Vorkosigan Fic: The Stuff That Dreams
I keep thinking of this as "the cuddling fic," but when I wrote the first draft on 750words.com, I was informed that I was feeling mostly "Upset" and concerned mostly with "Death," so, you know. It is the sort of story that Dira is inclined to think of as "the cuddling fic."
Many many thanks to![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
philomytha for beta!
Aral/Cordelia, toward the end of Shards of Honor. Not explicit. 1600 words.
Warning: Ges Vorrutyer.
Cordelia tried to make herself let go of Vorkosigan's hand--he couldn't get away if she didn't let go--but her fingers wouldn't obey her at all, now.
The Stuff That Dreams
She couldn't move, not even to fight the restraints or to flinch from his touch. Vorrutyer sat beside her, carelessly caressing her bare skin as he elaborated, in ever more horrible detail, on his assorted plans for using her to hurt Vorkosigan--torture him--destroy him far beyond simple death. She couldn't move a millimeter.
Her extremities were nearly numb from the restraints, and so at first she didn't quite feel the touch on her right hand. But the pressure against her palm increased and her hand closed convulsively around--fingers. She would know them anywhere. Vorkosigan's fingers, warm and dry against her clammy skin.
Vorrutyer kept talking, seeming not to notice that his true prey was separated from him by only the width of her immobilized body. Cordelia tried to make herself let go of Vorkosigan's hand--he couldn't get away if she didn't let go--but her fingers wouldn't obey her at all, now. And then, under the sickening, hypnotic tide of Vorrutyer's words, she heard Vorkosigan's voice.
"Cordelia," he was saying. "Cordelia, look at me. I'm here, look, it's all right."
She couldn't. Vorrutyer was focused entirely on her; if she looked at Vorkosigan then Vorrutyer would see him. If she looked at Vorkosigan, Vorrutyer would use them both against each other, and it would be even worse than Vorrutyer using Bothari.
"Cordelia," Vorkosigan said. He shouldn't be using her first name, it was dangerous for him to betray himself that way, but she couldn't tell him so. She couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't let go, and all the while Vorrutyer was still at her side, whispering his poison, tracing it into her skin.
"I can make him stop," Vorkosigan said, and Cordelia knew he could--by trading himself to Vorrutyer for her, as if she would not rather suffer everything than see Vorrutyer hurt him. She couldn't keep herself from gasping out, "Don't!"
Her single word broke the spell; she could move, could open her eyes, could look over at Vorkosigan--at Aral, who was crouching at her side of the bed, only his hand extended onto its surface. She was still crushing his fingers in her grip. She kept on crushing them, staring, for a long frozen time after she realized she should let go, that it had been a nightmare and it was over now. Sometime after that she did let go, flexing her cramped fingers, but Aral didn't withdraw his hand.
"I thought I shouldn't touch you," he said quietly, his grey eyes dark as lead in the faint light that leaked into their room. "But you didn't seem to hear me, and--I couldn't leave you alone with him."
Cordelia closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. She'd never told Aral exactly what happened before Bothari killed Vorrutyer; she hadn't had one of these paralyzed nightmares since leaving Beta Colony. She'd thought she left them behind with the stutter and the tremula. She remembered abruptly the drawing she'd seen only that morning--the beautiful young man, Ges--and she opened her eyes and reached for Aral's hand again, taking it in a gentler grip. She meant to smile, too, but her face still felt frozen in the aftermath of fear.
"You were very timely," she managed to say, her voice coming out a little cracked.
Aral reached out with his free hand and picked up a glass half-full of water from the bedside table, offering it to her without another word. Cordelia drank, set the glass back down, and then tugged on Aral's hand. "I'm all right now, please, come back to bed."
Aral did, without letting go of her hand, climbing in on her side--naked, she realized, and so was she, and that had probably had something to do with the dream. She hadn't fallen asleep naked since before the war. Aral pulled her close to him and held on tight--not a sexual embrace, not even possessive, but sheltering. She pressed her face to his shoulder and realized she was shaking, and that Aral was lying perfectly still, not letting any part of his body lower than his arms exert pressure against hers. Cordelia flung an arm and leg over him and clung to him shamelessly, and Aral unbent enough to lean his head against hers.
