew up in a matter of hours, woke up a grownup to the bright white light and the cold air. Harry had this rare ability to be a child in a grownup's body, to have fun, to have a carelessness about him, a willingness to live in the moment. She admired that about him. She always loved that about him. He was Prince Charming, to her, to all.

Now, he was still Prince Charming, but there wasn't a way for her to fall back into who she once was before. She was an admirer of him because of his work, not for being a prince. Lucy didn't want to fit into the mold of which society created, what her home had created, and she had left that to leave what pain and life had been.

Someday, she would have to go back. Someday, he would have to go back.

Through her eyelashes, he laid there, across the slum, breathing in and out, already asleep. She knew, always knew, he stayed awake for her, wanting to comfort her, but he never did. She didn't look down upon him for this, but the willing to do better does make a person better. She could take care of herself. This was just one step for the rest of her life, the rest of her survival.

Lucy pushed herself to be asleep again, to be fall off into the abyss, like she could do, like she usually did. Tonight, she couldn't accomplish it. By him speaking, him watching every night for her to wake became real. Those nightmares were real. He spoke about the unspoken moments, the words that weren't really there, and he made it real. He saw; he knew. She was better than this.

Her eyelids fluttered open, and she glanced at him, still asleep. It didn't matter, because Harry felt the sight of her eyes and he was never asleep. He relaxed on the bed, peering at her. Lucy was humanity, peering at him with sadness and hope. Harry was humanity, watching carefully and waiting. The question was asked and still remained: what would humanity have for them tomorrow?