she slept in the fetal position, knees tucked to her chest, head bowed, not using the pillows and often clutching a small sheathed blade in her hands. Bruce had watched her sleep, several times now, knowing that the moment he made any noise or sudden movements she'd wake in a defensive posture, with no warning. Dalia slept like she was threatened. He wanted to change that.
Especially when she had nightmares, which were not infrequent. she seldom made sound, perhaps soft whimpers and gentle gasps, but she would tense- her brow knit and tears welling up in her eyes, flinching as if being struck by an invisible force. sometimes she'd wake for no reason at all, on security camera, thrashing into a ready position and lashing out with a sharp little knife, ready to ward off an unknown foe.
He thought of Ra's. The horrors she must've lived through. Perhaps not so unknown a foe, after all.
It was months later, though, that he saw the changes seeping in, warming him. He would sit next to her and put a hand on her side while she slept, recovering from a fight, and she would slowly relax, go slack. she began to stretch out, rest her head upon pillows. No longer did she hold a knife as she slept (though it was kept under her pillow) and when he entered her room now there wasn't panic, there was just dull wakefulness, then sleep again.
He was unfolding her, piece by piece. Patching up what he could, giving her somewhere safe. Who knew? Maybe someday, she'd forget about sleeping with a knife at her side, learn to dream in peace at last.