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“It's alright, Carol,” Yon-Rogg mumbles, eyes closed and chin still pressed into the back of her shoulder. “Come back to sleep. You're safe.”
Carol doesn’t respond, only turns to stare at him curled loosely against her back, his arm draped languidly over her waist. Her gaze is uncertain. When the silence stretches on, he peeps one eye open and scans her face.
“How did you know I was awake?” she whispers, suspicious. “Was I talking in my sleep?”
He sighs softly and rolls slightly away from her onto his back. He studies the crease between her brows and the frantic look in her eyes. Flashes of energy flit and dance among the ends of her hair. The nightmare must have been a bad one, then, he notes.
He motions for her to come closer, inviting her to curl in the space under his collar bone. When she slots herself beside him and rests her head on his chest, he basks for a moment in the feeling of having her safe in the circle of his arms. Not that she needs the safety of his arms, he knows; she could obliterate him in a heartbeat, if she so wanted. She looks up at him, the unanswered questions still plain on her face.
“Your blood… calls to me,” he explains carefully, “when you're in distress, I sense it. It's a defense mechanism, an instinct, part of the price of sharing my blood with you.”
“So you always knew,” she guesses. “You were already awake all those times I banged on your door.”
He nods, golden eyes flitting over her face.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
He pauses. He tenderly plays with a strand of her still-sparking hair as he collects his thoughts.
“I thought it might be best if I gave you space, the privacy to be at the mercy of your emotions,” he says.
She turns to look at him, surprise and confusion sprawled on her face.
“I worried that I would cause you more shame if I tried to comfort you, given that usually I was on your ass all the time to hold it together,” he teased lightly. His eyes quickly grew serious again. “I didn't want to take your last fortress away from you, too.”
He drops the strand of hair and ghosts his fingertips down the ladder of her ribs.
“But every night, I felt, I still feel it,” he amends, “And I ached to go to you and take it all away and soothe you and protect you and chase the nightmares out. But your quarters were yours. You didn't have to hide. Not there. Not with me.”
It’s several moments before she can speak.
“I'm sorry you had to know when I was weak,” she mumbles, chagrin searing every nerve. The intended edge of sarcasm is singed away by the embarrassment.
He smiles gently, indulgently.
“I knew even then you were the strongest woman in the galaxy,” he murmurs. “I get them too, you know. Everyone does when you've seen enough battles and death and trauma.”
“Right,” she bites back, “which is why you so often woke me up in the middle of the night when you're borderline hysterical.”
He chuckles. “I've had more practice, that's all.”
He turns his head, lips brushing her hairline, and sighs.
“I'm so sorry,” he whispers, contrition constricting his voice, his throat, his chest.
“I know. You've mentioned it once or twice already.”
“I could live a hundred lifetimes and still never deserve you,” he says, voice reverent.
“You're right,” she laughs. “I should make this much harder on you.”
“Part of me wants you to. I wish I could adequately describe how completely you own me. But,” his mouth twists ruefully, “you always have. I was a fool to pretend otherwise.”
“You were a fool,” she agrees. “But not solely for that reason.”
She knows he’s still squirming emotionally; she can sense it without even looking at him. When she props herself up on an elbow to look at him, his face is pinched, anguish and regret churning just below the surface of his features.
“You know, you're stuck with me, don't you?” Her words are teasing but her eyes are serious as they lock on his. Her free hand cards gently through his hair.
“I would have thought it the other way round,” he breathes, leaning into her touch with eyelids fluttering to half mast.
She smiles. “Good. I'm not letting you go.”
He grins back at her, catching her wrist and holding her hand in place as he nestles his face into her palm. He presses a soft kiss to the edge of her wrist. “Good.”
She leans her head down on his chest once more, exhaling slowly as she relaxes around him, settling in before drifting off once more.