She tried desperately to think of something other than nightmares; she could feel her own shivering tension being transmitted to Aral's body. At this rate neither of them would sleep again tonight.
She found herself simply thinking of other nightmares, the ones that hardly qualified as nightmares, in comparison. Childhood dreams of failing tests or getting lost outside or falling from some height. Well, so.
Cordelia cleared her throat, and then said in a wobbly approximation of casual curiosity, "Do Barrayaran children run to their parents' beds when they've had bad dreams?"
She felt Aral's body register surprise at the question, and his grip on her shifted a little, loosening enough for him to put his head beside hers on the pillow and look her in the eye. There was a tentative smile in his eyes that hadn't yet ventured as far as his mouth; he was still worried, but willing to be distracted.
"There are whole Districts' worth of Barrayaran children who are sleeping in or under their parents' beds to begin with." Before Cordelia had a chance to remark on the co-sleeping trends on Beta Colony--but what did he mean by under?--Aral continued. "Yes, they do--I did, anyway, when I was very small, and so did my brother and sister."
Cordelia smiled, remembering pushing through the curtain to her parents' room, being pulled into their bed and given the secure place between them and talked softly back to sleep. Such different worlds, but some things were the same everywhere, parents and children and bad dreams in the dark. And maybe--maybe in a few years they'd have their own little point of cultural commonality running in here to wake them in the middle of the night.
"Mind you," Aral murmured, his gaze going distant, "My father was a guerrilla fighter for decades before we children were born, and he always slept between my mother and the door, so it was a little risky. The first time I did it--I must have been almost three years old, not in a crib anymore but I could barely see up over the edge of the bed--I didn't stop to think. I just ran in and grabbed for my Da, wanting him to protect me from the bad things trying to get in at my window. He nearly took my head off, being startled awake like that."
Cordelia held very, very still, and tried not to let her thoughts show on her face. Though they had gotten reversed tonight, Aral ordinarily slept on the side of the bed nearer to the door. Still, she'd have a few years to learn just how badly he startled when woken up suddenly; so far she hadn't noticed anything like that. But she couldn't help thinking of Aral, two years old, running to his father and--
Aral looked strangely young and earnest as he hastened to explain, "He didn't, though--that was the thing, he realized before he even touched me. He just grabbed me by the arm, nothing else. Before I could even yell he'd pulled me up into the bed and handed me across to my mother, and then he laid down with his back to us to go back to sleep. I knew I was safe for certain, then. He would never go back to sleep if Mother wasn't safe, so I was safe, too. Nothing could get past my Da."
Cordelia snuggled closer to him again, and Aral's arms tightened around her.
"Someday," she dared to murmur, there in the dark, her face pressed too close for him to see, "someday it'll be your son saying that about you. Nothing could get past his Da."
"Well," Aral said, softly. "If it does he can be sure his mother will put an end to it."
The next night Cordelia was startled awake in the dark. For a few confused seconds she didn't know why, and then she realized Aral was lying rigidly still, breathing in silent, shallow gasps.
"Aral," she whispered, reaching for him, but he flinched from the touch even before she made contact with his skin, and that brought her wide awake. She stared for a moment, and then she eased out of the bed and skirted around to his side, crouching down beside the mattress.
"Aral," she repeated, making her voice as flatly Betan as she could and resting just one hand on the mattress. "Aral, give me your hand."
Nothing, not a twitch.
"Aral," she repeated. "I'm here."
Aral flinched again, and Cordelia knew, with a horrible heart-certainty, just what he was dreaming of.
"Aral, you know he can't hurt me," she said firmly, inching her hand toward his, which was clenched in a frozen fist. "If you take my hand, we're both safe. Just take my hand, and it's all over."
His fingers flashed open in a sudden spasm, and Cordelia slapped her palm down against his. Only Aral's eyes moved as he woke, flashing suddenly open to stare at her. They stayed frozen for a moment, and then Aral lowered his eyes, closing his fingers around her palm as gingerly as a man handling broken glass. He brought their joined hands to his face and pressed a dry kiss to her knuckles. She could feel him fighting to get his breathing under control.
Cordelia dared to run her free hand over his head, and his eyes closed under her touch. "There, you see. You were right. Nothing gets past both of us."
"Nothing," Aral echoed, and kissed the back of her hand again. "Please, dear Captain, come back to bed."
