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Ballister padded softly down the dark hallway, maneuvering carefully, still getting used to walking with the imbalance on his left side.He had been struggling to sleep all night, and had eventually decided to just give up; he had had a terrible night the day before, with awful night terrors and horrible chronic pain that just hadn’t left him alone even as Ambrosius held him all throughout it, and he didn’t want that happening again, because Ambrosius needed sleep, and Ballister felt more than a little guilty that he was the reason why he wasn’t getting any. He wondered if Ambrosius felt similarly when Ballister was the one comforting him – Ballister sincerely hoped not, because Ambrosius didn’t deserve that.Though, he supposed that Ambrosius would think the same about him, and would think that he himself was the one who deserved no comfort, just as Ballister thought about himself. It was just a cycle of both of them loving each other while hating themselves, and neither of them wanted that, but both of them felt that they deserved it.(Yeah, it was probably a good thing that they were both going into therapy.)He tried not to think about that too hard, though, because it just stressed him out and made him spiral, and that wasn’t good for anyone. Right now, he was just focusing on going to the kitchen and doing the dishes leftover from dinner (they usually just got takeout, but Ambrosius had cooked) and from whatever midnight snack Nimona had probably gotten, because doing something like a chore was a good distraction, something that got his mind off of everything else. Plus, then he didn’t have to worry about doing the dishes until morning, when there would be more.But regardless. It was a distraction. Distractions were good.Well. Most distractions were good.Other distractions – like walking into the kitchen to find Nimona sitting alone in the dark, curled in on herself, crying and shaking and gasping for breath as she sobbed in a way that Ballister didn’t think he had seen since that day – weren’t really all that great, to be honest.Ballister froze at the sight, his eyes widening as he stood in the doorway, wobbling a little from the sudden change in his movement. After a moment, he managed to compose himself, forcing himself to shake his head vigorously before opening his mouth in an attempt to speak. “Nimona?” He managed to croak out at last, clearing his throat a little and softening his tone. “Nimona, are you alright?” He asked softly, moving closer and holding out his hand towards her.Nimona’s head jerked up at the sound of his voice, and she growled, low and deep in her throat, a threatening but pained sound. She was sitting curled up in a chair at the small kitchen table, her claws digging into the wooden edge of the table, her chest heaving with rapid pants and her eyes blown wide with terror as fat tears rolled down her freckled cheeks.Ballister winced with sympathy, biting his lip. “Oh, Nimona . . .”As he moved closer, Nimona growled again, her body spasming a little as her gaze snapped up to meet his, her hands trembling badly, her head jerking in what could have been an attempt at saying no. She tensed, baring her teeth and looking poised to flee, but Ballister spoke again before she cold, his voice soft and filled with sympathy and concern.“It’s okay,” he promised, his tone gentle. “You’re safe. You’re – you’re home, remember?”Nimona licked her lips, fear and panic evident in her expression. Still, she seemed to perk up just a tiny bit at his words.“Home,” she rasped out, her voice grating and wheezing, the word not a question but not quite a statement, either. She seemed to be shrinking in on herself, her bottom lip trembling, her gaze darting all over as she studied his face, looking for anything to distrust. “Home?” That was a question.“Home,” Ballister repeated reassuringly. He moved forward once more, slow and careful, keeping his hand held out as if approaching a frightened animal.Nimona watched him warily as he approached, her shoulders still tense and her expression guarded. She seemed uncharacteristically afraid, uncharacteristically vulnerable – likely from some sort of nightmare or flashback, things that Ballister was far too familiar with, and knew that Nimona was too.From what Ballister had gotten out of her about her background – not to mention what she had done to herself, that day, that day that he could barely stand to remember without feeling a panic attack creeping over him – it wasn’t pretty, and he didn’t blame her for having trauma. Especially after a thousand years of being alone, of being an outcast. A monster.