#posting this so ya'll get excited and bully me into finally posting the whole damned thing

[rqgnarok]

sneak peek for my next nolan price fic!

part of the prequel for the love you better now universe <3 / tw for blood, injuries, nightmares and ptsd, common svu stuff.

In your dreams, you bleed and bleed and bleed. No one comes to get you. Liv misses the alleyway and chases after the perp, Nolan doesn’t call to wonder when you’re coming home, your gut pulsates with pain until there’s nothing but numbness, nothing but darkness, nothing left of you. You wake up and don't know where you are. Your flail is purely instinctive, and despite the sharp pain that pulls at your chest you do so again, eyesight blurry and panic rising sharp and quick. Your entire body is on fire but it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter because you don’t know where you are and the perp is getting away, and Liv is still blocks away and– Bleeding. You’re bleeding, bleeding out and your radio’s too far away and you can see the perp running but can’t hear his steps, there’s only your heartbeat echoing in your ears and the wet taste of death in your mouth– Sometimes you wake up from nightmares so quietly that Nolan doesn’t notice. Your eyes are closed and then they’re not and that’s all the movement your body can produce even if your heart is hammering against your ribcage. Other nights– nights like this one– you’re drenched in sweat and sprinting to the bathroom before your stomach returns the dinner you ate not even four hours ago. You hear Nolan fussing in the bedroom and picture him as clear as day in your mind; hair rumpled from sleep and eyes bleary, pajamas rumpled, worry lines on his features like he was supposed to grow into them. Looking for you. Always, always looking for you. You hate doing this to him but you hate having to go through with it alone more. When you feel a cool, protective hand soothe up and down your back where your shirt sticks to your skin, you sob through your gags.  Nolan only says let it out, honey, I’ve got you, just let it go in different variations until the panic subsides and you focus on the timber of his voice, the roughness of sleep coating his vowels and the tilt of his consonants.  The bathroom tile is rough against your knees and your mouth tastes like acid, arms shaking with the effort they’re putting on keeping you upright against the toilet seat. When you’re done, you fall back into the floor and Nolan is there next to you, ready to catch you.  He cradles you almost like one would a baby, sitting on the floor while you nestle against his chest, exhausted.  “I’m sorry,” you croak against his chest. Nolan’s hand finds the sweaty nape of your neck and massages the tension out of it, hairs sticking to his fingers.  His soothing reply is automatic but no less honest. “It’s alright. It’s just a dream.” “Not for this,” you correct, panting against his cotton grey shirt and reaching to hold it in a tight, shaky fist. “I mean– yes, for this, but for before. In the hospital. For fighting, for not… For everything. I’m sorry I’m like this.” “Don’t be,” he defends, awfully vehement for a man who’s been awake for less than 10 minutes and is sitting on his bathroom floor at 4 in the morning. It’s the most emotion he’s shown since your fight and you could weep with the relief it brings you. “Never be. You’re in pain, I’m allowed to want to help you when you’re in pain.” “I’m tired of being in pain.” Nolan’s chest shudders and you unclench your fist to lay your palm against it, the beat of his heart fluttering despite his calm demeanor. He shifts his hand to brush his thumb against your cheek, calming. “I know, honey. I know.” He doesn’t say it’s okay or it’ll get better because as much as you know Nolan hopes so, it’s not the kind of thing he can promise. You wouldn’t want him to.  The sun rises through the horizon. Nolan holds you, holds you, and holds you.