He reached for her hand, threading their fingers together. "Rachel, I've been doing this for twelve years. I know how to handle threats. And I'm not letting anything happen to you."
She wanted to believe him, needed to let his certainty anchor her instead of the fear.
They finished dinner without saying much. When Ghost stood to clear the boxes, Rachel followed him into the kitchen. She rinsed plates while he loaded the dishwasher. Small, domestic movements that felt strangely intimate. The water ran warm over her hands. The dishwasher hummed as it filled.
When they were done, Ghost turned to her. "Come here."
She stepped into his arms. He held her close, one hand sliding into her hair, the other wrapping around her waist. She pressed her face against his chest, breathing him in. Cedar and warmth and something that was just him.
"We're going to get through this," he said quietly.
"I know."
They stood there for a long moment, just holding each other. Then Ghost pulled back enough to look at her. "You tired?"
"Not really."
"Want to watch something?"
She nodded. They went back to the couch, and this time when she sat down, Ghost pulled her against his side. She curled into him, her head resting on his shoulder, his arm around her. His hand traced slow patterns on her arm, fingertips barely touching.
They didn't talk much. The TV flickered in front of them, voices and music filling the silence. She could feel his heartbeat against her cheek, steady and strong. Outside, she heard the distant sound of waves, the occasional car passing on the street.
It felt safe here. Normal. Like the threat outside these walls couldn't reach them.
Eventually, Ghost shifted beneath her. "Come on," he said quietly. "Let's get some sleep."
Rachel let him pull her to her feet. They turned off the TV and the lights, then walked hand in hand down the hallway to the bedroom. The house was dark except for the moonlight streaming through the windows.
They climbed into bed, and Ghost pulled her against him immediately, her back to his chest, his arm wrapped around her waist. She laced her fingers through his where they rested against her stomach.
"Goodnight, baby," he murmured against her neck.
"Goodnight."
She closed her eyes and let sleep take her.
***
Rachel woke gasping.
The nightmare was already fading, gunfire echoing in an enclosed space, her feet slapping against pavement, hands grabbing at her clothes in the dark, but her heart was still racing, her chest tight with panic.
She sat up fast, disoriented. Moonlight streamed through the glass doors, painting everything in shades of blue and silver. Ghost's bedroom. She was safe. She was—
"Hey." Ghost's voice came from beside her, low and rough with sleep. "You're okay. You're safe."
She turned. He was already sitting up, one hand reaching for her in the darkness.
"Sorry," she managed, her voice shaky. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"Don't apologize." He moved closer, his hand finding her face. "Nightmare?"
She nodded, still trying to catch her breath. Her hands were trembling, her skin clammy with sweat.
Ghost pulled her against him. She went willingly, pressing her face against his chest, feeling his heart beat steady and strong beneath her cheek. His arms came around her, holding her close.
"I've got you," he murmured against her hair. "You're safe."