Many many thanks to
philomytha for beta!Aral/Cordelia, toward the end of Shards of Honor. Not explicit. 1600 words.
Warning: Ges Vorrutyer.
Cordelia tried to make herself let go of Vorkosigan's hand--he couldn't get away if she didn't let go--but her fingers wouldn't obey her at all, now.
The Stuff That Dreams
She couldn't move, not even to fight the restraints or to flinch from his touch. Vorrutyer sat beside her, carelessly caressing her bare skin as he elaborated, in ever more horrible detail, on his assorted plans for using her to hurt Vorkosigan--torture him--destroy him far beyond simple death. She couldn't move a millimeter.
Her extremities were nearly numb from the restraints, and so at first she didn't quite feel the touch on her right hand. But the pressure against her palm increased and her hand closed convulsively around--fingers. She would know them anywhere. Vorkosigan's fingers, warm and dry against her clammy skin.
Vorrutyer kept talking, seeming not to notice that his true prey was separated from him by only the width of her immobilized body. Cordelia tried to make herself let go of Vorkosigan's hand--he couldn't get away if she didn't let go--but her fingers wouldn't obey her at all, now. And then, under the sickening, hypnotic tide of Vorrutyer's words, she heard Vorkosigan's voice.
"Cordelia," he was saying. "Cordelia, look at me. I'm here, look, it's all right."
She couldn't. Vorrutyer was focused entirely on her; if she looked at Vorkosigan then Vorrutyer would see him. If she looked at Vorkosigan, Vorrutyer would use them both against each other, and it would be even worse than Vorrutyer using Bothari.
"Cordelia," Vorkosigan said. He shouldn't be using her first name, it was dangerous for him to betray himself that way, but she couldn't tell him so. She couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't let go, and all the while Vorrutyer was still at her side, whispering his poison, tracing it into her skin.
"I can make him stop," Vorkosigan said, and Cordelia knew he could--by trading himself to Vorrutyer for her, as if she would not rather suffer everything than see Vorrutyer hurt him. She couldn't keep herself from gasping out, "Don't!"
Her single word broke the spell; she could move, could open her eyes, could look over at Vorkosigan--at Aral, who was crouching at her side of the bed, only his hand extended onto its surface. She was still crushing his fingers in her grip. She kept on crushing them, staring, for a long frozen time after she realized she should let go, that it had been a nightmare and it was over now. Sometime after that she did let go, flexing her cramped fingers, but Aral didn't withdraw his hand.
"I thought I shouldn't touch you," he said quietly, his grey eyes dark as lead in the faint light that leaked into their room. "But you didn't seem to hear me, and--I couldn't leave you alone with him."
Cordelia closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. She'd never told Aral exactly what happened before Bothari killed Vorrutyer; she hadn't had one of these paralyzed nightmares since leaving Beta Colony. She'd thought she left them behind with the stutter and the tremula. She remembered abruptly the drawing she'd seen only that morning--the beautiful young man, Ges--and she opened her eyes and reached for Aral's hand again, taking it in a gentler grip. She meant to smile, too, but her face still felt frozen in the aftermath of fear.
"You were very timely," she managed to say, her voice coming out a little cracked.
Aral reached out with his free hand and picked up a glass half-full of water from the bedside table, offering it to her without another word. Cordelia drank, set the glass back down, and then tugged on Aral's hand. "I'm all right now, please, come back to bed."
Aral did, without letting go of her hand, climbing in on her side--naked, she realized, and so was she, and that had probably had something to do with the dream. She hadn't fallen asleep naked since before the war. Aral pulled her close to him and held on tight--not a sexual embrace, not even possessive, but sheltering. She pressed her face to his shoulder and realized she was shaking, and that Aral was lying perfectly still, not letting any part of his body lower than his arms exert pressure against hers. Cordelia flung an arm and leg over him and clung to him shamelessly, and Aral unbent enough to lean his head against hers.
She tried desperately to think of something other than nightmares; she could feel her own shivering tension being transmitted to Aral's body. At this rate neither of them would sleep again tonight.
She found herself simply thinking of other nightmares, the ones that hardly qualified as nightmares, in comparison. Childhood dreams of failing tests or getting lost outside or falling from some height. Well, so.
