signed_sabrina | (no subject)

Sabrina's not really sure what happened after she'd passed out, soaked in the blood of someone she loves and the creature that helped create her. She knows, of course, that she'd been take home and put to bed, practically forced to eat and drink when she'd wakened. She'd expect no less.

And she knows Nick is alive, that he's recovering.

What Sabrina doesn't know, what's making her steps feel leaden and heavy as she makes her way to his apartment, what's making her hesitate outside the door to his bedroom, is what he knows and remembers. How he might feel about having been Lucifer's unwilling host, and what he'd done-- what she'd done to keep him. She knows that her only chance had been to use the Lance when it was Nick who was present, instead of the devil, and she also knows that there had been no option for her to go to him as he lay wounded.

No, that chance is now, and Sabrina, looking pale and tired, hesitates in Nick's doorway. She knows he won't do anything but accept her; she's not sure if she feels like she deserves it.

"Nick?"

She steps closer anyway.

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"Good thing it didn't take," he says, brushing his fingers through her hair gently, smiling when she kisses him, lifting his head to take another kiss, even though it makes him wince. "We're okay, Spellman. We're all going to be okay."

"Be careful," she whispers, those two words somehow more vulnerable and fragile-sounding than anything else she's said. "I'm right here, and we've got time now."

She huffs out a tiny laugh.

"Though we're going to have to behave a while while you recover."

"Doctors were very clear on that," he says, shifting a little bit. "Horror stories about scarring and bursting stitches. So, yeah. We'd better be at least a little bit careful."

"Somehow we'll manage," Sabrina promises, gently pressing their foreheads back together. There would be something deeply soothing about having him that way, knowing he's himself and back with her, but there's something to be said for waiting. "I'll visit every day after school."

"I'm pretty sure I can survive on my own while you guys have got class," he says, smiling at her, tilting his head so that he can take a kiss. "I'll find some bad TV. Drink a lot of tea."

"Gonna rot your brain," Sabrina says, but then he kisses her and she melts against him, shivering. "I didn't let myself think about anything but how to make sure I killed him. I didn't let myself think about losing you, you know."

"You didn't lose me," he says, gently, combing his fingers through her fair hair. "I'm right here, Spellman. I'm all yours."

Something about his words catches the edge of her mind again, all yours, but she lets this too slide away. It's warm and he's safe and sound; she pushes into his touch with a contented little sigh.

"I know," she answers in a whisper. "It was just a little touch and go for a while."

"I know," he says, softly, kissing her forehead. "But I'd say we've earned a bit of a soft, quiet time now."

"I sure hope so," she whispers, even if something in her doubts that a soft and quiet time can stay. "As soon as you're ready, we'll-- we'll go to the beach, even if it's a little cold. We can have a bonfire."

"That sounds perfect," he says, and it really, really does. "Even if it's cold, we'll bundle up."

Sabrina burrows into him as much as she dares, as if it's already cold. "All four of us, and we'll do it like mortals, and bring sticks and marshmallows and other things. And look at the stars."

It sounds as perfect as she can think up at the moment, she decides.

"That sounds completely perfect," he says, his eyes drifting closed, he's so warm and safe and content with her tucked in against his side.