In his younger days, Thor would have bristled at being benched, well-intended or not. Now he simply nods, a flicker of gratitude in his eye, shuffling to the couch while Amelia putters around the kitchen. He does not need to pretend to be strong, or make a fool of himself over something as simple as making a drink. She will neither judge nor pity him for his weakness. She never has.
The quiet domestic sounds of Amelia in the kitchen keep him grounded as he sits in the relative darkness, feeling the thunder before he hears it, nature's great heartbeat echoed by his own. The scent of warm milk and cocoa, a hint of petrichor from the glass of the windows. The softness of the couch beneath him, the repeating pattern of stitching in the knitted throw blanket across its back, the latter of which he pulls into his hands to busy himself with counting their loops. All reminders of what is real, anchoring him in the moment as the nightmare recedes from their gentle onslaught.
By the time Amelia calls to him, he's able to find enough of himself to answer. "The one with the goat?" Originally meant as a gag gift, he's pretty sure, but it's nonetheless become a regular fixture on the breakfast table since.
His hands still hold a minute tremor when she finally arrives with the cocoa, but not enough to keep him from holding the mug steady enough to drink. The chocolate is hot and sweet on his tongue, washing away the bitterness lingering after the dream, and a tiny sigh slips free of him before he can stop it, closing his eye for a brief moment. "Mm. Thank you."
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The quiet domestic sounds of Amelia in the kitchen keep him grounded as he sits in the relative darkness, feeling the thunder before he hears it, nature's great heartbeat echoed by his own. The scent of warm milk and cocoa, a hint of petrichor from the glass of the windows. The softness of the couch beneath him, the repeating pattern of stitching in the knitted throw blanket across its back, the latter of which he pulls into his hands to busy himself with counting their loops. All reminders of what is real, anchoring him in the moment as the nightmare recedes from their gentle onslaught.
By the time Amelia calls to him, he's able to find enough of himself to answer. "The one with the goat?" Originally meant as a gag gift, he's pretty sure, but it's nonetheless become a regular fixture on the breakfast table since.
His hands still hold a minute tremor when she finally arrives with the cocoa, but not enough to keep him from holding the mug steady enough to drink. The chocolate is hot and sweet on his tongue, washing away the bitterness lingering after the dream, and a tiny sigh slips free of him before he can stop it, closing his eye for a brief moment. "Mm. Thank you."