Work Text:
It’s dark when John wakes, the space beside him disappointingly empty. The distant sounds of San Francisco are harder to ignore at night.
Carson’s standing in the doorway, though, a cup of tea in his hand and a soft look on his face.
“Nightmare?” John doesn’t need to ask. If Carson’s nightmares aren’t keeping them up, John’s are.
Carson slides into bed, careful not to spill his tea on the quilt. He and Rodney had spent hours in storage looking for it, back before Rodney’d left.
“It’s okay,” Carson says, leaning against John. “I’m not alone and neither are you.”

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