grab for any comfort, any little thing (A Divergent Fanfiction)

man is not made for defeat

It's the crying that wakes him, soft and pitiful and almost noiseless. For several moments, his sleep addled brain thinks it's Adele, probably fussing for food or a change, but the crying isn't coming from the crib they had set up in the corner, and they don't have Adele tonight.

Olivia is curled up in a ball, hands over her head and knees protecting her chest, and she's pushed herself into the corner where his mattress meets the wall. He can't see her very well, can't see the way he knows her eyes are clenched shut or the way her teeth are grinding together, but now that he's awake he can feel the way the bed is trembling. He reaches out carefully, aware that anything could set her to fighting him, kicking out at someone who isn't really there, and that's not what he wants. The back of her hand is cold when he touches it, and he calls her name softly until some of the tension bleeds out of her shoulders.

When he finally convinces her to unravel and let him hold her, she clings to him like he's the only thing keeping her grounded, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him so tightly that he's almost convinced he can feel her heart beat through her shirt. He doesn't sleep again, can't, not when he knows that something out there is causing her distress, but he relaxes some when she manages to slip back into a light doze.

Despite the occasional unsettling night, Olivia's sleeping has gotten much better, especially on the nights when she's exhausted herself on patrol, or when they have to catch a quick nap between Adele's still-hectic eating schedule. He revels in the nights when they both sleep well, not because her nightmares irritate him, but because he sleeps better when she does. He likes having her here, in his space, in his bed, and he likes to think that he'd do anything to keep it that way.

***

Olivia stirs when the alarm on his wrist watch goes off. It's seven-thirty in the morning, earlier than he likes to be up, but later than she usually is; it's a compromise they've had to work on. Eric thumbs the alarm off, and rolls over her, wrapping her even further in his arms and covering her body with his. She settles back onto a pillow, arms still wrapped around his neck, eyes barely open as one of her hands skims over the freshly cut hairs on the back of his head. She smoothes the longer pieces away from his face, pushing them back like he usually wears them, but they don't stay for long without something to hold them that way.

It's moments like these, in the early quiet before the rest of Dauntless is awake, that he's reminded of how fragile this woman beneath him is. Her eyes are still red from the night before and her hair is sleep-wild, splashed out across his sheets like fire in a dark night. She isn't the Dauntless she has grown to be, she isn't loud and free and spirited; she just is, content to be like so many aren't, and it's one of the things he loves most about her. He ducks his head and runs his nose along the side of her neck until she shivers, and starts to push him away. He rolls away from her and onto his back, letting her fling a leg over his waist and crawl out of bed; she presses a closed mouth kiss to his chin as she goes.

Eric stays in bed, listening to her brush her teeth and braid her wild hair out of the way before rejoining him on the bed. When she attempts to crawl back over him, he catches her by the waist and sits up so that she balanced on his lap. She smiles at him, but when he goes to kiss her, she does the same thing she does every morning that he tries this: she put a hand over his mouth and says, "Not until you brush your teeth, and you know that."

He laughs behind her hand because he knows this, and she knows that he knows this, but sometimes in the morning after they need to be less serious than they could be, they need to pretend that there isn't a world before them and a past behind. Instead of arguing, he dumps her to the side, laughing at the squawking she makes when he does so, and heads into the bathroom himself. After he's got his toothbrush in his mouth, he stands in the doorway, leaning on the jamb and watching Olivia.

She's sobered, watching out the window from where he left her on the bed, so he finishes what he's doing, spits and rinses, and goes to scoop her up from the mattress. She starts to protest but he can hear the noise die in her throat when he heads towards the windows. He sets her on the ledge, keeps his hands on her thighs to keep her steady, and they both spend the next thirty minutes watching Dauntless wake up from another night's sleep.