for better or for worse- open to andiwilldie

[fobwatched]

It's not unusual for Harry to have dreams about it.  After it happened, they were fairly frequent- all entirely normal, the relevant people had assured him- but they've been less so since the Doctor moved in with him.  Which makes sense, if he were to think about it; dreams are supposed to be the unconscious mind's way of processing the events of

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[andiwilldie]

The Doctor is halfway through his book when Harry suddenly wakes up. It startles him, the sudden movement, and he jumps a bit and gasps, dropping the book into his lap. He takes half a moment to calm himself down, slowing his breath intake and heartsrate back to normal paces, before looking over at Harry with a look of utmost concern and worry on his face.

"Is everything all right?" he asks, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder.

[fobwatched]

His heart's in his throat, and Harry swallows, willing it down, to slow, relax-- there's nothing to worry about, he's here in his bed, he's fine. 'Just a dream,' he manages. His voice is calm enough, but he still hasn't opened his eyes. The Doctor's hand is cool and dry against Harry's bare shoulder, and inside his mouth, his teeth press together; the muscle in his jaw tenses. It occurs to him, absently, that he's never told the Doctor about Lucy, or any of it. And the Doctor's never asked, beyond a brief conversation when they first met about Harold Saxon's astounding two days in office.

He shakes his head, eyes finally opening to turn and see the Doctor, looking consumed with concern. God, Doctor. Harry cracks a smile. 'I'd say go back to sleep, but I doubt you were ever sleeping in the first place, were you?'

[andiwilldie]

He chuckles a little, shaking his head 'no'. "I was reading, actually. Hoping to get through at least the first few Harry Potter books before you woke back up." He speed reads. "It's been a while since I last read them."

That's not important now, though, so he picks his copy of The Order of the Phoenix back up and sets it on the bedside table, mentally making a quick note of what page he was on for later. "What was it about? Your nightmare."

[fobwatched]

Of course not. Harry doesn't know all that much about Time Lord physiology, but the Doctor's explained enough times that he only needs sleep every once in a while, so he'll keep himself busy at night when Harry gets his necessary, human sleep. It was odd at first, but now it's sort of a nice constant.

The man's inquisitiveness is another constant- usually nice, but not so much at the moment. Harry stalls, his face empty of expression as he looks down at the duvet. He really ought to tell the Doctor; he deserves to know. The rest of the nation doesn't, fortunately; the incident had been expertly hushed up at the time, a story released about fanatical terrorists, and Mr. ex-Prime Minister rushed to the most private hospital possible. As for the ex-Mrs... well, to be honest, Harry isn't sure what happened to her.

Da-da-da-dum, go his fingers on the duvet, a muffled little rhythm, and he licks his lips. 'My wife,' he confesses eventually.