Even if the stars don't shine

Black Sabbath

  He woke up in the middle of the night again. He slipped out of the bed as not to disturb her and carefully walked out the room, tying up his hair in the process as it kept falling in his eyes especially straight after waking up. He was glad it wasn't a nightmare, she could have been hurt without him realising he was hurting her before it was too late, and the damage was done. He wandered around the flat until he noticed the leather-bound book and cautiously paged through it, sitting on the floor.

  He was surprised that he liked it, he never thought to read poetry. He'd always been busier with covert operations and recovery... and other things. He heard a light being flicked on and looked in the direction of the bedroom. She came through the door with her oversized shirt and yawned. He prepared to make an apology for waking her, but she simply put a hand on his shoulder as she passed on the way to the kitchen.

  "Tea?" she asked gently and saw him nod. When she brought the cups, she took out a blanket from the spare cupboard and draped it over his shoulders despite him not needing it, he practically made heat all by himself. She gathered a few more pillows and lay down on them on the floor next to him. "Would you read it? Out loud?" she asked softly and knew she'd be asleep soon despite trying to keep herself awake.

  He nodded and paged through, reading every second page or something that caught his eye, reminded him of her or of something else he knew he had to remember. After a few moments he paused and looked down at her, fast asleep. He took a sip of the sweet tea for the first time that night and knew only she could make it like this.

  He put the book down on the table and took off the blanket to wrap around her and pick her up in his arms, she was so gone she didn't even stir. He hated that his metal arm touched her innocent skin, something that has tasted blood and likes it against something soft and blameless, containing blood itself.

                                     **

  She woke up, not on the floor but in the bed beside him. She rolled over and studied his face, it seemed to be one of her most enjoyed and most performed activities with him, as long as he didn't notice she'd continue staring. She had a feeling he always knew but was too nice to stop her, or too awkward. She hoped against the latter. Fine pin pricks were beginning to form along his jaw and she knew he'd ask her whether he should shave or not. He looked calm, as much as a man like him could anyway.

  She slowly and very carefully touched his arm, the one that had not originally grown from him, the one that would glimmer in the sun if he let it. It was warm by being partially underneath him, but his fingertips were cooler. Shivers shot up her own arm from the meeting of flesh and metal.

  "Why do you like it so?" he asked softly, waking to see her blush from the sheer surprise.

  Had he been awake the entire time? "I wish you would too... it's part of you-"

  He swiftly, using his flesh hand, brought down his collar to show her the mutilation of where it connected to his shoulder, deep scars, worn and pale white now, still as horrific. "No, it's not."

  She frowned at the sight, she didn't often see this part of him, his scars of war, in the daytime. "It's a part of your past..." she took his hand to stop him from showing her any longer, "a part you may hate but something you have to accept so you can move on."

  "Who I was-"

  "Is not who you are now..." she gave a subdued smile and softly reached for his metal hand, holding them together between their bodies.

  "Who am I?" he looked at their hands.

  "It will come in time, that's kinda the fun part, you get to learn all over again... what you like, what you-"