Cordelia cleared her throat, and then said in a wobbly approximation of casual curiosity, "Do Barrayaran children run to their parents' beds when they've had bad dreams?"
She felt Aral's body register surprise at the question, and his grip on her shifted a little, loosening enough for him to put his head beside hers on the pillow and look her in the eye. There was a tentative smile in his eyes that hadn't yet ventured as far as his mouth; he was still worried, but willing to be distracted.
"There are whole Districts' worth of Barrayaran children who are sleeping in or under their parents' beds to begin with." Before Cordelia had a chance to remark on the co-sleeping trends on Beta Colony--but what did he mean by under?--Aral continued. "Yes, they do--I did, anyway, when I was very small, and so did my brother and sister."
Cordelia smiled, remembering pushing through the curtain to her parents' room, being pulled into their bed and given the secure place between them and talked softly back to sleep. Such different worlds, but some things were the same everywhere, parents and children and bad dreams in the dark. And maybe--maybe in a few years they'd have their own little point of cultural commonality running in here to wake them in the middle of the night.
"Mind you," Aral murmured, his gaze going distant, "My father was a guerrilla fighter for decades before we children were born, and he always slept between my mother and the door, so it was a little risky. The first time I did it--I must have been almost three years old, not in a crib anymore but I could barely see up over the edge of the bed--I didn't stop to think. I just ran in and grabbed for my Da, wanting him to protect me from the bad things trying to get in at my window. He nearly took my head off, being startled awake like that."
Cordelia held very, very still, and tried not to let her thoughts show on her face. Though they had gotten reversed tonight, Aral ordinarily slept on the side of the bed nearer to the door. Still, she'd have a few years to learn just how badly he startled when woken up suddenly; so far she hadn't noticed anything like that. But she couldn't help thinking of Aral, two years old, running to his father and--
Aral looked strangely young and earnest as he hastened to explain, "He didn't, though--that was the thing, he realized before he even touched me. He just grabbed me by the arm, nothing else. Before I could even yell he'd pulled me up into the bed and handed me across to my mother, and then he laid down with his back to us to go back to sleep. I knew I was safe for certain, then. He would never go back to sleep if Mother wasn't safe, so I was safe, too. Nothing could get past my Da."
Cordelia snuggled closer to him again, and Aral's arms tightened around her.
"Someday," she dared to murmur, there in the dark, her face pressed too close for him to see, "someday it'll be your son saying that about you. Nothing could get past his Da."
"Well," Aral said, softly. "If it does he can be sure his mother will put an end to it."
The next night Cordelia was startled awake in the dark. For a few confused seconds she didn't know why, and then she realized Aral was lying rigidly still, breathing in silent, shallow gasps.
"Aral," she whispered, reaching for him, but he flinched from the touch even before she made contact with his skin, and that brought her wide awake. She stared for a moment, and then she eased out of the bed and skirted around to his side, crouching down beside the mattress.
"Aral," she repeated, making her voice as flatly Betan as she could and resting just one hand on the mattress. "Aral, give me your hand."
Nothing, not a twitch.
"Aral," she repeated. "I'm here."
Aral flinched again, and Cordelia knew, with a horrible heart-certainty, just what he was dreaming of.
"Aral, you know he can't hurt me," she said firmly, inching her hand toward his, which was clenched in a frozen fist. "If you take my hand, we're both safe. Just take my hand, and it's all over."
His fingers flashed open in a sudden spasm, and Cordelia slapped her palm down against his. Only Aral's eyes moved as he woke, flashing suddenly open to stare at her. They stayed frozen for a moment, and then Aral lowered his eyes, closing his fingers around her palm as gingerly as a man handling broken glass. He brought their joined hands to his face and pressed a dry kiss to her knuckles. She could feel him fighting to get his breathing under control.
Cordelia dared to run her free hand over his head, and his eyes closed under her touch. "There, you see. You were right. Nothing gets past both of us."
"Nothing," Aral echoed, and kissed the back of her hand again. "Please, dear Captain, come back to bed."
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"Well," Aral said, softly. "If it does he can be sure his mother will put an end to it."
That's their heart, right there, and I love the way you've pinpointed it for us. They're so beautiful and broken together, and they've always, always got each others' backs. *SIGH*
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