“You’re okay, Nimona,” he said, his voice quiet, as he slowly lowered himself down into the chair across from the shapeshifter, placing his hand palm-up on the small table, wincing a little at the claw marks he saw scored across the wood, deep and crooked, like slashes in flesh.Nimona stared at him with wide, gleaming eyes that shone with tears in the gloom of the half-lit kitchen, and she sniffled, wiping at her face with hands balled into fists – for a moment, Ballister couldn’t tell if he was looking at the teenage girl he had grown used to, or the smaller, long-haired one with the round, innocent face, red hair spilling over her shoulders, wide eyes beseeching him, begging him: please don’t hurt me. “Sorry,” Nimona croaked out, her voice shaking terribly, sounding so unlike herself that Ballister almost winced. “Sorry, I’m – I’m fucking – I’m sorry,” she mumbled, and she seemed to hesitate for only a moment before practically falling onto him, letting herself go. Trusting him.He managed to catch her with his arm before she crumpled, wrapping his hand around her shoulders and pulling her close, his movements awkward and wonky – not that Nimona, whose small body had begun to shake with silent sobs, seemed to care. Usually, he would reprimand her for swearing, but right now, he was just glad that she was trusting him enough to let him hold her through this as she cried and cried in his embrace.(He wondered, wincing at the thought: how long had she gone without any sort of comfort at all, any sort of affection, any sort of love? How long was she alone for? Even before Gloreth . . . how long had she been alone? Ballister pointedly shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind alongside other things that he didn’t want to think about.)It was . . . odd, seeing her be so quiet, so vulnerable. Nimona was – well, she was Nimona, she – she was chaotic, she was messy, she was loud. The way she was crying so quietly in his hold, muffling her sobs in his neck, it seemed – unnatural. Ballister hated it.He hated how his mind automatically made the connection to himself, too – how he himself had used to curl up in the dark streets and alleyways, or in the corner of abandoned areas of the Lower City, or even in his cadet’s quarters at the Institute, where he would just hide himself in the fetal position and sob until his throat was hoarse and raw, head in his hands, tears pouring down his bruised, dirty cheeks, forcing himself to stay quiet because he was so scared of what could happen if he wasn’t.He absolutely hated picturing Nimona in that position, even if he knew that he had been. Crying, alone. Terrified. With no one. But . . . she wasn’t alone anymore. She had him now.And he was going to make sure that she never felt like that again.(I see you, Nimona. And you’re not alone.)“It’s alright, kid,” he whispered to her, carding his shaking hand through her messy ginger hair. He closed his eyes as a tear ran down his cheek and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, the gesture making her tremble harder with more tears. “You’re alright. You’re okay. I’m here.”“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Nimona continued to chant, her voice muffled and broken with sobs. “‘m sorry, I – please, I’m not – I’m not a –,”“I know.” Ballister’s voice cracked, just slightly, and he just held her tighter, pressing his lips together to keep himself from crying. Listening to her sobbing in his hold, the sniffles and muffled cries, the way she clung to him even as her body trembled with fear from whatever it was that had driven her to be this afraid, this vulnerable – he couldn’t believe that anyone would ever want to hurt her.He really, truly could not believe that anyone could ever, ever think that she was a monster, in an meaning of the word.And, really . . . good Gloreth, she was just a kid.No matter how old she really was, no matter how much of the world she had seen compared to him, no matter what she may or may not have done . . . she was just a kid.“You’re okay,” Ballister found himself repeating, over and over, his voice shaking badly as he continued to hold Nimona close, rocking her back and forth in his hold as she cried and cried. Maybe in the morning, she would choose to tell him what had driven her to be so upset, so afraid, so vulnerable, but if she didn’t, that was okay, too.For now, all he cared about was giving her the comfort she deserved – the comfort that she had never had, and that he himself had never had. He knew from experience what it was like to feel so alone, to feel like you have no place in the world; to feel like everyone hates you, and to really have that be true.But none of that was true anymore, not for either of them. And he needed Nimona especially to know that.