Content Warnings: panic attacks/anxiety, sickness, blood, emetophobia, mention of death, wow this is a fun fic

A/N: I realize that the panic attack part might not make any sense, especially if you've never experienced it or you experience them differently. but I did my best to articulate it, so there you go.

You know it's starting the second you wake up. Eyes still closed, cheek against the pillow, you feel the darkness beginning to close in around you. Even with Cosima in the bed beside you, you are entirely alone in the pressure of the blackness. You don't move, don't try to fight it. It's going to happen, so you let it.

Panic starts low and deep in your stomach; a twitch, a spasm; oh god here it comes. Half butterflies and half clawed ravens, it flutters and tears at your abdomen, tingles down your arms, curls your shoulders inward. It grasps at your chest and crushes your lungs in its long, strong fingers. So familiar, you know exactly what is happening. But that doesn't make any difference as your throat tightens, your breath quickens, you clench your teeth together.

Stay still stay still stay still. If you don't, you might vomit. With every shift, the panic spreads to a new body part that you've awakened. You try not to curl your toes or bend your fingers; better that they stay numb with sleep. You still have not opened your eyes; to see the shifting shadows of the room around would only make it worse. Too much darkness.

It's inside your head, a repetitive oh god oh god oh god.

You have to wait for it to stop. You have to let it run its course, and then it will go away. But as you lay there, stock-still and crumpling from the inside out, you think you might just implode this time.

You're choking, throat dry, your mouth full of spit but don't swallow. You make rules – bite your lip hard enough, and you can control it; keep your eyes shut, and you won't feel it at its worst; hold your breath, and it cannot strangle you.

You couldn't make a sound if you wanted to.

When you feel Cosima shift in bed beside you, your muscles tighten as if you're falling. "Beth?" she murmurs sleepily, and your breath catches. When you don't respond, she turns over and buries her face once again in her pillow. Suddenly, you can't imagine what you would do if Cosima fell back asleep. If she left you alone with this suffocating demon. You think you might die.

It takes every ounce of will to lift your hand; like it's covered in tiny weights and the misplacement of any of them might send the world crashing down. You feel under the covers until you touch her side, follow along it until you get to her hand. You grasp her tightly, as if she is tethering you to the earth, which, in a sense, she is. Your fingernails dig into her skin.

This is not unfamiliar to Cosima, either. She squeezes your hand, pledging her own strength to keep you fighting. She moves cautiously – doing her best to keep your world steady – and lifts one hand to your face. Her fingers graze your cheek and trace your jaw. Every touch is gentle, careful, and you are thankful, because you are breakable, and every moment of skin-meeting-skin is sending ripples of fear through your veins.

"Relax," she whispers, "You're okay."

And you try to. You let the tension out of your legs – you hadn't even realized they were clenched up – your arms, your toes and fingers. But as your grip loosens on Cosima's hand, you feel the wave course through you again, and you cling to her even more tightly. You wonder if your fingernails are sharp, if you're hurting her, but she doesn't say anything.

Her free hand cups your cheek and rests there. You let your jaw relax against it, your teeth unclench.

"Mmm," Cosima says, "keep breathing." You hadn't noticed you stopped. The air feels too cold in your mouth, your throat too tight to accommodate it. But you force your lips apart, force a shallow inhale and a strangled exhale, and let the air settle in your stomach.

"Good," Cosima murmurs, "keep going," and you do. Breathe in, breathe out, let your muscles loosen, the ones you didn't even know you had. Lean into Cosima and let her support you. Jerk and twitch and cling to her frantically, and let her carry you back to earth. The waves slow down, coming less and less often, less intensely. It must be an hour before you rest your head against her shoulder, burned out and exhausted in every muscle. You fall asleep like that, wound into her, thankful for her warmth.

In the morning, neither of you says anything. When your alarm clock goes off, you feel heavy, the effort of the night still taunting you with cramps in your muscles and clouds in your head. You get up without a word. When you've showered and dressed for the station, you enter the kitchen to see her making coffee, still pajama-clad and in fuzzy blue slippers. She hands you a mug and kisses you on the cheek.

"Have a good day," she says. You smile and kiss her forehead. Thank you, you don't need to say. And you walk out the door.