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When she woke up, Michael was asleep. His arms were wrapped tightly around her, his lips resting against her temple as he breathed softly. Her head pounded slightly, but relaxed at the sight of him. He was still there, just like he told her he would be. A tiny, almost undetectable smile graced her lips, and her hand traveled to his face. She wasn't sure what time it was, but the outpost was silent. Candles flickered, creating an orange glow upon his skin. He looked at total peace, his stress lines no longer visible.
It made her wonder just what exactly was going on in his head. What did he think of all this? Of course, she knew if she were to ask, he wouldn't tell her. He typically never talked about his feelings, always putting hers first. And when he did, they were usually screaming at each other.
She almost giggled at the thought, thinking of the fights they had in the past. They hadn't argued much, but when they did, it was practically a war zone. Her finger traced his cheek bone, the soft feeling of his marble skin making her fall into a warm trance. His hair was shiny and soft, his lips pink and slightly parted as he breathed. He had always told her how beautiful she was, but he was also unbelievably beautiful. The word didn't even begin to cover it. He was like an angel, her little fallen angel.
She had spent many nights alone in that bed against the cool sheets, and now that he laid by her side, she knew she wouldn't be able to be alone again. The thought terrified her, because she knew she was already back in that same routine. He was her very lifeline, and the idea of him not loving her back or leaving her, almost made her throw up.
Her finger went to his nose, lightly tracing the shape of it and going down to his top lip. She was surprised that he didn't wake up, but she figured he was more exhausted than he let on. "You still love me, right?" She whispered, her eyes soft. He had told her that he did, but that was the old her. He loved the old her. Could he love the new one?
He was fast asleep, and she sighed as she removed her hand. She gently sat up, holding her head as she prepared for the headache that would haunt her for the day. His hand remained on her leg, and her eyes slowly glanced around her room. She hadn't really looked at it yet, and she swallowed as she remembered details of it in her mind.
There was the couch that Gallant always sat on when he was visiting her, which usually consisted of painting nails and gossiping. There she had her desk and little tray of candles. Her mirror and closet full of dresses, her books. Her eyes froze at the thought, and they widened when her eyes settled upon them.
Oh, God, her books.
She practically pounced off the bed, scurrying across the room as she clambered to the floor by her pile of books. There they were, neatly stacked together: Little Women, Pride and Prejudice, and The Great Gatsby. A huge, pearly smile molded onto her face, and she caressed the covers as she laughed quietly.
Before her memory had come back, those three books were practically the only thing that had kept her sane in the outpost. She had read them countless times, not remembering having read them before. She had always wondered who had given them to her, or how they had gotten there, for that matter. And it was all of her things, not just her books. When she had woken up to find Jack, she had no time to gather any of her things before the bombs went off. But when she arrived at her room in the outpost, there were several unfamiliar things. But now, as she sat on the hardwood floor, she now knew who had brought the books, and she smiled as she glanced back at him.
