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“Sara.”
She’s there with him in the low light. It’s so cold, but she’s smiling gently at him. Her crystal blue eyes are shining in that way that tells him he’s being a dork, and she’s both annoyed and endeared by his efforts. He wants to quirk his mouth up into that smirk she loves to buy him some time to figure out what’s going on, but somehow that seems like a Herculean effort. He doesn’t understand her bemused expression. He doesn’t think he’s said anything funny; he couldn’t, not with the bone deep chill that has settled within him. It feels as though a stone is sitting low in his chest, spreading its icy tendrils out to his numb limbs.
Panic swirls in him for a moment - why is Sara here in this icy tomb? He racks his brain trying to remember where he is, but thoughts dart around his mind too quickly for him to grasp onto. If he could just move - he’s always been better about doing than thinking. He tries to flex his fingers to get blood flowing again, but the numbness has settled like lead.
“I’m here, Jack.” Her voice is distant, thinner and laced with a layer of tension, but comforting all the same.
The solid heat of her body is a balm to the relentless cold enveloping him as she stretches out by his side. He lets out a sigh in comfort, and he can feel her head relax against his shoulder. He wishes he could feel her lips against the skin of his chest; have her warm breath soak more heat into his frozen bones. She must have turned the heat on in their bedroom because it feels like it’s getting warmer. He smiles and turns his head into her hair, ready to be enthralled by the smell of her apricot shampoo. The scent that greets him, however, is less fruity and more minty. It confuses him, Sara hates mint, but it melts away quickly as exhaustion yanks him under once more. He wishes he could get his arms to respond to his frazzled brain; maybe then he could pull his wife closer and cocoon their warmth more. Maybe he’d be able to trace the softness of her bare arms to thaw his fingers. As it stands, he can only breathe in her presence, thankful for her solidity and strength. He doesn’t really feel as cold as before, there’s just a comforting weight against him and blissful quiet darkness. An unfamiliar pang tugs at his heart, there’s something he’s missing that sits heavy and painful. The touch gliding around him feels firmer and more deliberate than Sara’s touch ever was, and somehow he knows he’s hiding from the truth. It doesn’t matter, though. He feels himself sinking into the comforting embrace anyway, letting the frayed ends of reality slip easily through his fingers.
He’s home. Sara is here. It’s okay to sleep.