“I’m here. I’m here, Nimona, and you’re okay. You’re home.”“Home,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “. . . Home?”“Yes,” Ballister breathed out thickly, pressing another kiss to the top of her head, rubbing his hand comfortingly along her trembling shoulders. “Home. And you’re safe. I promise.”Nimona pulled away from him, just slightly. Her eyes, still shining brightly in the half-light of the dimly-lit kitchen, tears welling at the corners, was wide and almost nervous as she asked in a small voice, “Do you promise promise?”Ballister smiled rather endearingly, even as another tear of his own spilled from his scarred eye, trailing down his cheek; he didn’t bother to wipe it away.“I promise promise promise, Nimona.”“Alright. Well.” Nimona, who seemed to be coming back to herself at least a little bit, sighed, before falling back against his good shoulder, making him let out a hearty oof. “Ya didn’t really – didn’t really keep that promise last time, Boss.”“Yes I did, you little liar,” he teased in response, relief to see some of her genuine self poking through her fear and uncertainty, some of her genuine Nimona, weighing heavily on his shoulders as he wrapped an arm around her once more, proud of her for letting herself be comforted even as she seemed to be pulling herself back up from the dredges of her nightmare still. He hoped that, in part at least, he had helped in that regard. “Eventually.”They bantered back and forth for a couple of minutes, falling back into their more familiar, comfortable, and easy dynamic (with jokes and sarcasm, and no vulnerability or emotional bluntness, because neither of them were really any good at it, though Ballister liked to think that he had done alright), before Nimona fell silent after making a joke about something or other, her expression thoughtful though uncertain and a little begrudging. And then, all at once:“Thanks, Boss. For. You know.” She cleared her throat awkwardly, ducking her head a little and propping her feet over his lap, ignoring his frown. “You, uh. Didn’t have to. But. Thanks.”“Hey, that’s what I’m here for, kid,” Ballister responded softly, ruffling her ginger hair affectionately and smiling wanly when she tried to bite his hand. “This is your home, kid.”Nimona rolled her eyes as he called her kid, but didn’t protest as she normally would. Instead, she just sighed, curling up at his side and letting her eyes droop shut with her clear exhaustion, probably from how much she had cried – he wondered when the last time she had let herself do that was. She seemed to make herself smaller as she pressed into him. “I like it here,” she mumbled, and Ballister wondered with a mix of amusement and sadness if she even realized that she was literally quoting herself. “Let’s . . . let’s live here forever.”“I like it here, too,” Ballister said quietly. “You know why?”Nimona didn’t respond, having already drifted off once more, snoring softly with her mouth parted, her face half-pressed into his side. He smiled. “It’s because you’re here, kid.”He took a long moment before shifting, carefully scooping her up in the crook of his arm – she had definitely made herself smaller, which was a relief, because it was hard enough carrying her when she was this size – and standing with a grunt of effort before heading back to his and Ambrosius’s room, walking close to the wall for support.He was still getting used to the imbalance of having one arm, adjusting to it whenever he wasn’t wearing his prosthetic, but . . . it got easier every day. Just like how, every day, Nimona seemed to feel more and more comfortable and safe around him, until she felt so much so that she could be vulnerable to the degree of falling asleep on top of him, face still streaked with tears. Ballister settled down in his and Ambrosius bed, lying Nimona down beside him and curling up in between his boyfriend and the shapeshifter. He kissed Ambrosius’s forehead, smoothing back his blonde hair, before doing the same for Nimona, love for the both of them swelling in his chest. And then he lay down, and closed his eyes – and he slept.Somehow, he had told Nimona all of the things that he himself had also needed to hear.He was home. He was safe. He was okay.He wasn’t alone.(And when Ambrosius woke up in the morning to find Ballister fast asleep with his arm slung around shark Nimona, he chose not to comment on it, because Nimona’s teeth were very very sharp in that form especially, and . . .Well, he was honestly just glad that his boyfriend was finally getting some sleep.Even if it put all of their lives in mortal danger. With a shark. In their bed. But hey, who was he to say anything about that?)