Hello everybody!

Guess what! I got some Power of Five for you!

(Forgive me if it's bad, it's 3.40 am here and I was working on this during school and I wanted to post this desperately.)

Enjoy!

Sometimes, Scarlett has nightmares.

It's a natural reaction after everything she has been through, she knows that. All the other Gatekeepers, and everyone else involved in the war, had nightmares too. They had been unofficially diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. But at least Scarlett only had the nightmares.

Others got it worse. Like Scott. He tended to isolate himself, not speaking to anyone. He'd keep to himself, and even Jamie couldn't get him to open up. No snide comments, nothing. It was more of a shock for the others than it was for Scarlett. She didn't know him as well.

But as it was, she had enough to worry about without worrying about Scott.

She tossed and turned in her sleep, reliving the gun shot she had gotten in Hong Kong so long ago. She felt the blazing pain shoot through her skull, and woke, gasping and sweating.

Just a dream. Just a dream.

She tugged on her hair, frizzy from sleep. Deciding that she wouldn't be able to sleep for a while, she got up and went downstairs.

She lived in a small apartment now, shared with a few others. The thing she liked most about the place was the large corner window, with a sill wide enough to sit on. She planned to sit there now, only to see someone was already there, a boy she knew only too well.

"Hey," Scarlett said softly.

Matt turned his head, smiling sadly. "Hey." Then he turned back to look out the window again. He had his knees pulled to his chest, and his arms wrapped around them.

He'd been through a tough recovery after Oblivion. He had been through untold amounts of pain when the Old Ones had taken him. He still carried scars from then, Scarlett knew - a thin line around his neck from the barbed wire, long scars on his arms, back and chest from the knives and whips. He still walked with a limp, even after four months of healing, and his hair had only started to grow back in a fuzz of soft black spikes.

But now, moving closer to him, she noticed the dark circles under his tired eyes, the way his hands were clasped together tightly, the redness of his bottom lip from constant biting. Maybe she wasn't the only one with night terrors.

"You okay?" She asked quietly, moving to sit facing him. She curled up, mirroring his position, letting her head rest against the window frame.

"Of course," he said in reply. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Scarlett felt one of her eyebrows raise. His eyes moved from hers nervously.

"Can't sleep," he amended, sighing.

"Nightmare?"

Matt looked over at her, his blue eyes piercing hers. Then, to her surprise, he nodded. She didn't expect him to admit it.

"Are they about Oblivion?"

Matt shrugged a shoulder, looking away again and watching the world go by outside the window. "Sometimes. Sometimes they're about other things." He had the eyes of a man who had seen too much, even though he was barely sixteen.

"You want to talk about it?" She asked quietly, watching him. She didn't get an answer. Sighing, she rested her head on her knees.

"I dream about my parents," he murmured softly.

Scarlett frowned. How was that bad?

He gave a rueful smile, apparently sensing her confusion. "They died in a car accident when I was eight."

"Oh," Scarlett whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Matt shrugged his shoulder yet again. In normal circumstances, Scarlett would find it incredibly annoying. Now she was just worried.

"I dreamt about it the night before it happened," Matt explained. "We were all supposed to go to a wedding, but I stayed behind because I was too scared." She could see the conflict in his eyes. Why didn't I do something?

"It wasn't your fault," she whispered. She knew he thought she was just being kind, but she was being honest. There was nothing he could've done.

She gave him a reassuring smile, which he returned hesitantly.

They didn't speak for the rest of the night.

The next night, a few nights later, Matt woke in a sweat. He cradled his arm, the long scar glowing white in the moonlight. Oh, the pain. He gritted his teeth and sat up, forcing down the whimper threatening to escape him. He didn't get why it still hurt, it was healed. But he didn't question it, not when the injury burned his flesh with agonising intensity.

He sighed, finally realising that he wouldn't be going back to sleep any time soon. He got up and padded downstairs, shivering a little in his t-shirt and boxers. He crept down to the window seat and curled up, back to the wall, and started to stare out the window.

Barely ten minutes later, the stairs creaked. Then Scarlett appeared, cheeks shining wetly. She gave him a watery half-smile and sat across from him.

"You okay?" He asked quietly.

"Not really," she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. She looked out the window, her eyes reflecting the bright lights of the city below.

"Can't sleep?"

She shook her head, biting her lip gently. "I keep having nightmares about my dad."

Matt gave a quiet sigh. "I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault. He worked for them. His fault." She gave a shrug.

He looked at her, before opening out his arms slightly. He had never been a very affectionate person, ever, but somehow this felt like the right thing to do.

Scarlett looked at him in confusion, before realising what he was doing. She chewed her bottom lip, hesitant. Her eyes shone in the half-light as she moved closer, resting her head on his shoulder. Her soft hair tickled his chin, her breath ghosting against his neck, and a strange heat blossomed in his chest, hitting his cheeks almost immediately.

Now is not the time, Freeman.

They stayed like that until the sun began to rise, cradled in each other's arms.

Nobody commented on the fact that Matt and Scarlett nearly always slept on the windowsill, as the weeks went by.

(Nobody commented on the fact that they were always together now either.)

The quiet comfort kept them both above water for the longest time. They soon sought each other out, not just at the windowsill. They'd stay in each other's rooms, talk all night and try to cheer each other up, managing a weak smile or two.

(The smiles became less forced as the months passed.)

The windowsill had become a place notorious to both of them, years later. A reminder of sweat-drenched awakenings and pain and tears.

But it was also a reminder of soothing nights, of comfort and blossoming love in the darkest of times.

Those tears would still come, those same fears appearing in their nightmares to haunt them. But they were able to face them. They were ready to face them.

They were both ready to move on, both ready to embrace the new life waiting for them. The world was at peace, the future bright and promising. They had created happiness, and now they were waiting to enjoy it.

They both shared a secret smile, their hands joined. Their matching gold rings winked in the light, their symbols of union.

Years had passed since the war.

Life, now, couldn't be sweeter.